Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge

A little romp and a music lesson because Hutch is a good boy, and so is Starsky.

Hutch shuddered with desire as he lay on the bed, arms above his head, legs spread wide, the exquisite sensation of Starsky’s tongue wandering over his inside thigh. He sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes, transporting himself to a world where only he and Starsky existed.

“That was nice of you to give Molly a piano lesson today, Hutch.”

Hutch’s eyes flew open, and he propped his head up on the pillow. He adjusted his gaze down at the curly head that was traveling up and down his thigh with each twirl of the tongue.

“Sure, ah, yes, ah, that’s me, Mr. Nice Guy.”

Hutch let his head fall back again, expecting that would end the conversation, given that it wasn’t exactly the best moment for a chat about piano lessons or Molly.

“Oh God, Starsk, don’t stop, do what you did there with your tongue again.”

Hutch could feel the corners of Starsky’s mouth turn up into a smile as he brushed his lips against the underside of Hutch’s knee.

Hutch closed his eyes again, returning to the happy place where Starsky took him.

“Are you going to give her another lesson?”

Hutch tried to ignore the question. He was aware that he had a talented, energetic, multitasking partner who, in most situations, like this one, could make excellent use of said multitasking abilities. It might be best to simply respond to any questions Starsky asked as long as his tongue remained where it was or at least nearby.

“Sure, if she wants, but if Molly wants to get serious about learning to play, she’ll have to find a real piano teacher someday.”

There…answered in a whole and complete sentence. That should stop the conversation and allow Starsky to get to the multitasking at hand, or more specifically, the task at his tongue.

“I think she just wants to have you all to herself once a week.”

“Uh huh,” Hutch responded, unsure what the question was, or if it was even a question. He was distracted by Starsky’s wandering tongue, which had moved north of his thigh and directly headed to the patch of hair that nestled right at the base of his stiff erection. He would agree to anything.

“Tell me again what you were explaining to Molly, Hutch. I didn’t catch it all.”

Hutch’s eyes flickered open for the second time in the last two minutes, not appreciating the interruption. He knew Starsky was up to something, but if it involved a continuous tongue bath, he would play along. He fingered his hands in Starsky’s curls, trying to prove that he was still coherent. “Why would you catch any of the lesson? It wasn’t supposed to be for you.”

There…that was definitely a conversation-ender. Hutch was rewarded with several more darts of Starsky’s tongue, which was now circling like wagons around the base of his rigid shaft.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t help but overhear you with Molly; I was sitting on the couch reading a book. So, go ahead, tell me.”

Hutch gently pushed Starsky’s head down, attempting to direct his tongue to a more appropriate use than speaking, which would be a win-win situation for both his erection and putting an end to this conversation.

Starsky’s nose rubbed against the inside of the top of Hutch’s thigh, relentlessly repeating, “Come on, Hutch, tell me. I’m interested.”

Hutch knew that ending the conversation was a lost cause, but for the life of him, he couldn’t even remember what the question was. Something about lessons. “T-tell you wh-at?”

Starsky nipped at Hutch’s inner thigh through his teeth. “Don’t play games, Mr. Nice Guy. Tell me what you told Molly. You know, about the trouble and the base.”

Hutch felt a hard chin press into his belly, replacing the warm tongue that had momentarily abandoned its previous task. His eyes strayed downward to see Starsky’s eyes twinkling back at him. “Do you mean treble and bass?”

“That’s what I said.” Starsky’s chin pressed harder into Hutch’s belly as he spoke. “The treble clef is the one that sort of looks like an ‘and’ symbol, and the bass clef sort of looks like a backward C, right?”

Starsky’s mouth resumed its position, hovering above Hutch’s stomach, and blew a cool breath into his navel before inserting his tongue.

“Sure, right, close enough. Oh God, right there,” Hutch groaned.

“Tell me again how you remember where the notes go. You know, when you read sheet music.”

Hutch had to think for a minute. It was a miracle that he could think at all at that point. “Do you mean on a musical staff?”

“Yes, on a staff, like when you’re reading music, there are all these lines and notes.”

Starsky moved back into position with his tongue, targeting the space between Hutch’s inner thigh and his balls, and shaking his head as though all of this should have been obvious.

Given the tongue bath had resumed, Hutch figured it was only fair to answer the question as best he could. Starsky wanted to know something about reading music, like how to remember where the notes go.

“There are five horizontal lines in a staff of music. Each line on the staff and each space between the lines represents a different note. So, depending on where the note sits on the staff, that is the key you play on the piano.”

Hutch smiled to himself, feeling very satisfied that he was able to explain how to read music so brilliantly while every nerve in his body was on fire.

“Go on,” came the persistent voice below.

Hutch pulled his thoughts together and smiled to himself. Who’s the multitasker now?

