Icarus Landing

405

Months after recovering from Gunther’s assassination attempt,  Starsky discovers he’s fallen in love.

 

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

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It was amazing the effect three pieces of metal no longer than your thumbnail could have on your entire life. Starsky reflected on that as he stood in the station’s shower room rubbing a towel over the so-called healed surgery scars.

Well, he supposed they were healed. It had been months since the drains had been removed, months since the flesh had closed over the suture and bullet wounds, months since the scabs had finally fallen off. He was back on the streets, back in the swing of things, doing his best to pick up his life and move on as if the last eight months hadn’t happened. Most of the time, he was damn good at pretending.

But every now and then, reality would catch up with him. He’d do something stupid like he’d just done—something he never would have had to think about or fear in the old days, like bending sideways to grab a towel off the rack—and the muscles around his ribs and shoulder would choke up in an agonizing, charlie-horse-intense cramp. The doctor had called it adhesions. Fancy word for scar tissue. Didn’t sound like much, either way you said it, but it sure felt like hell.

Starsky took a deep breath and waited for his muscles to unclench. He made a conscious effort to relax his face, just in case. Hutch was waiting for him a few feet away in the locker room. The last thing he needed was for Hutch to see him like this. The doc had said he’d have some problems; he could cope with a cramp without panicking Hutch. He was having enough trouble cutting the umbilical cord.

The pain finally let up enough for him to see straight. Starsky quickly finished drying off, wrapped the damp towel around his waist, and walked out into the locker room.

The place was empty except for his partner.

Hutch was bent over with one foot up on the bench in front of his open locker, tying his shoe. He was wearing a pair of baggy brown pants and an old green faded t-shirt. Normally, the pants looked like Salvation Army rejects, but when he was bent over like that, they hugged the curve of his butt as well as the jeans he rarely wore these days.

Once again, Starsky was struck by the infatuation that light seemed to have with his partner. The normally boring fluorescents were sparking off the hair veiling Hutch’s cheek like it was molten gold.

Something clenched up inside Starsky. He held still, praying the charlie horse wasn’t coming back.

Hutch must have caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, for he gave a visible start. “Hey, I didn’t see you standing there. You okay?”

Was he okay?

Hutch asked that question about a dozen times a day. Normally, Starsky gave a sharp-tempered response to it, but since he really didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him now, he gave a slow nod. His eyes were stuck on that shimmering gold like he’d never seen it before.

“Well, I’m gonna head on home, partner,” Hutch said, finishing up with his other shoe.

Shaking himself out of the weird mood, Starsky forced some animation into his voice and asked, “You sure you don’t want to come to that party Sheila was talking about?”

“Sheila?” Hutch repeated, the blankness unfeigned.

“The drop-dead gorgeous redhead we met at Huggy’s at lunch this afternoon. How can you not remember her? She was drooling all over you.”

Hutch shrugged, a charming tinge of pink flushing his cheeks. “Guess I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Maybe I should be asking you if you’re okay,” Starsky joked. “You mad at me?”

“What?”

The surprise in those crystal blue depths told Starsky that he’d guessed wrong.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Hutch asked.

“This is the third time in a row you haven’t wanted to come out with me after work.”

“You keeping score?”

“Looks like,” Starsky answered, before giving a sheepish shrug. “You’ve been pretty quiet lately.”

“So, quiet means mad at you?”

“I thought I might be getting on your nerves.”

“Six months of living with you have guaranteed that I don’t have any nerves left to get on, partner,” Hutch replied with a smile, reaching for his baseball jacket. There wasn’t anything except open affection and surprise in those handsome features.

“Then you’ll come to Sheila’s with me?”

Hutch gave a slow shake of his head. Starsky’s eyes kept flickering back to the resulting ripple in the gold highlights in Hutch’s hair. It was distracting.

“You got a date?” Starsky questioned, that being the only reason Hutch usually refused to accompany him out.

“No, I just…” Hutch seemed to stop himself abruptly.

“You just what?” Starsky tried to understand. His partner just wasn’t the kind to sit home alone on a Friday night. He didn’t even own a TV set.

“Look, I know you’re making up for lost time,” Hutch said. “You’ve been through hell and you deserve to go out and have fun. I’m just…not in the mood.”

“You don’t like fun no more?” Starsky asked, completely at a loss.

To his relief, Hutch laughed at the ridiculous question. “Of course I like fun. It’s just….”

“What?”

“Do you remember that disco we were at a couple of weeks ago?” Hutch sounded like the question was the answer.

Starsky wracked his mind. The club had been the same as any club they’d hit in the last five or six years. Nothing unusual had happened that night. Hutch hadn’t danced much, but, then, Hutch usually looked like a mating ostrich on the disco floor, so he tended to avoid dancing. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Did you happen to notice what age most of the other people at that place were?”

