Going Once, Going Twice

237

An auction for a charity puts Starsky and Hutch in a bit of a spot. How can they find a way out of it?

 

Originally published in the zine, THE PERFECT COUPLE, by Flamingo and Keri T.

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Starsky folded the sports section of the newspaper and tossed it on top of the unread obituaries. “Lakers lost again.”

There was no response to his grumble, so he reached across the kitchen table and pulled the news section down from in front of Hutch’s face. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Lakers lost. That’s hardly news.” Hutch tried to lift the paper back up between them. “Do you mind. I was reading an article.”

Starsky picked up his breakfast dishes and took them to the sink, hearing the scrape of Hutch’s chair as he followed. He held obligingly still as Hutch reached past him to set his plate in the sink, then leaned back a little into the kiss Hutch dropped on his bare shoulder.

“I wish it was Saturday,” Hutch murmured, his arms sliding around Starsky’s waist.

“Me, too.” Starsky allowed himself to be pulled back against Hutch’s naked chest. “But I’m tired of listening to Dobey yell at us.”

Hutch sighed, then stepped back, releasing his grip on Starsky with obvious reluctance.

Turning to face his lover, Starsky watched the transformation as Hutch switched gears from lover to partner. Love and tenderness were tucked away behind affection, and the sharp mind behind the handsome features dropped into detective drive.

“Speaking of Saturday,” Hutch said as he went to the closet and found a shirt to go with the cords he already wore. “Nicholson was hassling me again yesterday about putting our names in for the auction.”

“Shit.” The curse was muffled as Starsky pulled his t-shirt into place. He reached for his gun and holster as he continued his complaint. “Why the hell can’t he just take no for an answer?”

“He is one persistent son-of-a-bitch.” Hutch was ready to go now and stood by the door as if he had been waiting hours for Starsky. “I have to admit, I am getting tired of dodging this particular bullet, partner.”

Also dressed and ready to go, Starsky stopped dead in the middle of the living room. With his hands on his hips, he aimed a glare at Hutch. “So? What? I thought we already agreed. Are you saying you think we should do it? Do you want to do it?”

Hutch left the door, moving to Starsky, and taking him into his arms. “Of course not. Did last night seem like I want to be with anyone but you?”

Starsky felt his cheeks warming a little with the memories of Hutch’s insatiable passion the night before. That passion was, in fact, the reason they were once again running late this morning. It was hard not to hit the snooze button when he had been up half the night making love.

“So, we just keep putting Nicholson off. A couple more days, and it will all be over anyway.” Which wouldn’t be a minute too soon as far as Starsky was concerned.

“Couple more minutes, and we’re going to be late again,” Hutch reminded him.

Starsky slipped out of Hutch’s arms and hurried to the door. “Come on, Blintz. Dobey’s already got plenty of reasons to yell at us.”

***

Hutch signed the last report of the day with a flourish and sailed it into their out-box, glancing across the table to see how Starsky was doing. The dark head was still bent over the typewriter while Starsky played hunt and peck with the keys.

“Come on, Starsky. Shift ended twenty minutes ago.” Hutch was anxious for the end of the work day. He had always been glad to see the end of their shift, but since he and Starsky had become lovers, that anxiety had an all new impatience. Maybe it was just the newness of it, though Hutch sincerely hoped not, but his desire for Starsky had turned him into a clock watcher. Some days, it was all he could do not to jump Starsky in the car, despite his own repeated lectures about the importance of discretion.

“Almost done.” Starsky turned his head just enough for Hutch to see the eager anticipation in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the keyboard.

“Hurry.” Hutch mouthed the word silently, the warmth in Starsky’s eyes making it hard to remember his own warnings.

Tap, tap, tap went the keys, followed by the screech of the roller as Starsky pulled the paper from the machine and slapped it on his desk. “Just gotta sign it and we’re—”

“I’m glad I caught you two,” Dobey said as he came out of his office.

“Whatever it is, please give it to someone else, Captain. We were off duty half an hour ago,” Starsky pleaded.

“Settle down, Starsky,” Dobey said, planting a heavy hand on Starsky’s shoulder to hold him in place and doing the same to Hutch with a brown-eyed glare.

“What did we do now, Captain?” Hutch asked, flipping through his memory of the day but coming up with nothing to warrant a chewing out. Despite the late start, they had managed to make it to work on time, and as soon as Starsky signed the report under his hand, they would be up to date on their paperwork. “We’ve even filed our daily reports every day this week.”

“It’s only taken you how many years to figure out how to get them in on time,” Dobey grumbled, then waved aside the topic. “Nicholson tells me you two haven’t put your names in for the auction.”

“It’s supposed to be voluntary, isn’t it, Captain?” Starsky piped up.

“Voluntary?” Dobey’s tone turned the word into something closer in vileness to mass murder. “What’s the matter with you two? This auction is to benefit the Widows and Orphans Fund. The wives and children of men like Dan Tinker and Ed Jamieson, who gave their lives in the line of duty.”

“We understand it’s a good cause, but couldn’t the Committee have come up with something a little more…dignified than auctioning off dates with the single detectives?” Hutch objected.

“Since when are you worried about dignity?” Dobey growled with a pointed glare for Hutch’s overly long hair and Starsky’s threadbare jeans.

“We’re going to make a donation of whatever a date would cost,” Starsky said. “That’s bound to be more than whatever the ladies around here could bid.”

“That’s not the point. All the precincts are holding their own auctions, and there’s an unofficial competition to see who can raise the most money. I’ll be damned if I want to listen to Rampart crow over beating out Metro.”

“But there are at least fifteen single guys at Rampart. That’s hardly a fair competition,” Hutch pointed out, but he could tell by the stubborn expression on Dobey’s face that he might as well save his breath.

“Exactly! Which is why Metro’s most eligible bachelors are going to be standing on that auction block on Saturday.” Dobey paused to skewer each of them in turn with a glare. “Aren’t they.”

They were backed into a corner, and both of them knew it. Unless, of course, they wanted to start explaining to Dobey exactly why, though they were still bachelors, they were no longer eligible. Information that would lead to the immediate end of their partnership. The department’s official position might be to hire more minorities, including homosexuals, but even straight couples weren’t allowed to be partners.

Hutch met Starsky’s unhappy eyes, certain his own were every bit as glum, and gave a small shrug.

“I guess when you put it that way, Cap… We’re in,” Starsky said with the enthusiasm of a convicted felon accepting life in prison over the gas chamber.

“That’s more like it.” Dobey released Starsky and stepped back, frowning as he looked back and forth between them. “You don’t have to look so miserable about it. Since when do either of you have any objection to a date with a beautiful woman?”

“No objection at all, Captain,” Starsky reassured their superior, mirroring Hutch’s preparations to beat a hasty retreat. Jacket over his shoulder, he gave Dobey a lecherous grin. “Don’t you worry, Rampart won’t be doing any crowing. They’ll be eating crow.”

Alone in the elevator, Hutch let the misery return to his face and slouched against the back wall. “Shit.”

“Double shit,” Starsky agreed, then shook his head. “We’re stuck now.”

“So, we might as well make the most of it?” Hutch asked sarcastically, wishing immediately that he had kept his mouth shut when he saw the hurt in Starsky’s eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. How about I make you a Paul Muni special?”

“Rain check,” Starsky said. “I gotta drop by my place tonight. It’s been a few days, and the mail will be piling up. How about we meet at Huggy’s for dinner, then neither one of us will have to cook?”

Hutch accepted the compromise gratefully. He really didn’t feel like cooking. “It’s going to be okay. No big deal, right?”

“Sure it is,” Starsky agreed heartily. “No big deal.”

But as they parted at the doors of the elevator, going their separate ways to their cars, Hutch couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both lying.

***

Hutch arrived at Huggy’s first, but that didn’t concern him. He had expected Starsky would probably take a little longer. As he had said, the mail would be piling up, and Starsky would have to deal with it—toss the junk mail and pay the bills.

When they had first become lovers, they had been careful to divide their time fairly evenly between Starsky’s apartment and Venice Place, but over the past few weeks, they had been spending more and more time at Hutch’s. Venice Place was becoming their place, even if they couldn’t actually move in together. It was careless, however, and they couldn’t afford to be either careless or complacent. Hutch made a mental note to get them back to their former schedule when this auction business was over.

Hutch estimated Starsky would probably be at least another half hour, so he chose a seat at the bar and waited for Huggy to join him when he had a minute.

“Why the long face, my man?” Huggy asked as he set a tall glass of beer in front of Hutch. He leaned over the bar and dropped his voice to keep the conversation private. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise already.”