“Ok. So, when you play the piano with both hands, your right hand plays the treble clef while your left hand plays the bass clef. You have to read the treble clef and the bass clef at the same time.”

Dammit. The tongue had stopped again.

“This is getting very complicated, Hutch. I might need to practice.”

Starsky lifted his head and scooched up on his knees, perched between Hutch’s legs, placing his hands on both sides of Hutch’s torso. Hutch felt Starsky’s strong and limber hands press into his rib cage. “Ok, Hutch, let’s say your ribs are the lines of a musical staff.”

Starsky lightly ran his hands over Hutch’s ribs for emphasis.

“That tickles, Starsk,” Hutch couldn’t help but giggle. “But go on.”

Starsky’s eyes fluttered and met Hutch’s. “Thank you, I will,” he teased. “So, let’s say the ribs are the lines, and the spaces between your ribs are the white spaces on the staff.”

Hutch let out another giggle. “Got it. Ribs are lines, and in between ribs are white spaces.”

“And the rib cage on my right is the trouble clef.” Starsky placed his right hand on Hutch’s left rib cage.

“Treble,” Hutch corrected.

“Right, treble. And the rib cage on my left is the bass clef.” Starsky caressed Hutch’s right rib cage with his left hand.

Hutch let out another giggle. If he let this go on, he would lose his very hard-earned hard-on, which was not something Hutch wanted to see happen soon. “You know, Starsk, maybe we should keep it simple. Most people start by learning the notes in the treble clef first.”

Starsky removed his left hand from Hutch’s right rib cage. “So I should only use my right hand for now? So what should I do with my left hand?”

“Well, later it can play the bass clef…”

“The base—got it. You want me to play with the base of your throbbing erection with my left hand while I play the treble clef on your left rib cage with my right. Right?”

“Right. I mean, correct. I mean, I’m easy… I mean, I can see why you would jump to that conclusion.”

Hutch felt Starsky’s adept left-hand circle around the base of his shaft, sending a tingling through Hutch’s body. Starsky’s right hand moved up, and his palm traced the length of Hutch’s left rib cage. His fingers found the lowest rib and pressed down on it while his left hand slowly moved up and down his shaft.

“What note is that?”

“What? Oh, um, the first rib—I mean line—on the treble clef—that’s ‘E’.”

Starsky played the ‘E’ for a while with his right hand, his left hand sliding up Hutch’s rod and down again to the base. Starsky moved his finger up to the second rib. “What note is that?”

Hutch felt Starsky’s soft fingertips move against his ribs, igniting a passion throughout his entire body that he had no idea such a delicate touch could trigger. “It’s, um, that note is ‘G’.”

“Oh, “Starsky said, then repeated. “G.”

Starsky’s fingers returned to the first rib “E” and then back to “G,” while his left hand kept rhythm, stroking him with each touch of his torso. “What’s next?” Starsky asked, his voice low and hushed.

Hutch knew the answer. It was on the tip of his tongue. “B,” Hutch replied, satisfied that he was still in the game.

“Did you say ‘P’? Like potatoes?”

Hutch chuckled under his breath. He knew Starsky knew damned well there wasn’t a musical note ‘P’ in any octave on any musical staff anywhere in the Western universe.

“No, I said ‘B.’ Like boner,” Hutch added with another giggle.

Hutch heard Starsky chuckle under his breath.

“Got it, what are the next two notes?”

“‘D’ and…oh man…and ’F’.”

“Didn’t know there was a note called ‘oh man F’,” Starsky snickered.

Starsky gingerly touched the next two ribs and repeated, D and F. Then he moved his fingers back to the starting position and recited the whole string of notes again, “E, G, B, D, F.”

“That’s hard to remember, Hutch. How did you get Molly to remember that?”

Hutch didn’t mind the lesson anymore, as long as the left hand kept playing the bass, or rather, the base.

“It’s easy,” Hutch hissed through his teeth. “Just remember the mnemonic phrase.”

“The what?” Starsky asked.

Starsky didn’t break from his task, both his left and right hands playing their respective instruments. Hutch took a breath, and his body appreciated the symphony while his brain tried to formulate a response.

“The mnemonic phrase, you know, to help you remember the order of the notes on the lines of a treble clef. E, G, B, D, F. Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge,” Hutch said, satisfied with his answer.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Starsky said.

Both hands abandoned their tasks and reached over to the nightstand.

For a split second, Hutch felt like his body had been forgotten, with no tongue kissing his navel, no left hand playing his base, no right hand playing his treble clef. Or ribs. Or anything.

Hutch begrudgingly opened one eye and watched as Starsky retrieved a bowl and a spoon from the nightstand. “Uh, Starsk, where the hell did that bowl and spoon come from?”

Hutch thought the explanation had better be good to have left him high and dry so cruelly.

“I brought it in earlier,” Starsky shrugged. “You were too busy looking at my ass to notice.”