Starsky thought back to the scrumptious brunette in the red satin hot pants and platform shoes he’d spent half the night dancing with. She’d said she was twenty-three. Young, but definitely legal. Now that Hutch mentioned it, he realized that the majority of the other patrons had been a good ten years younger than Hutch and him. “There were plenty of people there our age.”

“No, Starsk, there weren’t. I was watching the crowd a lot more than you were. Most of them weren’t anywhere near our age.”

“So, they were legal. What difference does it make? What’s wrong with dating someone a few years younger?”

Hutch nodded. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I just…. Did you ever try to have a conversation with them?”

Starsky grinned. “People don’t go to that kinda place for conversation, Hutch.”

Starsky expected a similar reaction to his ribald comment, but Hutch’s face turned oddly serious. “No, I don’t suppose they do.”

“And there’s somethin’ wrong with that?”

Hutch was beginning to look a little frazzled, maybe even cornered. “No, of course, there’s not. Look, it’s me, okay? I guess I’m going through some stuff and….”

“What kind of stuff?” Starsky asked.

Hutch’s normally rock-steady gaze shied away from him to nervously scope out the locker room. “We’ve both had a stressful year, buddy. You need to have fun to make up for all the life you missed out on while recovering.”

“You missed out on it, too,” Starsky reminded him. There wasn’t a day that went by after he was let out of the hospital that Hutch didn’t spend all his off-duty time looking after him.

“No, I didn’t.” Hutch’s voice was soft, but firm.

“Didn’t what?”

“Miss out on anything. I was exactly where I wanted to be. Look, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not mad at anyone or upset about anything. I just …don’t feel like loud noise and strangers right now. Okay? You go out and have fun at Sheila’s.”

Totally derailed by Hutch’s matter-of-fact avowal, Starsky asked, “What are you gonna do tonight?”

“I’m gonna finish the book I fell asleep reading last night and repot some plants.”

“You want some company?” Starsky was surprised to hear himself ask.

Something like temptation flashed across Hutch’s face before he gave a small smile and said, “You go have fun with Sheila. Call me tomorrow and we’ll hit Huggy’s for lunch.”

Before Starsky could respond, Hutch gave his arm a fast squeeze and headed out the locker room door.

Starsky moved to follow him, stopping dead in his tracks as he realized he was still clad only in the towel. Shaking his head, he turned to his locker to get dressed.

 

 

Twenty minutes into the party, Starsky knew he’d made a mistake coming here. Blondie’s Heart of Glass was pounding so loud through the overcrowded apartment that his teeth were pulsing in rhythm to the music. There were so many bodies packed into the claustrophobically small living room that he couldn’t even get to the drinks table. He’d been to at least a dozen clubs since the doc had given him the all clear, and they were always super loud, but the noise in this tiny place felt like an assault on his healing system. Add to that the sweet, scented smoke filling the room, and it made for a pretty miserable experience.

Starsky remembered a Star Trek episode where the ship had visited a planet so overpopulated that its inhabitants had stood shoulder to shoulder all their lives. This room felt like that. People were gyrating in place to the music, while others just stood there shouting conversation at each other over the blaring noise.

Starsky knew no one in his immediate vicinity, and so many people had come in behind him that he couldn’t really reach the door easily. This was a Fire Marshall’s nightmare.

Beyond the overcrowding, he was ticked off as hell.

Being a cop could be a pain in the ass sometimes. You always smelled a little grass outside of discos, but most people were smart enough to be discreet about toking in public. But private parties were a different matter entirely—which was probably why his partner had been smart enough to beg off tonight’s festivities.

Although the crowd was too thick to see anyone beside the ten people packed into the three feet immediately surrounding him, when he looked over the black woman in the yellow paisley shirt’s shoulder, he could see a group over by the eight-track player that were passing a joint around. He felt like busting their asses for terminal stupidity. But… he was a guest here. If he busted them, he was gonna have to haul Sheila in too, for hosting them.

Finally, Sheila bopped her way back over to him. If they ever put out a casting call for the comic strip character Brenda Starr, Sheila would have been a natural for the lead role with her fiery red long hair, creamy white skin, bulging bust line, and slender waist. The green halter top she was wearing barely protected her assets and the black miniskirt could have gotten her two-to-five for solicitation when he first joined the force.

“How you doin’, Dave?” Sheila asked, handing him a sweaty bottle of Heineken.

“Okay.”

“You havin’ fun?”

“My night just improved dramatically,” Starsky said, giving her his best smile. He toasted her with the bottle and took a long drag.

“You wanna get some air?” she asked, touching his arm.

“Love to.” He followed her through the crowd to the door as gracefully as he could manage. Even with all his care, he felt like he should have offered a couple of the women he squeezed by a cigarette when he finally got past them.

“God, it’s a zoo in there,” Sheila said with a laugh as they stepped over a few people sitting on the floor outside the apartment door and picked their way through the folks who’d fled to the stairwell for some privacy. She gave an inelegant sniff and rubbed at her dripping nose, like she had allergies. “That’s what I get for inviting too many people.”