“No, no,” Hutch reassured their mutual friend, the only person besides Starsky and Hutch themselves who knew of the change in their relationship. The only person, Hutch suddenly realized, with whom he could be honest about their dilemma. “We’re good, Hug.”

“Just good?” Huggy asked, a smile on his mobile lips but genuine concern in his eyes.

“Better than good,” Hutch admitted, the truth of that statement lifting his spirits momentarily.

Huggy nodded with satisfaction, as if he had heard exactly what he wanted to hear. “Then, once again I ask, why’re you looking like your great aunt died and left her fortune to the parakeet?”

Hutch hesitated long enough to double check that no one was eavesdropping on them. “Have you heard about the auction going on at the department?”

“You mean like repossessed cars and such?” Huggy asked, puzzlement replacing the concern in his eyes. “I thought the Sheriff took care of that.”

“No. Not cars, Hug, detectives. Somebody on the committee for the Widows and Orphans Fund came up with the lame brained idea to auction off dates with all the single, male detectives. The women bid, and the men pay for the dates. Starsky and I tried to stay out of it, but today Dobey ordered us to enter.”

“Can he do that?”

“Technically, no,” Hutch said. “But unless we want to start explaining why we suddenly don’t want to date women….”

“Hmmm. I see your problem,” Huggy said sympathetically, then, after a minute’s consideration, “Actually, I don’t. What’s the big deal about a date? Wine ’em, dine ’em, and give ’em a handshake at the doorstep.” Huggy paused again, looking Hutch up and down before he continued. “Unless, that is, you don’t trust Curly.”

“Of course I trust Starsky!” Hutch protested immediately. Except, he knew he didn’t. Not one hundred percent. He was ashamed of it, but it was true. He would trust Starsky any day of the week with his life. But when it came to his heart, there was a part of Hutch that wouldn’t let him give Starsky his unconditional trust. Perhaps the part that had been hurt too often, or the part that had watched Starsky go from woman to woman over the years of their friendship. If Hutch was honest, however, he would have to admit that it was most likely the part that was sure he loved Starsky more than Starsky loved him.

But Hutch couldn’t say it aloud. Not even to Huggy, whose sympathetic eyes didn’t judge what the astute brain had already deduced. He didn’t think he could say it, force his lips to form the words. It felt like such a betrayal, and saying it aloud would give it validity.

“Don’t beat yourself up, my friend. We’ve all been there.” Huggy added a consoling pat to his reassurance.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Hutch couldn’t meet Huggy’s eyes, even if they were sympathetic, even if they weren’t judging him. He was judging himself and finding himself guilty, guilty, guilty.

“Hey, if it’s messing with your head that much, why don’t you put in a ringer?” Huggy suggested.

“A ringer?” Hutch’s head shot up.

“Yeah. Get one of the ladies at Metro you know you can trust to buy Starsky.” Huggy shrugged and swiped the bar rag he held across the shiny surface with a flourish and grinned. “Problem solved.”

It was sneaky and underhanded and not at all ethical. It was also a simple yet brilliant plan. Starsky need never know, and best of all, Hutch knew exactly who to ask. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Huggy just rolled his eyes and went on to serve another customer.

As Huggy left, Nicholson joined Hutch at the bar. “I hear you and Starsky finally put your names in the auction.”

Feeling considerably less gloomy though he was sure his conscience would start kicking at some point, Hutch could smile at the author of his and Starsky’s discomfort. “I still think it’s a stupid idea, but it’s for a good cause.”

“You guys held out so long, people were beginning to wonder about you, you know,” Nicholson said, then clapped Hutch on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Reluctantly, Hutch followed Nicholson to the pool table. He wasn’t sure how seriously to take the other man’s comment, but if it was true that people had been talking about them, sticking their busybody noses into what was none of their damned business, maybe Dobey had done them a favor after all.

***

When Starsky arrived at Huggy’s a short time later, he saw that Hutch was playing pool with the enemy.

“Hope you beat the pants off the bastard,” Starsky muttered under his breath as he slid onto a stool at the bar and signaled Huggy for a beer.

“Why the long face, my man?” Huggy asked when he arrived with Starsky’s order.

Starsky opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly. He had known Huggy so long, had used this friend as a sounding board so often, that it was hard to remember that he now had to be discreet. Except, of course, he didn’t have to. Huggy was the one person in the world besides Hutch with whom Starsky could share this particular trouble. He glanced around to be sure no one was within earshot, then gratefully unloaded his woes. “Have you heard about the auction going on at the department on Saturday?”

Huggy’s face took on an expression of mock offence. “Hey, what don’t these ears hear? Gonna make a nice chunk of change for the widows and orphans from what I hear. A good cause, right?”

“Yeah, right.” Starsky let his eyes stray to where Hutch was bent over the table lining up his shot. Hutch was his, and it galled him that he had no choice but to let his long-legged blond hit the town with some woman on his arm.

“So, what’s the problem?” Huggy asked innocently.

Starsky gave his long-time friend a disgusted look. “You know damned well what the problem is.”

“Hey, it’s just a date, right. Wine ’em, and dine ’em, and give ’em a handshake at the door.” Huggy paused, then added, “Unless, of course, you don’t trust Mr. America.”

“Of course I trust Hutch!” Starsky protested, a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Only Starsky knew he didn’t. He would trust Hutch any day of the week and twice on Sunday with his life, but as ashamed as he was to admit it, he wasn’t sure he trusted Hutch with his heart. Not one hundred percent, the way he should. Despite how good their new relationship had been right from the first hesitant kiss to last night’s bed-wrecking passion, Starsky still couldn’t believe that Hutch had fallen in love with him. It seemed to Starsky that beautiful Hutch, with his education and his manners and his sweet, tender heart, could have just about anyone he chose. It still seemed too good to be true that Hutch had chosen Starsky.

But Starsky couldn’t say any of that aloud. It would be like inviting the great bird of disaster to come and drop a load right on his head. One look at Huggy’s knowing expression, however, and Starsky knew he didn’t have to say the words. His doubt must be written all over his face.

“If it’ll make you feel better, why don’t you put in a ringer? You know, ask someone you trust to bid on Hutch.” Huggy dropped his rag over the wet ring Starsky’s glass had left on the bar, then whisked it away with a magician’s flourish. “Problem solved.”

Go behind Hutch’s back? It took Starsky a few mental gymnastics to convince himself he would be doing it for Hutch’s own good. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because love isn’t just blind. Sometimes he’s deaf, dumb, and stupid, too,” Huggy muttered as he left to serve another customer.

It was the perfect solution, and Starsky knew just who he was going to ask. His conscience would probably start giving him heartburn at some point, but as Hutch finished his game with Nicholson and sauntered toward him, Starsky knew he would be only too glad to deal with those twinges. Hutch was his.

“Hey there, good lookin’,” Starsky greeted Hutch as he joined him at the bar, keeping his voice low enough for Hutch’s ears alone.

“Hey there, yourself,” Hutch said in the same intimate tone, hitching his butt up onto the bar stool and, incidentally, pressing their thighs together.

Looking into the love in Hutch’s eyes, Starsky’s doubts slunk away into a dark corner of his heart. How could he doubt Hutch, even a tiny bit, when Hutch looked at him like that? When, despite the danger of such a public display, Hutch couldn’t seem to look away any more than Starsky could?

Maybe because, a heartbeat later, while Starsky was still happily paddling around in a sea of love, Hutch did look away, leaving Starsky feeling cut adrift as he watched Hutch signal Anita and point toward an empty table.

“Come on, babe,” Hutch said softly as he picked up his beer and slid off the stool, leaning close to Starsky in the process as he added, “can’t wait to get you home.”

Feeling as if he was riding an of out of control rollercoaster, but determined to hold on no matter how many curves his life with Hutch threw him, Starsky followed.

***

The first name that had popped into Hutch’s head when Huggy made his suggestion was Linda Baylor. The three of them had worked together, they were good friends, and Hutch knew Starsky thought of Linda as a kid sister. Most importantly, he also knew that Linda thought of Starsky as a big brother. Hutch knew he could trust her implicitly.

The first chance he had on Friday morning, Hutch left Starsky sorting through their in-box and went searching for Linda, hoping she would be in the building. Assigned to Vice, Linda spent a lot of her time under cover and was more often than not to be found on the streets than at her desk.

“Linda, have you got a minute?” Hutch asked the pretty, former New Yorker.

“Yeah, I got a minute,” Linda said, pushing back from the desk to reveal her micro mini skirt, fish net stockings, and stiletto heels. “Supposed to be on my corner before some other sweetcheeks takes over my beat. What can I do for you?”