Hutch had to concede. He had been preoccupied with Starsky’s ass all night. Along with his tongue. “So, what’s in the bowl?”

Both of Hutch’s eyes were wide open now.

“Hot fudge, but it’s been sitting for a while, so it’s not burning hot anymore.”

“Hot, what? When did you get a chance to make hot fudge?” Hutch lifted his head and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look.

“Take it easy, Hutch,” Starsky said, gently pushing Hutch back down on the pillow with one hand and balancing the bowl with the other. “I heard you discussing fudge with Molly, so I made it when you took her home. I thought you might like it.”

“I wasn’t discussing fudge with Molly, I was explaining the phrase to help her remember the notes on the lines of the treble clef.”

Hutch stretched his arms above his head again, but strained his neck forward to see what Starsky was planning to do with the bowl. “I get that now, but all I heard was the word fudge, so I made some. Just needed some sugar, cream, butter, and oh, you’re out of cocoa.”

Starsky repositioned himself and knelt between Hutch’s legs, holding the bowl on Hutch’s stomach. He dipped the spoon into the creamy chocolate and lifted it, holding it steady over Hutch’s quivering body.

“Are you a good boy, Hutch?” Starsky asked him as he shifted his gaze upward and fluttered his eyelashes.

Hutch couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spoon hovering above his body. “Yes, yes, I think so.”

The spoon lingered in the air, Starsky’s eyes pinned on Hutch’s. “I need to hear you say the words, Hutch.”

Hutch tried again. What were the words again? Oh yeah, something about a mnemonic phrase. “Yes, I’m a good boy.”

Starsky smiled. “I think so, too.”

Starsky turned the spoon over slowly, letting the warm, chocolatey liquid dribble onto Hutch’s stomach, making a line from the base of his shaft up past his navel and between his rib cages. Starsky placed the spoon back into the bowl and balanced it on the side of the bed.

Hutch watched Starsky go to work, and he welcomed back the tongue that began licking the creamy fudge off his stomach, slowly making its way down to his belly button and lingering there as it lapped up the sweet sauce.

“I’m, oh, man, I’m so…what were we talking about again?”

“How every good boy deserves fudge,” Starsky answered, looking up.

Starsky’s nose had a speck of brown chocolate on the end, and Hutch thought he looked adorable enough to eat.

Hutch reached down with his thumb and swiped the chocolate sauce off of Starsky’s nose, then placed the thumb in his mouth and made a show of sucking it clean.

“Tell me something, Starsk. How come you’re the one eating the fudge if I’m the good boy? Are you a good boy?”

Starsky grinned with a mock look of hurt. “ You tell me, Hutch. Am I a good boy? Do I deserve fudge?”

Hutch dabbed a finger onto his torso, scooping up a swirl of chocolate. He extended his finger to Starsky’s enticing mouth and slid it inside, Starsky’s slick tongue sucking along the length of it, from tip to the base, like he was hungry for every inch and every taste, his mouth opening and closing around it, washing it clean.

Hutch let his head fall back, his whole body alive, his hard-on envious of the attention being shown to his finger.

“Yes, yes, you are, yes, you do. You deserve, uh, all the fudge…oh man…that you want…”

Hutch didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Starsky resumed his feast and continued playing Hutch like an instrument.

Starsky’s tongue roamed down Hutch’s body until it reached the throbbing base. Starsky opened his mouth, and his lips encircled Hutch’s engorged erection, the curly head bobbing up and down, his left hand steering at the base, Starsky’s right hand reaching down and pumping himself along with the rhythm.

Hutch fingered his hands through the soft brown curls and felt the climax overtake him. He moaned, and not far behind, heard Starsky groan and watched him shudder in ecstasy, as they both collapsed in a heap on the sticky sheets.

“That was amazing,” Hutch said, pulling Starsky up and into his arms.

“Which part?” Starsky teased as he kissed Hutch’s inviting mouth.

“Every part.”

“Even the part where your sheets are a mess?” Starsky laughed.

Hutch chuckled, “Totally worth it. How about it if you get in the shower, and I’ll join you right after I change the sheets.”

Starsky obliged and got out of bed, righting the bowl that had tipped over and placing it on the nightstand before heading to the bathroom.

As he gathered the dirty sheets into a ball and threw them in the hamper, Hutch called out, “Maybe tomorrow night I can teach you the bass clef.”

Starsky looked back and smiled. “Sure, does the bass clef have a mnemonic phrase that has anything to do with fudge?”

Hutch grinned. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

Starsky nodded and smiled, “In that case, you’d better pick up some more cocoa.”

Author’s Notes: Hutch is right, the notes on the bass clef lines are G, B, D, F, A, or, Good Boys Deserve Fudge Always. He’ll happily make more hot fudge for Starsky’s next lesson.