They finally cleared the front door and stopped to sit on the wide stone banister on the steps from the street. Amazingly, the stoop was empty. The cool night air caressed his skin like a lover as Starsky took his first marijuana-free breath in a half hour. It was hard to leave his training behind when off duty. His cop’s eye took in the area as if he were assessing a crime scene.

The street was the typical West L.A. urban eyesore. Just another working class neighborhood losing the battle with the recession, Starsky thought. A long row of attached brick apartment buildings made up the block. Both sides of the street were lined with old, banged up cars that weren’t worth stealing. Hell, that LTD across the street was so dented, it looked like Hutch’s. They all looked like something Hutch would drive.

The block was so crowded with cars, he’d had to park the Torino around the corner, something he was loathe to do in this neighborhood. He only hoped she’d be intact when he got back to her. With all the noise of the party, there was no way he’d hear her security alarm this far away.

The street lights were out in this part of the block. The only illumination came from the first-floor windows behind the stoop and some kind of bar or club across the street that didn’t seem to have a sign over the door. Whatever it was, it looked pretty popular. In the minute or so they’d been standing here, six guys had gone in.

Starsky looked at the stunningly beautiful woman beside him. It had been some time since he’d stopped consciously comparing his dates to Terry. However, his subconscious was informing him in no uncertain terms that this woman wasn’t someone he was going to be introducing to his mother. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a good time. Trying to shake off his residual irritation with the flagrant drug use upstairs, Starsky turned to face Sheila. “So, here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are,” she acknowledged.

“Nice digs,” he commented, for want of something better to say.

“It’s home for now. I’m working on getting an audition, so I hope it’s only temporary.”

“You’re an actress?”

“Model, right now. I’m working on breaking into the business, though.”

Out here in L.A., there was only one business that mattered to most people. Starsky couldn’t count how many pretty girls he’d heard use that same line.

Deciding to skip the whole clichéd conversation about becoming a movie star, he sipped his beer and returned his attention to their surroundings as another two men slipped into the bar across from where they were standing. “Busy street.”

“Please. I wish they’d close down that dive. It’s a fag pick-up joint. That’s why it doesn’t have a sign on it. That place gives the entire neighborhood a bad name.”

As they watched, a pair of men in tight jeans left the bar to move into the dark alley beside it. Starsky saw them embrace in the shadows.

“And the pot party upstairs doesn’t?” The question was out before Starsky could think better of it. His gaze was still fixed on the couple across the street. The figures were nothing but silhouettes against darker shadows, but it looked as if the shorter of the pair went down on his knees in front of the taller man.

“Hey, everybody’s entitled to a little fun, right?”

Liking this lady less and less, Starsky offered, “Maybe the patrons in that bar feel the same way.” Realizing that he was watching two strangers—two men—having sex, Starsky forced his attention back to his date.

“Yeah, maybe. Guess it takes all kinds.” A playful smile turned up her lush red lips as she asked, “You wanna party?”

“Sure,” Starsky agreed. Resting his beer on the stone banister behind him, he reached out to touch her shoulders, thinking that maybe the night wouldn’t be a total wipeout. Like he’d told Hutch earlier, some things didn’t really require conversation. Although Sheila wasn’t exactly his idea of Miss Right, she was certainly attractive enough to qualify for Miss Right Now.

Instead of moving into his embrace, she dug into a pocket in the miniskirt he hadn’t even seen. It wasn’t like there was a lot of spare fabric there to hide anything. Confused, he watched her pull out a little plastic baggie that looked like it was filled with some kind of white powder.

Unable to believe what he was seeing, he grabbed hold of her wrist before she could bring it fully into what little light they had.

“Hey, watch out,” she snapped. “You’re hurting me.”

“You bring that bag out where I can clearly see what’s in it, and I’m gonna have to bust you,” he warned, wishing to hell he’d gone back to Venice Place with Hutch to watch him repot his plants.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sheila demanded.

“You do know I’m a cop, don’t you?” He’d thought Huggy had introduced him and Hutch that way, but there’d been several people eating at the Pits with them at lunch and Starsky couldn’t clearly remember just when Sheila had joined them.

“You’re off duty, aren’t you? I’ve dated a ton of cops who party off duty. What’s the big deal, Dave? It’s just a little coke. It’s not even addictive.”

“It is illegal and if you pull that junk out into the light, I’m gonna have to bust you. Your choice, honey.” Right now, he was so pissed he didn’t really care which way she jumped.

Those green-shadowed eyes glared at him for a long minute. Then she stuffed the baggie back in her hidden pocket, hissed, “Go fuck yourself,” turned on her heel, and left.