Hutch tilted his head toward the corridor door, pleased when Linda immediately got the message and followed him out of the squad room. He led her to the stairway, pushed through the door, and waited for her on the landing where they could have a few minutes of relative privacy.

“What’s cookin’?” Linda asked curiously, leaning back against the door in her best oldest profession pose. “You and Starsky need a third for a good bust?”

“No bust, Linda, but I do want to ask you a favor.”

“For the man who rescued me from hospital food, anything.” Linda paused, gave him a wink, then qualified her agreement. “Almost anything.”

“Are you planning on bidding for anyone in Saturday’s auction?”

Linda laughed. “There’s a few jokers I’d love to make buy me the surf and turf at Antonio’s, but then I’d have to sit there with ’em and eat it.”

Hutch’s conscience, which he had been trying to muzzle with limited success, growled threateningly in his head. “Well, uh, it’s like this…” Hutch tightened the muzzle on his inconvenient conscience and blurted out his request. “Then, how would you like to bid for me?”

Linda gave him a classic double take. “For you? Hell, Hutch, I love you like a brother, but I ain’t got that much disposable cash. Ever since yours and Starsky’s names went up on the auction board, the ladies’ rooms around this dump have been buzzin’.”

The information was flattering. A boost for the ego, certainly. But it was also the worst possible news and hardened Hutch’s resolve to ensure that Starsky would be won by someone Hutch trusted. “Not bid for a date with me. I want you to bid for Starsky for me.”

“Starsky?” Linda gave him a long and speculative look that tried very hard to dig past the innocence on Hutch’s face. “Okay. Spill it. What’s the deal?”

Hutch had had his story all prepared about how he didn’t want Starsky to be humiliated when no one bid for him. Linda’s report of the “buzz” generated by their entering the auction required a little improvisation. “I just feel bad for the guy. You know how many women in this precinct he’s pissed off. He’d probably deserve it, but I’d hate to see one of them get their claws into him, even just for one date.”

“He probably would deserve whatever they dished out.” Linda was never one to pull a verbal punch when it was merited. “But Starsky and me have always been tight. He reminds me of my big brother, warts and all.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Hutch felt a very nasty knot let loose in his belly. Now, if he could just get his guilty conscience to give him a break.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it my best shot. But remember…” Linda lifted her hand, rubbing thumb and forefinger together. “Us peons down in Vice don’t get paid what you homicide detectives bring home.”

“Don’t worry. You just bid whatever it takes, and I’ll foot the bill.”

“Whatever it takes?” Linda waited until Hutch nodded solemn agreement, then shook her head in disbelief. “You really are a good partner, Hutch. Starsky is lucky to have you.”

Hutch stepped down firmly on a wicked twist of guilt. “Hey, for Starsky and me, watching your partner’s back doesn’t just mean when the bullets are flying.”

“Whatever you say, but I sure hope you’re ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

Hutch wasn’t worried about the money. He would dip into his savings, or even into his dire emergency savings, if he had to. He just hoped that, someday, he would learn to live with the guilt of not trusting his lover.

***

The first woman Starsky thought of when Huggy made his suggestion was Linda Baylor. She was like a little sister to him, and he trusted her, even with his most prized possession—Hutch—although not quite enough to reveal their secret.

Unfortunately, he had to wait to talk to her on Friday until he had dropped Hutch off to testify on one of their cases. By then, Linda was already strutting her stuff in the district.

Starsky prowled the streets in the Torino until he found her. He pulled up to the curb and honked, laughing as she wobbled up to the car in her spike heels.

“Wanna get off your feet for a while, schweetheart?” Starsky leaned across the seat to open the passenger door.

“My dogs are indebted to you forever,” Linda said after dropping onto the seat with a relieved “woof” and pulling her long legs in after her.

Starsky laughed as he pulled away. He took the first right onto an empty side street and parked.

“Are you on knight in white-striped armor duty today, or do you always pick up working girls in the middle of your shift?” Linda kicked off her shoes and was wriggling her freed toes with abandon.

“Gotta favor to ask you, Linda.” Starsky’s guilty conscience had been pinging in his ear all morning, but right now he was in a time crunch. Linda had to get back to work, and he had to pick up Hutch, so he came straight to the point. “I need you to bid for me in Saturday’s auction.”

Linda flashed her most deceptively innocent smile and batted her eyelashes at him. “But, Starsky, honey, I already am.”

Starsky couldn’t have been more stunned if she had suddenly asked him to get butt naked with her and dance in the fountain at City Hall. “On me! But Linda, I thought…I didn’t know… You’re like my sister!”

Linda laughed hard enough to split the seams of her tight skirt. “Now ain’t that cute. You’re blushing. Almost as red as this tomato.”

“I am not.” Starsky’s protest was automatic. “I don’t blush. And why the hell do you think you have to bid on me. I’d take you out anytime you want. I have taken you out any time you want.”

“Yeah, I know.” Linda hesitated, then shrugged. “He never said it was a secret, so I guess I can tell you. Hutch asked me to bid on you.”

“Hutch?” The echo was automatic, but Starsky barely heard himself speak. He was totally flummoxed.

“Yeah. You know the guy. Kinda tall. Blond. Your partner.” Linda was obviously having a wonderful time pulling Starsky’s chain.

“But why?” Starsky asked, wondering if he really wanted the answer. Surely, Hutch wouldn’t have told Linda anything approaching the truth.

“He just said he wanted someone to win that you could trust.” Linda slid over on the bench seat and ran her fingers through his hair. “You trust me, don’t you, Starsky?” she cooed.

Starsky laughed and gave her a playful shove back to her side of the car. “Sure, I trust you. Unless we’re playing poker.” But it was pretty damned obvious to Starsky that Hutch didn’t trust him. With a convenient little mental twist, Starsky managed not to add the “either” that was sitting on the tip of his mind’s tongue.

“I gotta get back to my corner,” Linda reminded him. “Bay City isn’t payin’ me to shoot the breeze with you.”

Starsky automatically put the car in gear and drove back to the corner where he had picked her up. Beside him, Linda did a good deal of grunting and groaning as she forced her feet back into the torturous shoes.

When Starsky stopped the car, Linda got out and closed the door, turning to stick her head back in the open window. “Hey, are we good? I don’t wanna piss off my big brother.”

“‘Course we’re good. You start thinkin’ about where you want to go, okay.” Starsky gave her a teasing grin. “My treat.”

Starsky watched Linda take up her station, then headed back to the courthouse to pick up Hutch. He had a head full of questions, most of which he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted answered. Did he really want to hear it out of Hutch’s own mouth that he didn’t trust Starsky?

The most urgent problem at the moment, however, was since Hutch had already shanghaied Linda, and the rules said the bidders could only win one detective each, who the hell was Starsky going to find to bid on Hutch?

***

Starsky was desperate. After he struck out with Linda, thanks to Hutch pre-empting him, he had tried three other women. Casual inquiries as to their intentions for the auction had gained him the unwelcome information that they had plans to bid on their own behalf.

Starsky was almost out of time and down to the last option he could think of. Cheryl Jennings. Sweet, mousy little Cheryl. Starsky certainly had reason to think kindly of the lady, but he also suspected that, if she only had the nerve, she would make a play for Hutch herself. Starsky might be playing into her hand, but with his handful of useless jokers, she was his only ace in the hole.

He found Cheryl in her cubicle of an office, just packing up for the day.

“Hey, Cheryl,” Starsky said, casually propping his hip on the edge of her desk.

“Starsky. Why are you down here? Is there something wrong?” Cheryl asked.

“No, no. Everything is fine. I just wanted to ask you a favor.”

Cheryl blushed, her head dropping as she stuffed a few more papers into her briefcase. “After what my father did to you, I certainly owe you any favors you want to ask of me.”

Starsky took her hands and squeezed gently. “I’ve told you before, Cheryl. I know you didn’t have anything to do with your father trying to poison me, and I know you did everything you could for me. Hutch told me you even went out to your father’s house and challenged him. That took guts.”

Especially for this girl, but Starsky was kind enough not to say it. For a woman who was an expert in her field and plenty smart in her own right, Cheryl had little or no confidence in herself. It was a shame really, because behind the thick-lensed glasses and the unflattering hairstyle, Starsky had always suspected lived a pretty cute girl. Starsky, however, was no longer in the market for girls of any sort.

“You said you need a favor,” Cheryl reminded him, withdrawing her hands from his to fold them primly in her lap.

Now that he knew Hutch had already put in a ringer, Starsky no longer felt so guilty. “I wondered if you would bid on Hutch in the auction on Saturday. I’ll give you the money.”

