Grapevine

963

Sometimes, rumors can be true.

 

This was the very first Starsky and Hutch story I wrote, a few years ago and I’m just adding it now. It needs a home. It’s humor but with an edge. Rated R for language and some minor Hutch molesting.

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“I’m almost done, quit yer bitchin.” Starsky stuck the chewed on pencil behind his ear and kept painstakingly pecking out the report with two forefingers.

“You should have let me finish it, then we’d be home by now.” Ken Hutchinson shifted against the edge of the desk he was leaning on.

“I told ya, I’m almost done, and if you’d quit interruptin’ me, I’d get it done.”

“So, this is all MY fault.” Hutch rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

“Yeah, all your fault.” Starsky grinned impishly sticking out his tongue. A 35 year-old man was instantly changed into a naughty 8 year- old.

Hutch smiled. He never got tired of that.

Two homicide detectives, Miller and Waddell, walked by at that moment. Waddell, an older balding guy with a sadly obvious comb-over and a middleweight’s build sniggered loudly and said something under his breath to Miller, his younger partner, a baby-faced guy with Elvis sideburns and a light blue polyester suit that made Hutch itch just looking at it.

“Somebody pull your chain?” Starsky raised an eyebrow as he stared challengingly at the older man, typing momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, don’t be so touchy.” Miller said, elbowing Waddell.

“Yeah, touchy.” Waddel echoed, and sniggered again. The two men left the squad room, heads together, talking quietly. Waddell looked over his shoulder at Starsky and sniggered again.

Dave Starsky stared after the two men a moment, then shrugged, resuming his slow hunt and peck at the keyboard.

“Wonder what crawled up Waddell’s ass?” he wondered aloud.

Hutch shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. “Beats me. Get done, partner, we’re running late. Contrary to rumors, we don’t live here.”

Starsky grinned absently and typed the last few words with increased speed, whipping out the finished report and it’s required two copies with a flourish.

“Ta da!” he announced, flinging the papers carelessly into the “out” basket on his desk.

“I’m done and ready for fun.” He shoved back the chair and bounced up onto his feet.

“Just need to hit the little boy’s room before we dash.”

“Yeah, me too. Too much coffee.” Hutch trailed behind as Starsky grabbed his windbreaker on the way out.

Walking into the men’s room adjoining the locker room first, Starsky planted a hand into Hutch’s chest as he suddenly stopped, to keep Hutch from treading his heels. Waddell and Miller’s voiced echoed loudly in the large room.

“Geez, are they obvious or what?” Waddell’s voice came from behind a row of lockers.

“Yeah, can’t keep their hands off each other.” Miller’s higher voice carried almost as loudly. “I thought you were kiddin me about that, but geez, I don’t think I’ve grabbed my wife that much in a month.”

“Bicker like a goddamn married couple, don’t they?” Waddell’s sniggering laugh came back.

“Starsk, let’s go.” Hutch grabbed Starsky’s arm and pulled him towards the door, whispering.

It was nothing they hadn’t heard before. Hutch was tired and not really in a mood to laugh it off or challenge the way they normally did.

“Let it go, I want to get home. Long day.” Hutch whispered into the ear in front of him.

Starsky looked like he might argue for a moment; jaw tightening, but then relented, allowing Hutch to steer him back through the door.

They used the public restroom in the lobby.

Starsky was uncharacteristically quiet as he drove, avoiding most of the late afternoon city crush, maneuvering the Torino through the openings in traffic effortlessly.

Hutch said nothing, but kept looking over at the tight face, knowing that all hell would break out soon, biding his time.

Finally:

“Asshole Elvis wannbe.” Starsky muttered under his breath.

“Yep.” Hutch replied agreeably.

“I hate his cheap ass suit, too.”

Hutch snorted. “Yeah.” He smothered a laugh.

“What the fuck is up with Waddell’s hair, anyway?” Starsky shuddered.

Hutch chuckled. “I have no idea.” He reached over and gently ruffled Starsky’s own abundant curly hair, tugging on a long bit at the nape of his neck.

Starsky grinned triumphantly. “Yep, you’re right, jealous.” He shook his head like a model in a shampoo commercial and posed.

Hutch laughed out loud then. “Must be it.”

“Let’s face it, we’re too pretty.” Starsky slid one hand off the wheel and rested it lightly on Hutch’s thigh. “Bound to make someone jealous.”

“True.” Hutch nodded, rubbing the back of the hand on his thigh in a slow circle with his thumb. The pulled up in front of Starsky’s apartment.

“Hey Hutch.”

“Mmm?” Hutch was preoccupied with the small circles he was still making on Starsky’s hand.

“Coming up?”

“Definitely.” The circles stopped and they looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“Wanna see my etchings?” Starsky asked, leaning his head momentarily against Hutch’s shoulder, looking up through impossibly long lashes.

“I’ve seen your etchings.” Hutch grinned, and slid his hand up the faded denim to brush lightly against Starsky’s imprisoned groin.

“Wanna see `em again?” Starsky leered, batting his eyes.

“Never get tired of seeing those etchings, babe.” Hutch whispered, rubbing his face on Starsky’s shoulder like a big cat.

Starsky ran his fingers through blond silk. “I never get tired of you lookin’ at em.”

“Upstairs? Shower? Bed?”

“Yeah. S’good.”

Fin