Welcome to dating in the ’80s, Starsky thought as he watched her stalk back into her apartment building. Part of him wanted to find a phone, call it in, and arrest the whole bunch of losers. But, if he arrested everybody who did recreational drugs these days, half the city would be behind bars.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to dispel the anger. Times like this, he couldn’t help but feel he was getting old. He didn’t remember life being this complicated five or ten years ago.

They must have been switching the eight-track tape in the party up above, because there was a sudden halt to the loud music. The noise of dozens of inebriated conversations still filled the air, but in that temporary pall the bang of the barroom door across the street caught Starsky’s attention.

His gaze trailed the latest couple leaving the bar to enjoy the relative privacy of the alley shadows. The shorter guy on the right looked like an extra from Urban Cowboy. The taller man on the left looked like he was wearing a disguise. The olive drab jacket was so loose as to completely conceal the man’s body. But his shoulders were broad and he looked fairly athletic. He was wearing a denim cap pulled low on his forehead, and sunglasses that were so big they would have given Elton John pause.

The pair stepped out of the doorway towards the alley. Starsky was about to turn away when something caught his attention. There wasn’t much light, but the light from inside the bar caught the hair that was sticking out from the back of the taller man’s cap, glinting like platinum.

Starsky’s entire world took a nosedive as recognition set in. He tried to tell himself that his partner wasn’t the only blond man in LA, not even the only natural blond. But as the couple walked towards the alley and Starsky took in that utterly familiar gait, there was no denying the truth before his eyes.

Hutch. That was his Hutch….

His partner…his partner had just picked up some Travolta clone in a gay bar and was about to have sex with him in a sleazy alley. That was so outside his experience of Hutch that Starsky’s brain couldn’t even process what he was seeing.

It had to be a mistake. Hutch was home repotting philodendrons, not fucking strange men behind some no name gay pick-up joint. Starsky tried to convince himself of the error, but the man he was studying turned his head to say something to his companion and Starsky took in the familiar line of that graceful jaw.

No mistake, no error. That was Hutch.

Since his partner just couldn’t be there for the obvious reason, Starsky attempted to come up with a plausible explanation for what he was witnessing. An undercover op came to mind first, but…there wasn’t any surveillance van in the area. Starsky could see the entire street. And, all of the apartments on this side of the building seemed to have lights on. If there had been a stakeout going on, one of the apartments directly behind him would have been dark, with a cop holding a long-range camera in the shadowed window. And…if it were an undercover op, Starsky would have known about it.

Hutch paused mid-step towards the alley, his head starting to turn as if he felt he were under observation.

Recognizing what was about to happen, Starsky swiftly stepped back through the open door behind him. There wasn’t a light on in the foyer. The shadows were almost as deep as those of the alley. The nearest light was over by the mailboxes twenty feet behind him, and that was a pretty low wattage bulb. He was sure Hutch didn’t see him. Or if Hutch had seen anything, it would have been a fast-moving shadow. He stayed motionless, counting on the dark to conceal him.

Suddenly, he was glad there hadn’t been an open parking space out front for the Torino.

Why he was hiding was a mystery. He wasn’t the one sneaking out to a gay bar. Part of him wanted to stalk across the street and announce his presence, but …he still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

And, if what was going on was precisely what it appeared to be…hell, he didn’t even want to think about that. So, Starsky stood there in the shadows, watching, listening to his pounding heart, which sounded louder than the music that had started up in the party again. The driving rhythm of Turn the Beat Around was escalating the scene to some kind of explosion point.

His heart stumbled to a complete stop as the would-be cowboy reached up to drag Hutch into a kiss before they were even into the alley.

The numbness of shock wore off Starsky like a flick of a switch. From one moment, he went from not knowing how to react to being blinded by passion. If the question of how he’d feel watching his partner kiss another man had ever shown up in any of those magazine quizzes he loved to take, he would have checked off “angry” and “disgusted” as his first choices. To his complete bewilderment, neither of those emotions were currently blazing through him. The rage sending him to flashpoint was the kind of mindless jealousy that puts men in prison for life.

All Starsky wanted to do was pound that cowboy into the pavement, then rip his beating heart out with his bare hands. The word MINE! screamed through him like a war cry.

Starsky knew if he moved, he’d be up on manslaughter charges within an hour, so he grabbed hold of the nearby doorjamb and tried to strangle the wood.

Slowly, his heart and breathing settled down to something approaching bearable as he reigned in his fury. His muscles were still shaking with the effort, but he wasn’t out of control. He wouldn’t make any bets on that if Hutch continued moving into the alley with that Travolta clone, but right now, Starsky felt he was stable. Or as stable as he was likely to be in this new, insane universe.

Forcing himself to look, he returned his attention to the action across the street.

Starsky was surprised to see Hutch pushing the cowboy away. His sunglass-hidden eyes seemed to make a swift scan of the deserted street before he turned back to say something to his companion.

Starsky would have given his next ten year’s pay to hear what was going on.

The Travolta clone’s smooth-featured face wasn’t smiling anymore.