“Bid on Hutch?” Cheryl’s voice had risen a little and her fingers began twisting in her lap. “But why? I’m sure there will be plenty of women who will bid for a date with him.”

Starsky was certain of that, which was exactly why he was here. He had already prepared a story to explain his strange request to Linda, but thought it would work even better on Cheryl. “Do you remember what Hutch went through with Diane Harmon a while ago? I know the gossip was all over the station. Well, he’s still pretty traumatized, and I want to make sure that whoever gets him is someone he can trust.”

Cheryl looked at Starsky as if he had suddenly sprouted wings and a halo. “What a kind thing for you to do, Dave. You’re such a good partner.”

Maybe a good partner, Starsky thought, but not such a good and trusting lover. But then, apparently, neither was Hutch.

“Of course I’ll do it. But but what if the bidding goes really high?” Cheryl’s pale cheeks flamed red and her eyes dropped to her hands. “He is very attractive.”

“You don’t worry about the money. I’ll reimburse you,” Starsky reassured her, patting her hands and wondering if he was making a big mistake. It was too late to back out now, and in any case, Cheryl was his last option.

“Should I… How high do you want me to go?”

“Cheryl, honey, I promise you, the sky is the limit. Just make sure when the bidding is done, that it’s you Hutch will be squiring around town Saturday night.”

“I…I’ll do my best,” Cheryl promised.

Starsky just hoped that this hesitant little lady’s best was going to be good enough.

***

Hutch was already in bed by the time Starsky had brushed his teeth and turned out all the lights except the bedside lamp.

They had had a very quiet evening, and that in itself was unusual enough. They didn’t spend every minute of their off duty time crawling all over each other, but when that door closed behind them at the end of the day, all the barriers between them dropped. They could touch and look freely, and both of them usually took full advantage of that freedom.

Tonight, those barriers hadn’t completely dropped with the locking of the door. Like a malfunctioning security gate, they remained at half-mast. They could see across them, but not necessarily touch. There was an awkwardness between them that had never before existed.

It was pretty obvious to Starsky that trying to keep secrets from each other didn’t work. Many times through the evening, he had opened his mouth to broach the subject that was definitely foremost on his mind and most likely on Hutch’s as well, but the moment had never seemed quite right. Now, approaching the bed and seeing Hutch waiting for him, the awkwardness was an unwelcome visitor. Starsky knew he couldn’t take this interloper to bed with them. They needed to clear the air. He just wasn’t too sure what to say.

“Hey,” Hutch greeted Starsky, holding up the sheet invitingly.

“Hey.” Feeling unusually self conscious, Starsky dropped his briefs and slid under the sheet, smiling hesitantly, feeling as if this was the first time he had climbed into bed beside Hutch. Except there had been no hesitancy that first time, no awkwardness, just an eager, wild scramble of tangled limbs.

“Is there something wrong, Starsk? You’ve been awfully quiet all evening,” Hutch asked.

Starsky really didn’t know how to be subtle, and he was grateful to Hutch for giving him the opening to just spit out what was on his mind. “Yeah, I guess I have had something on my mind. I talked to Linda today, Hutch. She told me that you asked her to bid on me for you.”

“Oh.” It was obvious that Hutch was surprised, and just as obvious that he was uncomfortable to be caught. His fingers toyed with the sheet, and his guilt-ridden eyes couldn’t seem to tear themselves away from the material.

Starsky sighed, rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand, and reached out to rest his hand on Hutch’s shoulder, hoping the familiar physical connection would open up the verbal communication they so seldom needed. “You trust me every day with your life, Hutch, but you can’t trust me with your heart?” he asked the question that needed to be asked, working hard to keep his tone gentle and undemanding. It had been painful to learn that Hutch didn’t trust him, but since he was guilty of the same sin, he had no right to the higher moral ground.

Hutch sighed, released his grip on the sheet, and carefully smoothed away the wrinkles before he finally raised unhappy eyes to meet Starsky’s. “No.” There was a world of pain and shame in his eyes. “The one thing I haven’t had to think about for the past ten years is trusting you. It’s…it’s almost an autonomic function for me, Starsk. I don’t think about breathing or blinking or if my heart’s going to beat, it just does. Then, when we became lovers, loving you just seemed like one of those natural things, too.”

“Then along comes Nicholson and his stupid auction.”

“Yeah.” Hutch’s face tightened with anger for a moment, then relaxed, his eyes begging Starsky to understand. “And suddenly loving you was something I had to really think about. About how much it means to me that you love me, and what it would mean if you ever stopped. You know I’ve been in love before, I’ve been married, for Christ’s sake, but what I feel for you is the single most powerful emotion I’ve ever felt in my life. I want to believe that I’m all you’re ever going to need, I just don’t know how to believe.”

“Ah, babe,” Starsky murmured, drawing Hutch into his arms. His heart was full to bursting with the hesitant words that had flowed from Hutch’s heart. It was easy to declare undying love, but so much harder to reveal this uncertain truth, to be brave enough to be so vulnerable.

“I love you, Starsk. I swear it.”

“Shh. Com’ere,” Starsky whispered, kissing the lips that continued to move against his in silent declaration. He wished that with his love and his arms and his strength, he could create a place where they could hold the world at bay forever. A place where loving him could once again be something Hutch never had to think about.

Starsky couldn’t hold the world at bay forever, but he could tonight. Pulling the smooth body closer, Starsky deepened their kisses, pushing the words into silence with the hunger of his lips while his fingers tangled in the soft hair in a possessive grip and his body moved against Hutch. One long, loving caress from shoulders to knees to imprint his love on the silky skin of Hutch’s body.

“Just let your heart beat, sweetheart,” Starsky murmured, turning onto his back and drawing Hutch with him. He revelled in the heat and strength and weight of his lover pressing him into the bed, giving himself up to it until suddenly it was gone.

“Hey, wait a minute.”

Starsky opened his eyes to find Hutch hovering over him, the soft features hardening with suspicion.

“How do you know I asked Linda to bid for you?” Hutch demanded.

Well and truly caught, Starsky decided the only thing he could do was brazen it out. Securing a solid grip on the firm globes of Hutch’s ass, Starsky gave him a cheeky grin. “‘Cause I asked her to bid on you, too.”

“You what? You fink!” Hutch growled. He made an attempt to free himself, but failed, which only made Starsky’s grin wider. In a month of Sundays, there was no way Starsky could defeat Hutch in a contest of sheer strength.

“That means you don’t trust me, either,” Hutch continued in his offended growl. “You just made me squirm for nothing.”

“Oh, no, babe. Not for nothing,” Starsky reassured his outraged lover, sliding his hands up Hutch’s back until he could frame the face above him. “You’ve always been better at words than me. I want to believe that I’m all you’re ever going to need, I just don’t know how to believe,” Starsky echoed Hutch’s declaration back to him, searching the beloved face for the acceptance and understanding those words had given Starsky.

The anger went out of Hutch, although he continued to hold himself propped above Starsky. “I guess we both have a ways to go, huh?”

“Guess so,” Starsky agreed. “And maybe it’ll take us a long time to get there. But I’m sure game to keep trying if you are.”

“Deal,” Hutch agreed, then sealed the bargain with a kiss.

“So, since the rules say no one can win more than one auction,” Hutch said when he ended the kiss. “Who’s bidding for me?”

“Cheryl Jennings.” Starsky acknowledged that the choice probably wasn’t the best with a shrug. “It’s not my fault you got to Linda first.”

“What are you going to do if Cheryl doesn’t win me?”

Starsky didn’t really want to consider that. “I guess,” he said, pulling Hutch back down to him. “I’m gonna hafta make like Peter Pan and try really, really hard to believe.”

“Anything I can do to help with that?” There was innocent inquiry on Hutch’s face, but his eyelids were sinking to half-mast already, his body beginning to move against Starsky’s in a dance they were still perfecting. Hutch always had been a quick study.

Starsky looped one arm around Hutch’s neck, smiling as he fell into the rhythm of stroke and rub that becoming so wonderfully familiar. “A resourceful guy like you? I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“Something, huh?” Hutch’s head dipped, his lips pressing into the hollow of Starsky’s throat. “Something like this?”

“Feels like a good place to start to me.” Starsky tipped his head back, giving Hutch all the access he wanted. He moaned softly as smooth lips took full advantage of the freedom.

“Just a place to start, hmmmm.” Hutch’s voice was speculative as he finished mapping Starsky’s throat. He wriggled downward, his eyes searching Starsky’s chest. “Ah, ha!” he exclaimed in delighted discovery. “I think I see another something or two.”