After a quick exchange of words, Hutch left the cowboy standing in front of the alley and turned on his heel to walk down the block to the LTD Starsky had thought looked like his partner’s car.

Starsky was still gripping the doorjamb inside Sheila’s vestibule when the LTD shot past. He watched the cowboy turn and walk back into the bar.

He didn’t know how long he stood there clutching the doorframe. It was only when a bunch of party-goers stumbled into the vestibule in a laughing mob and shoved past him that he realized he was still in public.

His legs shaking like he’d just come out of a gunfight, Starsky stumbled down the stairs to find his car.

 

 

The bedside phone blared through the room like an air raid siren.

The sleepless night had taken its toll. Starsky’s nerves were shot. He jumped in the wreck of the bed like a spooked alley cat. Tangled up in the sheet and blankets from all his restless tossing, it took him a few moments to free his hand. His eyes automatically checked the time on the alarm clock. The illuminated numbers read 10:00 a.m.

“‘Lo,” Starsky mumble-growled into the receiver once he’d gotten hold of the damn thing.

“And a bright good morning to you,” Hutch’s cheery voice greeted. “How you doin’?”

Incapable of answering that question honestly, Starsky replied with a grouchy, “Okay.”

“You still up for lunch at Huggy’s?”

How can he sound so normal?

There were a million things he wanted to say, none of them anything that could be forgiven or forgotten. Part of him felt so betrayed that he never wanted to see Hutch again. But the other part of him was confused as hell.

He knew this man. Hutch was the straightest shooter, the most honest, upfront person he’d ever met. This was the guy who’d covered his back the last nine years, the guy who’d nursed him back to health with the kind of care his mother would have given him after Gunther had all but killed him. This was Hutch, his partner. He’d spent the entire night trying to resolve how his Hutch could be the same guy he’d seen picking up strangers at that seedy bar, and was no closer to an answer now than he’d been when he’d finally went to bed.

“Starsk, you still there?” Hutch’s worry was unmistakable and unfeigned.

“Yeah,” Starsky forced the word out.

“You okay, partner?”

Hutch’s concern was almost tangible. It seemed to enfold him in its golden warmth, soothing him, despite everything.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Meet you at Huggy’s at noon?”

“Sounds like a plan. You sure you’re all right?”

“Just had a late night.”

“Yeah?” Hutch sounded unconvinced.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” He hung up before Hutch could question him further.

As he placed the receiver back in its cradle, it finally sunk in that he was going to have to face Hutch. He had to get his act together.

During the seemingly eternal, sleepless night, Starsky had gone over dozens of scenarios, visualizing how the inevitable confrontation would go down. Not one of his late night scripts ended happily. How could they?

Sometime around 4:15, he’d realized that anything he said to Hutch on this subject would be the death knell to their partnership. Hutch had the devil’s own temper when it came to people butting into his personal life. His partner wouldn’t deal well with what amounted to being spied upon. And Starsky himself didn’t even know what he could say. Everything running through his mind sounded either judgmental or accusatory.

He knew most cops would have been out the door after making such a discovery about their partner. But Hutch and him weren’t most cops. There was no walking away from this partnership. It’d be like cutting his soul in half.

So, where did that leave them?

More than anything, he wished that he’d never seen what he’d seen last night. But he had seen it, and he had to find a way to deal with it. He had to figure out what the right thing to do was. It was weird, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a clue what was the right thing to do. None of the old rules seemed to apply.

Was Hutch gay? Was it possible?

Starsky remembered the string of gorgeous women his partner had dated over the years. Dated, and loved. Could a guy fake it that well?

There was also the possibility that his partner liked both women and men. One of the girls Starsky had dated right before Gunther’s hit had called it swinging both ways. She had a word for it…Bi. That was it. Could Hutch be Bi? And if Hutch were, how did this affect their partnership?

Hutch hadn’t made a move on him. Hutch hadn’t thrown this in his face and forced him to deal with it. Whatever his partner was going through, he was trying to work it out in private. For all Starsky knew, it could be another passing phase, like the biorhythms, health food, and the astrology kicks Hutch had explored. None of them had lasted.

But Starsky’s instincts told him this wasn’t a passing fad. This wasn’t like yoga or health food. This was about sex. That was the most primal, unchangeable drive in a man’s life. If Hutch was questioning his sexuality, that was a major life change.

Starsky knew if this had been about anything else besides sex, he’d have been right there supporting his partner’s decisions. If Hutch had wanted to change religions, or leave the force, or become a pacifist, Starsky would have backed him on it without question. The same way Hutch had always backed him. It was the sex part that made this scary, because…

Because Hutch had wanted to fuck another man last night.

Once again, his gut clutched at the thought, his blood pounding a maddening beat in his ears that drowned out all rational thought. He wasn’t as crazed as he’d been when he’d actually seen Hutch kissing that stranger, but he was too mad for any kind of reasoned discussion. He felt like he was ten again and Tommy Willis had just stolen his prized Joe DiMaggio baseball card.

Mine.

That was what this kept coming down to.

Starsky recognized that he was too angry—too jealous—to handle this the way he should. It was that inappropriate jealousy throwing him completely off kilter. If he were just mad at Hutch, disappointed, or even disgusted by what he’d seen, he’d know how to play this scene out. But…all he knew was that he was hurting.

Hutch was his.

Those three words had been playing through his heart since he’d seen Hutch with that cowboy. He’d been shocked, sure enough, but it wasn’t the kind of shock that made him want to trash their partnership. That was the only thing he was certain about.

So, where did that leave them? If Hutch wanted to date men, did he have the right to try to stop his partner? He’d grown past the whole I-don’t-want-you-but-I-don’t-want-anyone-else-to-have-you phase sometime during high school. You either staked your claim or you let it go; that was the way life went. Starsky knew there was no way in hell he could let Hutch go, but when it came to staking a claim? He couldn’t even begin to see himself as gay, but he couldn’t see Hutch that way, either. The entire thing made no sense.

All Starsky could hope was that he’d come to some kind of decision before he had to meet Hutch.

Two hours later, Starsky walked into Huggy’s as nervous as he’d be going into an undercover drug bust with the Columbians that were just starting to take over the LA drug trade. He still had no idea what he was going to say to Hutch. If anything. Pretending last night had never happened was the only way Starsky thought he could play this scene out.

Everything about Huggy’s was familiar and reassuring. There was the usual lunch crowd. Enough to keep the place hopping, but not so overcrowded that you couldn’t have a conversation and linger over dessert.

Hutch was waiting at their usual table across from the juke box and pin ball machines, talking to Anita, who was delivering a couple of beers to the table. She looked especially fetching in her red scoop-necked peasant blouse and tight jeans.

Starsky took a minute to study his friend. Hutch sure as hell didn’t look like he’d had a disastrous encounter at a gay bar last night. Clad in a faded denim jacket, black cords, and a pale blue shirt, Hutch looked his usual All-American self. His blond hair was pulling every bit of light in the room to it and blazing like a halo.

As Starsky walked over to the table, he still didn’t have any idea as to what he was going to say.

Anita wise-cracked, “Here comes trouble.”

Hutch looked away from her, turning towards him.

Starsky was a little taken aback by the way his partner’s face lit up when their gazes touched. Hutch looked…happy, the kind of happy that had been missing from his features for years.

“Well, I guess I’ll get back to taking orders,” Anita said. “Call me when you’re ready.”

“Menus?” Starsky asked, caught by her irresistible sass.

“You eat here twice a day for years and you still need menus?” she groused, handing over two of the battered trifolds.

“Hi,” Hutch said as Starsky settled beside him. “You look like hell. Are you all right?”

Starsky kept the snap-reflex at bay and answered with what he hoped was civil. “I had a late night.”

“I can see that. You had a good time with Sheila, then?”

“Turned out to be a total train wreck,” Starsky answered.

“What happened?” Hutch sounded really concerned.

Reassured by the sheer normality of the conversation, Starsky detailed his experiences at the party. “First there was enough grass floating around the party to get you stoned just breathing, then Sheila wanted me to snort coke with her.”

“Did you bust her?” Hutch asked.

“Didn’t seem to be much point to it. It wasn’t dealer’s weight,” Starsky explained, still not sure if he should have taken her in.

“Yeah, you can’t put the whole city behind bars.”

“It feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah. I am sorry things didn’t work out for you, buddy. I know you liked her.” Hutch sounded like he meant the words.

“Like Doris Day says, ‘Que sara, sara,'” Starsky replied, shrugging it off. “Who do you think the Sara chick was in the song?”

Hutch chuckled at his dumb joke and looked at the menu.

Anita came back and, after the prerequisite flirting and put downs, she took their order for a couple of burgers and fries.

It really felt like last night had been some kind of a dream, but, Starsky knew it hadn’t been. In light of what he’d learned about Hutch last night, Starsky couldn’t help but wonder if Hutch had felt the same way about Sheila as Starsky had about that cowboy last night. If Hutch had experienced any jealousy, he sure hadn’t shown it when Starsky was flirting with her yesterday at lunch.

But Hutch was good at hiding things, even with him.

Wanting to test the waters, to see how far Hutch would lie to him, Starsky asked as casually as he could, “So, how’d the book go last night?”

Hutch took a sip of his beer and then squarely met his gaze. There was no sign of discomfort, no sign of fear. Starsky couldn’t help but wonder just how many secrets were hiding behind that handsome face.

“I got restless and went out,” Hutch replied.

Easy there, Starsky counseled himself. “Where’d you go?”