Starsky moaned again, louder this time, when Hutch’s lips found his nipple. The bud was already tight with anticipation, and the first wet kiss shot a jolt of electric heat directly into Starsky’s balls. He arched his back and panted wordless approval of Hutch’s strategy.

Hutch’s plan stalled for some of the most pleasurable moments of Starsky’s life. He voiced his appreciation generously, his fingers petting and stroking Hutch’s head as it moved back and forth over his chest. An inquisitive pair of lips probed on the left, then a wicked set of teeth delivered a gentle nip on the right, followed by a soothing lick of a wet tongue. Back and forth, the torment was shared equally, until Hutch’s head suddenly slipped from between Starsky’s fingers. The hot, moist wash of Hutch’s breath against his belly forewarned the next gambit.

“Uh-uh.” Starsky’s grunt of denial was ignored until he reinforced it, winding his fingers in Hutch’s hair and giving a sharp tug. He lifted his head so he could meet Hutch’s puzzled eyes.

“There’s a really good something down here. Don’t you want me to see what I can come up with for it?” Hutch’s lips pouted delicious invitation.

Starsky pressed a finger to that pout, tempted for a moment to just lie back and accept Hutch’s loving. But he didn’t want to be selfish tonight, even if he would give Hutch his turn on the receiving end of Starsky’s undivided attention. Tonight, Starsky wanted them together, every step of the way.

“I know what you can do with that something.” Starsky let satisfied previous experience ooze out of every syllable. “But it’s already up, and I’m not the only Lost Boy around here tonight.” He tugged on Hutch’s hair again, intent on drawing his lover back into his arms. “Come on up here, sweetheart. I’m not interested in finding Neverland without you right now.”

Hutch’s eyes went shiny soft, his fine features melting with emotion as he accepted Starsky’s invitation. The long body slid up until Starsky could wrap his lover in the tight haven of his arms and legs.

“This is the best somethin’ there is, Hutch,” Starsky murmured, beginning the rhythm that would give them passion’s wings. Who needed fairy dust when they had the slick, sweaty slide of cock to cock trapped in the warm nest of their tight-pressed bellies?

Hutch moved over him, the press and strength of his body an aphrodisiac that sang in Starsky’s blood. The rhythm they had learned pounded between them, driving thrusting hips and grasping hands. Hungry lips met, devouring and then parting to gasp a breathless curse, coming together again as climax approached.

It hit Starsky with the force of a cyclone, arching his body and locking his arms around Hutch. The pleasure of climax flooded his brain as his semen pumped from him, but it couldn’t blind his eyes to the beautiful paroxysm of the face above him. Couldn’t deafen his ears to the sound of Hutch’s voice calling his name as that same undeniable clench and drain possessed the man he loved.

Hutch collapsed, his dense, boneless weight crushing Starsky into the bed, and Starsky reveled in it. Despite the sheer effort it took just to pant, he wouldn’t have freed himself if it meant he would smother, die right here while the aftershocks echoed through them both.

It took an eternity for Hutch to gather the strength to lift himself and flop beside Starsky in a satisfied sprawl. But it was still too soon for Starsky. It was always too soon. And if there really was a God somewhere who favored lovers, it always would be.

“So what do you think, Peter? Happy?” Hutch’s voice was a drawl of self-satisfied conceit.

Starsky couldn’t have resisted if his life depended on it. “Oh, yeah, my peter’s very happy.”

Hutch groaned in disgust.

Starsky laughed and rolled to wrap himself around his lover. “One of these days, you’re gonna learn not to give me such a perfect opening.”

***

When Starsky and Hutch arrived at Metro’s cafeteria on Saturday morning, the place looked more like a mob scene than the familiar dispenser of semi-decent coffee and semi-awful food.

All the tables had been folded and the chairs stacked and pushed against the walls, creating as much open space as possible. It seemed to Hutch, as he and Starsky tried to make their way to the check-in table, that every resulting inch of space was taken up by a member of Bay City’s finest.

“Why are there so many guys here?” Hutch asked as he followed Starsky around the edges of the room.

“‘Scuse me. Pardon me,” Starsky said as he squeezed by Hobart from Vice and Harding from Missing Persons. He grabbed Hutch’s arm to keep them together in the crush. “How the hell should I know? It kinda makes you wonder, though, who’s keepin’ the peace on the streets.”

“Yuh.” Hutch’s agreement was more grunt than word as someone from behind gave him a healthy shove and he rammed into Starsky’s back.

“Almost there.” Starsky once again had a firm grip on Hutch’s arm, and the end of the short line in front of Nicholson’s table was within sight. “You know, I don’t think there are that many guys here,” he said, the new advantage point of the front of the room giving a different view of the crowd’s make-up.

“Damn. I didn’t know there were this many single female officers at Metro.” Hutch wondered, however, if Starsky, pre the birth of their new relationship, had been aware of not only the number of single females, but probably all of their vital statistics. Hutch reminded himself that that was in the past.

As if he had read Hutch’s mind, Starsky turned and gave him a toothy grin. “Looks like a few more have come on board when I wasn’t looking.”

“A—” Hutch started to echo before a mighty sneeze caught him. “A-A-choo! Damn.” He searched his pockets for a handkerchief. “It smells like a perfume factory in here.”

“You gonna be okay?” Starsky asked, leaning back to speak softly to Hutch with concern.

“Sure, sure. Let’s just get this over with.” Hutch nudged Starsky forward as Chris Simmons finished his check in and stepped aside.

“Last but not least, huh Starsky, Hutchinson? I was starting to think you two weren’t going to show.” Nicholson handed each of them a consent form.

“You said noon, it’s noon.” Starsky tapped the face of his watch.

“Just sign the forms and hand ’em over,” Nicholson said. “Starsky, we’re gonna put you up first.”

“First? Why me?” Starsky protested, handing over his signed consent.

Hutch looked around frantically, relaxing when he spotted Linda Baylor and she gave him a thumb’s up. He nudged Starsky. “Why not you,” he said, tipping his head slightly in Linda’s direction.

“Yeah, might as well get this over with.” Starsky looked around the room for a moment, then asked, “Where do you want me?”

“Auction block, of course.” Nicholson pointed to a precarious looking piled of file boxes.

Starsky wove his way to the front of the line of auctionees and carefully climbed up onto the improvised auction block. The stack elevated him until he was on display from the knees up.

Looking at his lover up there, skin tight jeans molding his assets and the white shirt setting off his dark good looks, set off all new alarm bells of jealousy ringing through Hutch. The man up there, striking a cocky hands-on-hips pose, was his, but Hutch didn’t have the right to bid for the privilege of acknowledging his love. He had to stand silent and apparently unconcerned as the bidding began.

The first bid of fifty cents from Minnie raised a laugh from the crowd and a little color into Starsky’s cheeks. But when Starsky joined in the laughter, flashing that grin that always left Hutch a little bedazzled, the bidding began in earnest and quickly slid up the scale from amusing to flattering. From his vantage point, Hutch couldn’t make out who belonged to the voices bidding on Starsky. The only thing he did know was that one of those voices wasn’t Linda’s. And he could no longer see her.

“Hell of a time to take a leak,” Hutch muttered under his breath as the bidding finally began to slow down until Nicholson announced, “Going,” on a final bid of seventy-five dollars.

“Going,” Nicholson repeated, raising his gavel and Hutch’s blood pressure.

“G—”

“One hundred dollars!” Linda Baylor finally shouted, weaving her way through the crowd to stand directly below Starsky. She put her hands on her hips and there was a challenging expression on her face. “But only if I get to drive the Tomato.”

The crowd roared. Every officer in the room knew that Hutch, and only Hutch, had ever been allowed behind the wheel of Starsky’s white striped pride and joy.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Nicholson shouted above the din. “Well, what about it, Starsky? You going to give up your keys for a good cause?”

Grinning, Starsky dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Linda.

“Sold!” Nicholson crowed. “To the lady with the fancy new car.”

Weak with relief, Hutch watched as Starsky jumped off the auction block and into Linda’s arms. They hugged for the crowd, then arm in arm, pushed their way to where Hutch waited.

“Do you think you could have cut that a little closer,” Hutch growled into Linda’s ear when the crowd’s attention had turned back to the auction.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt him to sweat a little.” Linda grinned over her shoulder, reminding Hutch of the excuse he had given her. She, of course, had no way of knowing that Starsky hadn’t been the only one sweating. Trying to believe was harder than Hutch had ever thought it could be.