He wondered if Hutch were about to start lying to him. Starsky felt that that was the most upsetting part of this whole thing. He would have staked his life that he knew this man inside out, that there wasn’t anything he didn’t know about his partner. The idea that Hutch could have been hiding something this big brought everything he thought he knew about his best friend into question. For, if Hutch could lie about something like this with him, what else might he be hiding?

Unbelievably enough, Hutch answered in the same open, unconcerned tone. “I wanted to try someplace new. I ended up in some dive a few blocks west of here. The dump didn’t even have a sign over the door.”

Starsky was stunned by his partner’s talent. Hutch hadn’t offered a single lie or even so much as an evasion. Hutch’s entire casual approach practically guaranteed that the conversation wouldn’t continue much further. They’d both had more than their share of wasted nights.

Hutch had even made a full disclosure. A savvy listener would have translated an unmarked bar as a gay bar. Had Hutch been trying to tell him the truth and he’d been too dense to understand?

Starsky tried to think if there had been any other times when he’d asked Hutch that question and received a similar, casual answer that offered only part of the truth. But, no. Until two weeks ago, Hutch had been with him nearly every night. Starsky himself had gone home with a couple of women he’d met at the discos they’d hit, but Hutch…

Hell, he’d never really asked what Hutch had done with the rest of his nights after Starsky had split with his new date.

Thinking that this felt almost like some kind of chess game, Starsky decided to up the ante a bit. Asking just as casually as Hutch had offered his information, Starsky continued with, “Did you meet anyone?”

Something that wasn’t quite despair flashed through those steady eyes, but even here, Hutch didn’t lie to him, “Yeah. Guess it was our night for train wrecks.”

Starsky couldn’t help but notice how Hutch’s fingers clenched around his beer mug, like his partner was sitting there just dreading the next words that were going to come out of his mouth. They both knew what the next question should be, the “tell me all about her” that made up the bulk of their usual morning-after updates.

Abruptly struck by how wrong and unfair this was to Hutch, Starsky took a sip of his beer and tried to think things through as fast as he could. Hutch clearly wasn’t planning on lying to him. And, Starsky knew that he himself wasn’t really ready to hear the truth—whatever that truth might be. If he asked, Hutch was probably going to tell him whatever he wanted to know.

So, the real question was, is this subject worth jeopardizing their friendship over?

Was he ready to tell this man who’d emptied his bedpans and held his hand through the worst of the pain that he disapproved of whom Hutch was dating? Was this even any of his business?

Hutch looked like he was sitting there waiting to hear the verdict on a death sentence.

Starsky might not know the right course of action, but he sure as hell knew what the wrong course was, and that was anything that intentionally hurt Hutch.

Finally, Starsky broke the horrible stasis. “There’s a lot of that going around lately.”

It was indecent how openly relieved Hutch looked.

Their food arrived, and conversation momentarily stopped.

As he watched Hutch eat his burger, Starsky came to some decisions. He had to find out what was going on with his partner without making it into some god-awful inquisition. And, more importantly, he had to keep Hutch occupied, so that his friend wouldn’t be working out whatever this problem was in gay bars. Hitting gay joints in the same city you patrolled was just plain suicidal for a homicide detective. It wasn’t safe, so that part of Hutch’s self-prescribed therapy was being dropped as of now, whether Hutch knew it or not.

Starsky was trying to tell himself that it was only concern for his partner’s career that was responsible for that decision, but he was honest enough to recognize that a lot of his motivation for keeping Hutch away from those places had to do with his jealous reaction. And, since he didn’t know what that really meant, Starsky knew he had some things to work out himself.

Someone must have fed some quarters into the joke box, for the music started up.

The song currently playing seemed to catch Hutch’s attention, for his head turned towards it suddenly. It was some Country and Western crossover that had been getting a lot of airplay lately.

“I feel like that sometimes, you know,” Hutch said.

“Huh?” Starsky forced himself to pay attention to the music, but whatever had interested Hutch was ending. The latest Rolling Stones’ hit followed.

“Looking for love in all the wrong places,” Hutch explained. “No matter how hard you try these days, it just doesn’t seem to work out, does it?”

Was that what this was about? Had Hutch been looking for love—in a gay bar?

“One bad night doesn’t mean things aren’t working out, Hutch,” Starsky offered, still not sure exactly what the problem was. Last night in the locker room, Hutch had said he was trying to work some things out. And somehow, he’d ended up picking up a cowboy in a gay bar.

“It isn’t just one bad night. It’s…”

“Yeah?” Starsky gently encouraged.

“Ah, it’s gonna sound hokey as all hell.” Hutch seemed reluctant, which told Starsky that whatever this was, it was important.

“Hey, who’s the guy at this table who’s addicted to 40s’ movies? They’re all hokey. I promise, no matter how soapy it is, I won’t laugh,” Starsky vowed.