At least, Hutch was sure, when his turn came up on the block, Cheryl Jennings wouldn’t be playing any games. He didn’t know what reason Starsky had given her, but Cheryl just didn’t possess Linda’s devious streak.

“One down and one to go,” Hutch muttered as the gavel came down on Chris Simmons.

***

Hutch was the very last detective to be auctioned, and by the time his turn came, he was more than ready to just get this over with. All of the final auction prices had been decent, though none quite as high as Starsky’s, and a good deal of money had been raised for the widows and orphans. With Starsky matched up with Linda, and his own purchase practically guaranteed, Hutch was just glad to see that the end was in sight.

It was still a little daunting to climb up on that block and face the crowd, and he wondered how Starsky had had the nerve to look so damned confident when he had had to go first. His speculation was cut short when Nicholson started the bidding.

“According to a few of the ladies I talked to around here this week, I saved the best for last,” Nicholson joked. “So, let’s hear it, ladies. Last chance.”

The first bidder made it clear she wasn’t fooling around when she shouted. “Fifty dollars,” as soon as Nicholson finished his spiel.

Several voices topped the bid, and then several voices topped again, bringing a flush to Hutch’s face.

“Ladies, please, one at a time. Now where were we?”

“Seventy-five,” shouted a pretty redhead. Hutch recognized her as a clerk from records.

Before he had a chance to wonder where she might come up with that kind of disposable income, several more voices had topped her. Frantically, Hutch searched for Cheryl in the crowd. When he found her, his heart sank. Clearly, Cheryl was out of her league, opening her mouth to bid, but unable to make her voice carry over the more aggressive bidders.

Hutch searched for Starsky in the sea of faces below him and saw that he had already seen the problem and was trying to make his way through the crowd to Cheryl. But it was slow going and Hutch knew his lover wasn’t going to make it in time. The bidding was already up to eighty dollars, and most of the voices had dropped out. The crowd had gone silent as well as the number rose and it become clear the competition had come down to two very determined women.

“Eighty-five,” called the clerk from records.

“One hundred.” The voice of the second bidder came from the back of the room. A clear, calm, determined voice, the owner of which, even from his vantage point on the block, Hutch couldn’t see. All he knew was that voice definitely didn’t belong to Cheryl.

“One hundred and ten.” The clerk was still bidding, but she suddenly sounded a lot less sure of herself.

Starsky had reached Cheryl now, and Hutch could see that he was talking fast. With relief, Hutch saw Cheryl open her mouth, but before she could speak, that voice from the back rang out again.

“Two hundred.”

A stunned silence fell over the room before Nicholson finally collected himself and intoned, “Going. Going.” He smashed the gavel down on the table. “Sold! Sold for two hundred dollars to—”

Nicholson stretched up on his toes, head swiveling.

Finally the crowd parted like the waves before Moses and a woman walked calmly through it. A tall, blonde, gorgeous woman. A few months ago, Hutch had to admit, she was exactly the type of woman who would have set his romance radar pinging.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, his eyes looking for Starsky, finding his stunned partner standing beside a distraught Cheryl. Starsky’s blue eyes were, along with almost every other pair in the room, fixed on the woman who had just bought his lover. The stunned expression didn’t last long, the handsome features settling into the hard set lines that Hutch knew meant Starsky was exerting every ounce of control he possessed not to lose his temper.

Belatedly, Hutch realized that the winning bidder had reached the auction block and was waiting for him. Hutch climbed down to reluctantly meet his buyer, nearly tripping on the bottom box.

“Detective Hutchinson,” the woman greeted Hutch in a pleasantly husky voice. “My name is Yvette LeClerk.”

“Uhm, pleased to meet you, Miss LeClerk. Did you…? Uhm… Is there something…?” Hutch shut his mouth, hoping that if he gave it a moment or two, his brain might slip out of shock and give him something to say to this gorgeous woman who Hutch wished would just disappear into thin air.

“Since we’ve never met, I thought you might like a suggestion or two,” Yvette said, handing over a piece of paper. “My address is there. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“Uhm, yes. Seven is fine.”

“I’m looking forward to a lovely evening,” Yvette said and left.

The crowd was thinning out now, dispersing back to duty or to prepare for dates. Hutch could see Starsky waiting for him near the cafeteria doors, that shut down expression still on his face.

“Damn. Damn. Damn.” Hutch shoved the paper Yvette had given him into his pocket and hurried to meet his fate.

***

Starsky was pissed. Royally, blindingly, frustratingly furious and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. His heart had dropped into his sneakers when Hutch’s purchaser had sashayed up to the block to claim her prize. He was trying desperately to hold on to what Hutch had said the night before, to keep the cap screwed down tight on his temper, but by the time they reached Hutch’s place, the threads were stripping.

Starsky bounded up the stairs ahead of Hutch and let himself in, beelining straight for the icebox, and helping himself to a beer. He slammed the door, then opened it again, and grabbed a second can before slamming the door again.

“Wanna beer?” Starsky asked as Hutch stepped through the open doorway. He lobbed the can in Hutch’s general direction, popped the tab on his own, and poured half the cold brew down his throat. Feeling as if the walls of the place were creeping up on him, he began prowling.

Hutch sat down on the couch and set his unopened can on the table. “What happened to Cheryl? Did you give her a limit?” His voice was calm and reasonable and pitched a little lower than his usual speaking voice. It was the tone he often used to coax Starsky into seeing reason whether he wanted to or not.

Starsky didn’t want to see reason, but it wasn’t for nothing Hutch had developed that particular tone in the first place. It worked almost every time, and Starsky knew this wasn’t going to be one of the rare exceptions. The voice, the calm expression on Hutch’s face, even the way he was sitting on the couch, appearing relaxed and yet alert. They were all forcing Starsky to step back from his emotions. A little.

Not quite ready to be gentled completely, Starsky threw himself into the chair instead of on the cushion beside Hutch and glared at his lover. “Yeah, I gave her a limit. I told her the fucking sky was the limit.”

“You did?” A very pleased grin spread over Hutch’s face, cracking up the neutral calm.

“What are you grinning about? What good did it do? Every time Cheryl opened her mouth, that, that…” Starsky paused, trying to think of something besides the obvious “bitch” to describe his adversary. “That barracuda trumped her. Who the hell is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“But I guess you’re going to find out tonight.” Starsky sank back further into the chair, propping the beer can on his stomach and glaring at it. He was feeling surly, probably looked like a pouting five-year-old, but he felt so damned threatened.

“You’re jealous.” Hutch finally stuck a name tag on the elephant in the room.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The denial was automatic, out of Starsky’s mouth without making a pit stop at his brain. If anything was ridiculous, it was the denial, and they both knew it.

Hutch moved from the couch to the coffee table, confiscated Starsky’s beer, and took both of Starsky’s hands in his. “What happened to Peter Pan?”

“Maybe he grew up.” Starsky wanted to snatch his hands away, but couldn’t resist the connection. Hutch’s fingers entwining with his warmed more than his cold fingers, they reached into the icy, horrified place that had opened in his heart when he had seen the beautiful woman who now had a legitimate claim on Hutch’s time and attention. A claim that could be flaunted, made public, not hidden behind closed doors in stolen moments.

“Nothing’s changed from last night, Starsk. You’re still the person I’m in love with. Still the only one I want to be with.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t think she’s beautiful? ‘Cause, buster, I’m not—”

“Of course not. She’s beautiful.”

“And just your type.” Starsky tried to yank his hands away, but Hutch wouldn’t let go, pulling until Starsky had to sit upright in the chair, bringing them closer.

“At one time, yes, she was just my type.” Hutch made the admission looking straight into Starsky’s eyes and holding tight. “But you’re my type now. My only type. I love you, Starsky, and nothing and no one is going to change that.”

Starsky didn’t want to escape anymore. Not when Hutch leaned across the small space that separated them and claimed his mouth in a kiss that could leave no doubt, not even a nanoparticle, that he was loved. Somewhere between the first touch of Hutch’s lips and the last nibbling caress moments later, Starsky’s fury burnt itself out.

“Okay now?” Hutch asked, his voice satisfyingly husky.

“Maybe,” Starsky drawled, content that his wasn’t the only head in the room that was spinning.

“What else can I do to convince you?” Hutch asked with a sexy smile, his arms sliding around Starsky’s waist.

Starsky completed the embrace, resting his arms on Hutch’s shoulders, letting his fingers get lost in the smooth silk at the back of Hutch’s head. He was feeling better, his feet back on the secure footing of their love, and now he could tease. “Well, you could tell me you aren’t going to shower, or brush your teeth, or wear your good suit. And that you’ll eat a whole bunch of onions at dinner.”

“And garlic, too,” Hutch promised solemnly. “Anything else?”

“Well,” Starsky drawled again, abandoning his grip on Hutch’s hair for one on his jacket, smiling suggestively as he began pushing the material off Hutch’s shoulders. “What’s that?” he questioned the sharp crackle of paper.

“It’s a note Yvette gave me. It’s what she wants to do tonight, I guess.” The reluctance of Hutch’s explanation was forewarning enough.

Nevertheless, Starsky held out his hand. “Hand it over.” He accepted the crumpled piece of note paper, his euphoria fading and anxiety returning as he read the neat list. “Dinner at Antonio’s. The Pirates of Penzance at the opera house. A quiet….”

Starsky stopped reading, dropping the paper into Hutch’s lap as he rose and stepped around his lover. “Guess I better get outta here and let you make some reservations.”

“Starsk.”

His own name followed him out the door, but Starsky ignored the plea in his lover’s voice. The barracuda was beautiful and wanted to do all the things Hutch loved to do. He knew he should go back and fight for what was his, but he couldn’t stand to make an even bigger fool of himself. He recognized that he was fighting out of his weight, and all he could do now was try his damnedest to put his faith in Hutch.

***

“I’m not after your body.”

Hutch was fairly certain he managed to keep his mouth from dropping, but guessed that was the only surprised reaction he controlled when Yvette laughed nervously and gestured him into the apartment.

“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Yvette said after she closed the door behind Hutch. “But I thought it would be better to just be up front about that.”

“Well, that was certainly up front.” Hutch let his attention wander past the tall, slim body in the long black gown to the tastefully decorated apartment behind her.

“Sorry. Greg is always telling me I’m as subtle as a swarm of locusts.” Yvette once again signaled silently, this time inviting Hutch to precede her into the living room.

Hutch held his ground, nodding toward the framed photograph displayed prominently on the coffee table. “Greg?” he asked, the nervous tension that had been tying his stomach up in knots easing as he caught a clue.

“Yes, my fiancé, Greg Coburn.”

“Fiancé? If you’re engaged, why did you bid on me?” Hutch asked, intrigued now that he no longer had to be nervous. “Wait. I made reservations at Antonio’s for 7:30, and if we’re late, we’ll lose our table. Besides,” He flashed a grin. “I have the feeling this is going to make interesting dinner conversation.”

“I’ll get my wrap.”

***

“What’s up, Starsky? Is your sour cream sour?”

With an effort, Starsky dragged his mind back to his favorite Mexican restaurant and his dinner companion. “What? Sorry. I was thinking.”

“I could smell the wood burning from here. I said, is there something wrong with your food?” Linda asked, pushing away her own empty plate. “My enchilada was great.”

“No, no. The food’s fine.” Starsky loaded up his fork but let it drop back to his plate without even attempting to bring it to his mouth. His knotted belly wasn’t too happy with the spicy food he had managed to swallow so far, no way did he need to add more fuel to the fire. “I guess I’m just not hungry.”

Linda’s expression became exaggeratedly alarmed as she reached across the table, her hand aiming for Starsky’s forehead. “Not hungry! Are you sick or something?”

Starsky fended her off with a forced laugh and a flying tortilla. “No, I’m not sick. A guy can be not hungry once in a while, you know.”

Linda sat back in her chair, but her knowing expression wasn’t letting Starsky off the hook so easily. “Don’t try to kid a kidder, Starsky. It’s not like you to be so closed mouthed. What’s up?”

Starsky wished he could tell her. Linda was a good friend, to both him and Hutch, but they had agreed at the beginning of their new relationship that the fewer people who knew, the more chance they had of keeping their secret safe. But what if, after tonight, there was no secret to protect? What if…?

“What if…?” Starsky murmured, picking up his fork again and using it to stir the multiple “what ifs” plaguing him into his uneaten dinner.

“What if what?” Linda leaned forward in her chair, her attention apparently riveted by the mess Starsky was making on his plate.

Staring at the top of her head instead of into the eyes that knew and yet didn’t made Starsky’s decision easier. He and Linda had played the “what if” game before, and the previous history gave him a little safety now. She could know, she could guess, but Starsky could hide behind the endless possibilities of the game.

“What if, hypothetically speaking, you wanted to go out with somebody? Like the auction today. Say you got out bid on someone you really wanted. Out bid by someone you know the someone you wanted might be attracted to.” This was getting a little convoluted, and Linda was losing interest in the plate, her head starting to lift. Before he had to look into those knowing eyes, Starsky cut to the chase. “What would you do? Hypothetically speaking.”

Linda considered for a moment, her lips pursed and her eyes boring into Starsky, then she shrugged. “I’d probably tail ’em.”

“You would?” Starsky asked in surprise, just as if he hadn’t been thinking exactly the same thought from his first glimpse of the barracuda.

“Hell, yeah. In a New York minute. If I had any idea where to start.”

Starsky knew where to start. He hadn’t looked at the barracuda’s note for long, but long enough for him to know the suggestions she had made, and he knew Hutch well enough to know which ones he would choose. Starsky looked at his watch. “You wanna go to the opera?”

***

“So, long story short, I’m in love but lonely waiting for Greg’s transfer down here to come through and thought the auction would give me a chance to get out for an evening and help a good cause at the same time.”

Hutch patted his mouth with his napkin, picked up his wine glass and leaned back in his chair. “So why me? We’ve never met before, have we?”

“No, but when I decided to do this, I talked to some of the other women in the department and they all said you were a gentleman and that your interests were a little more… Well, they just led me to believe you wouldn’t fall asleep at the opera.”

Combined with Nicholson’s comment that people had been wondering about him and Starsky, this new designation of “safe” could be worrisome. Hutch wasn’t interested in anyone but Starsky, but if they wanted to keep their secret….

“Ken? Did you want dessert?”

“What? Oh, sorry. No dessert for me,” Hutch said to the waiter who had joined them while Hutch was deep in thought. He looked at his watch. “But there’s time before the opera if you’d like one,” he offered Yvette. “Just coffee,” he ordered when his companion shook her head.

“I think I’ll take the opportunity to powder my nose.”

Hutch sank back to his seat, watching Yvette weave her way through the tables, amazed that he could feel admiration for her beauty but absolutely no trace of desire. Amazed that, in only a few short months, the hard wiring of his adult sexuality seemed to have been so completely short circuited. No one engaged his emotions the way Starsky did, and no one else aroused him.

Starsky. Who was sitting home alone. Worrying.

“Waiter,” Hutch said, intending to ask for a telephone. It wouldn’t take more than a few sentences to put Starsky’s mind at ease. Then Hutch remembered that Starsky was also out on a date. Starsky was just going to have to wait for his reassurances.

“Yes, sir.”

“Never mind,” Hutch said, rising as Yvette returned to the table. “Are you sure you don’t want dessert?”

***

“You were right, this is a beautiful spot, Ken. And the perfect way to end the evening. Thank you.”

Hutch let his gaze wander from the star-lit expanse of ocean framed by the windshield of his car to the woman beside him. “You’re welcome. I hope you feel you got your money’s worth.”

“More than.” Yvette’s white teeth flashed in the darkness. “If I weren’t already engaged, I just might consider putting the moves on you.”

“That’s very flattering.” Which was true. Hutch could feel his cheeks warming a little at the compliment. But it was an inconvenient truth nonetheless.

“You’ve been a complete gentleman, and I appreciate it, but…” Yvette paused, her head dropping to, apparently, study her hands and Hutch saw the sparkle of the diamond in her engagement ring as she twisted it.

“But what?”

“If I hadn’t told you about Greg right away, would you…? I mean, do you think I’m attractive?”

“Does it matter?” Hutch asked gently, wondering if Yvette was having doubts or if it was just a case of too much time and distance.

“I’m married, not dead,” Yvette quipped. “Okay, almost married. So, yes, I guess it does still matter to me whether a handsome man would find me attractive.”

“Rest assured, pretty lady, I find you very attractive.” Hutch gave her the God’s honest truth, then followed it up with a little ego boosting white lie. “And if it wasn’t for that ring on your finger….”

“This one?” Yvette asked, slipping the engagement ring off her finger and holding it up between them. “What would you say if I just accidentally…temporarily dropped it?”

Truth or dare. Or a little of both. “I’d say…” Hutch said, leaning across the seat, closing in on Yvette’s expectant, upturned face. Expectant and reluctant and trying to figure out how to get out of the trap she had sprung on herself, if Hutch was any judge of women. He leaned in a little closer, reached across her and popped the glove box door. “I’d say we should be able to find it in a flash,” he teased as he settled back behind the wheel and held up a flashlight between them.

Yvette laughed, slipped her ring back on her finger, then grabbed the flashlight and shoved it back into the glove box. “Serves me right for asking.”

“Yes, it does.” Hutch put his hand on the key already in the ignition. “Time to say good night?”

“Yes, Gentleman Ken, I guess it is.”

Hutch turned the key in the ignition and the LTD coughed to life with its usual reluctance. Beneath the rattle, clank and wheeze or his car’s engine, however, Hutch was almost certain he heard the familiar growl of the Torino.

He flipped on the headlights and looked around, but there was nothing to see. It was just his imagination working overtime as it had been all evening. First when he thought he had caught a glimpse of the Torino as he and Yvette left the restaurant, and again when, just before the lights went down at the opera, he had been certain he had seen the back of Starsky’s curly head. Imagination, or maybe a guilty conscience because, despite all his reservations, Hutch had enjoyed the evening.

“Is something wrong, Ken?”

“Not a thing. Except, of course, I forgot to tell you I had a really good time tonight, too.”

Nonetheless, Hutch was glad it was almost over. He put the car into gear.

***

Starsky’s conscience was bothering him. In fact, it was giving him worse heartburn than his half-eaten Mexican dinner. He had dropped Linda off and headed for Hutch’s, but changed his mind as he came to Ocean Boulevard. The same “what if” mental gymnastics that had allowed him to justify spying on his lover had now switch sides on him.

What if Hutch brings her home? What if all that cool, blonde beauty was just too much to resist? What if Hutch had finally come to his senses and remembered what he had been missing all these months?

What if? What if?

“Damn. Why’d I ever think of that stupid game?”

Whatever the what if might turn out to be, Starsky didn’t want to see it. He drove right by Ocean Boulevard and straight home.

Starsky had his plan of action laid out by the time he let himself into his apartment. A nice long shower, a warm glass of milk, and a good night’s sleep because tomorrow, he and Hutch were supposed to be spending the day at the beach.

“Yeah. You’re gonna have a great night’s sleep in that big bed all by your lonesome.”

The bed seemed unperturbed by either Starsky’s growling or his glaring, so he turned his back on it. Letting his clothes lay wherever they landed, Starsky stripped on his way to the shower, determined to wash away guilt, suspicion, jealousy and hurt in a few steaming gallons of hot water.

He stayed under the spray until the water ran cold, but the emotions were still clinging to him, sliding down his skin and dripping from his hair, when he stepped out of the shower and groped for a towel. Hurriedly, he scrubbed at his hair and skin, anxious to give the warm milk its chance at success.

Starsky was fumbling with the tie on his robe as he left the bedroom at the exact same moment his front door opened and Hutch stepped in.

“Hi.” Hutch’s smile of greeting grew warmer as his eyes ran down the gaping front of Starsky’s robe.

“Uh. Hi.” The response was automatic, surprise having knocked Starsky’s brain into neutral. Also on autopilot, his hands continued to fumble with the robe’s belt.

“Don’t worry about that on my account,” Hutch said as he crossed the room and took Starsky into his arms. He gave his lover a brief kiss, then buried his nose in the wet curls. “Mmmm. You smell nice.”

“Uhm, so do you.” Starsky’s brain was beginning to fire again, but slowly, a tide of swelling relief suddenly crashed up against a solid cliff of guilt. “Guess you didn’t have onions and garlic for dinner after all, huh?”

Starsky tried to pull away, but Hutch wasn’t cooperating. Somehow, the big hands had laid claim to the belt of Starsky’s robe and Hutch was methodically looping the ends around both hands, drawing Starsky closer and closer.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous.” Hutch had taken up all the slack in the belt and now rested both hands on Starsky’s hips. “It isn’t even midnight yet, and here I am. I told you, you had nothing to worry about.”

Starsky felt like a heel. Not to mention a fool. And while he was at it, he might as well throw in idiot just to round things out. How the hell could he tell Hutch he had followed him? Because jealousy, foolhardiness, and idiocy aside, the bottom line was, Starsky hadn’t trusted Hutch.

“Starsky, what’s wrong?” Hutch shook his hands loose from the belt and laid them on Starsky’s shoulders. “Come on, babe. You can tell me.” He gave the tense muscles under his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Lemme go,” Starsky asked softly, unable to bear the concern on Hutch’s face and the gentleness of his touch. He didn’t deserve either, not until he came clean.

Hutch hesitated a moment and then obeyed, standing uncertainly as Starsky retreated back into the bedroom.

“Whatever’s bothering you—”

“Just shut up for a minute, will you, Hutch?” Starsky requested. “I feel bad enough already.” Finding his jacket on the floor, Starsky rummaged through the pockets until he found what he was looking for. He might not have the guts to tell Hutch what he had done, but he could show him.

Slowly, Starsky returned to Hutch and held out his opera tickets, waited for the puzzlement to give way to comprehension, and for the justifiable fury to wipe the tender concern off Hutch’s face.

“You were there. You followed me. You don’t trust me. How could you?” Hutch didn’t look or sound particularly angry, but Starsky knew that didn’t mean a damn thing. Hutch in a righteous fury could bellow the house down, but he could also cut you to ribbons with the sharp side of a very quiet tongue.

Despite that Hutch knowledge, and despite the guilt, remorse, and regret that were very real, it just wasn’t in Starsky’s nature to remain mute and defenceless, no matter how well deserved the reprimand. “It’s all right for you. You knew I was out with Linda. But you—”

“But me what?”

“But you,” Starsky said, his voice dropping as realization, as it had a habit to do, suddenly smacked him right between the eyes. “But you,” he repeated softly, his eyes searching Hutch’s face for understanding as he offered up his revelation. “Yvette’s the first woman you’ve been out with since Diana. I shoulda figured out sooner what was stuck in my throat about this, but like Huggy says, sometimes love can be so fucking stupid.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Hutch held out his arms. “Com’ere you idiot.”

Obediently, Starsky sank into Hutch’s outstretched arms. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Obviously, the timing of this stupid auction stunk. Maybe, if we’d had this…” Hutch hugged hard to emphasize his point. “…a little longer, we’d have felt more secure.”

“Don’t think so, Hutch. Don’t think I could ever see you with some beautiful woman on your arm and not be jealous,” Starsky confessed, holding onto Hutch tighter. He was ashamed of this weakness but certain that no matter how much time passed, he was never going to lose the green-eyed monster when it came to Hutch.

“Don’t apologize. If you hadn’t been out with Linda, I’d have been jealous, too,” Hutch admitted.

“But you wouldn’t have followed me.”

“Maybe. But if I did, I would have done a better job of it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I saw you at the opera. And I saw the Torino outside the restaurant. And I heard the engine up at the scenic lookout. If you’re gonna follow a guy, you should at least rent a different car.”

Starsky pushed away, temper flaring. “So you knew all along I followed you. You were just making me squirm. Why you… Ooof.” Starsky’s tirade ended abruptly as Hutch pulled him back into his arms and kissed him soundly.

“I thought it was my own guilty conscience making me see you everywhere I went tonight.”

“What did you have to feel guilty…?” Starsky pressed his fingers to Hutch’s lips. “Never mind. I don’t want to know,” he insisted, but moved his hand away when Hutch shook his head.

“I felt guilty because I was having a lovely evening, but I couldn’t have it with the person I love.”

“Aw, Hutch, I love you, too.”

The kiss that followed was tender and loving, leaving Starsky with no doubts just who the preferred person would have been if Hutch had had his choice. Maybe, until the time came when Starsky could be the one Hutch openly squired around town, that knowledge would be enough to keep the jealousy at bay.

“I just hope Nicholson doesn’t come up with any more brilliant ideas like that damned auction,” Hutch said when Starsky finally gave him his lips back.

“What if,” Starsky began, paused to wonder if he really wanted to play that game again tonight, then decided he did. “What if you could bid on me, how much would you bid?”

“How about,” Hutch said, a multitude of possibilities appearing on and disappearing from his face as he considered. “How about,” he repeated as his face suddenly lit up. “The rest of my life.”

“Going once,” Starsky intoned, tapping Hutch’s shoulder with an imaginary gavel.

“How about the rest of your life,” Hutch obligingly upped the bid.

“Going twice,” Starsky said with a second tap, this one to Hutch’s lips.

“How about the rest of our lives,” Hutch went all in.

“Sold!” Starsky exclaimed, his hand sliding into Hutch’s hair and bringing their lips almost close enough to touch. “To the love of my life.” And then he sealed the deal with a kiss.

 

THE END