As he’d hoped, Hutch smiled and visibly relaxed. “Okay. It’s just…do you remember what dating was like when you were young? There was some mystery to it all, some…well, romance, I guess. Even when I first met Van. The sex was amazing, but that didn’t happen for a while. The whole courtship routine was kinda magical. These days, you meet someone in a club and a couple of hours later, you’re in the sack. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with getting your rocks off, but…” Hutch stopped, looking as if he didn’t know what else to say.

Starsky suggested, “But sometimes you want a little more.”

“Yeah.” Hutch nodded.

“And the job doesn’t always give us time to work on that little more.”

“I guess.”

Starsky realized that spending the last eight months playing nursemaid to him hadn’t really given his partner time for any kind of romance. Hutch had been there for him, day and night, for months on end. “I guess taking care of me all that time didn’t help any,” Starsky said.

“No. Don’t even think that. That isn’t what I meant. That time with you was—” Hutch stopped so abruptly that Starsky thought he must have bit his tongue to keep the words in.

“It ate up eight months of your life, partner.”

Hutch took a quick look around their table, as if to assure himself that no one was sitting close enough to be listening. When he spoke, it was in a firm, reluctant-sounding tone. “That time with you made me realize what I was missing.”

“Huh?” Starsky questioned.

“I, ah, really liked having someone there to share everything with. It didn’t eat up my time, it filled it,” Hutch explained. “I don’t regret a single moment of it…well, except for the fact that you were in pain most of the time. That part wasn’t good.”

The ground seemed to fall out from beneath him as he absorbed what Hutch was telling him. All this time, he’d been feeling guilty as hell about how much he’d needed Hutch, how much Hutch had had to do for him. He’d worked his butt off to get better as fast as he could, so as not to be a burden any longer than necessary.

Starsky had never really thought about how his recovery must have affected his partner’s life. For eight months, Hutch had devoted himself totally to caring for him, using up all his sick time and leave, taking leave without pay when necessary. During Starsky’s convalescence, they’d developed a comfortable, highly domestic routine. Hutch had seemed to thrive on it. But that routine had been shattered with Starsky’s return to work.

Starsky had missed being at Hutch’s place and having him around all the time. How much worse must it have been for Hutch to have the person he’d devoted all that time to suddenly not be there? No wonder the poor guy was spinning in circles.

Starsky still didn’t understand how all this equated to Hutch ending up in a gay bar, but he understood that Hutch was experiencing the same kind of withdrawal he often felt these days. And, in a way, this was all his fault. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he sure could help Hutch through it.

Hutch had that maybe-I-said-too-much look about him that he often wore during their heart-to-hearts.

Needing things to be normal between them, Starsky met Hutch’s uncertain expression and said, “You were the only good part about that time. You know that, right?”

Hutch blushed bright red.

Before things could get any deeper, Starsky quickly suggested, “Come to the movies with me this afternoon.”

“The movies?” Hutch repeated.

“Yeah. All this meaning-of-life stuff is gonna bring you down if you keep worrying about it. I got the cure for what ails you.”

“You do?” Hutch’s expression was caught between skepticism and shock.

“Yeah. We need to go to the Rivoli right now.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. What’s playing at the Rivoli?”

“There’s a Barbara Streisand festival going on. A couple of her comedies are playing today.”

“Funny Girl wasn’t a comedy,” Hutch said.

“This isn’t Funny Girl. For Pete’s Sake and What’s Up Doc are playing. I dare you to keep that frown after seeing them.”

“I’m not frowning,” Hutch protested.

“You’ve been frowning for years. Come on, let me show you how to have a good time.”

“We have different definitions of a good time, partner,” Hutch joked, but beneath the outer teasing, he seemed tickled.

“Yeah, I know what one is.”

Hutch seemed to waver for a minute before doing what he usually did and gave in.

Side-by-side, they headed out the door.

 

 

That afternoon was the first gambit in Starsky’s Keep Hutch Occupied Campaign. Over the next few weeks, he made sure that Hutch didn’t have a single empty hour to feel alone. He took Hutch to ball games on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. They played as much tennis and basketball as Starsky’s recuperating system could handle. When Starsky wasn’t up to the active sports, they played Monopoly at home or pool at Huggy’s.

A week or so into his campaign, Starsky realized that he hadn’t had this much fun in years. He’d always had more fun with Hutch than with anyone else. Their senses of humor dovetailed perfectly. Hutch was a natural straight man to his clown. They spent the next few weeks laughing like school kids.

They both needed it. Starsky’s prolonged recuperation had worn them both out emotionally. It was good to just have fun again.

Three weeks into Starsky’s campaign, they were cleaning up after a messy drug bust. Back in the locker room again, Hutch was buttoning up his shirt while Starsky tied his Adidas.

As had become his habit lately before the weekend, Starsky looked over at his partner and asked, “You busy tomorrow night?”

Hutch gave the now familiar, “No, what did you have in mind?”

Starsky grinned at his friend. He knew Hutch was going to love this idea. “I thought we could take in a concert and then hit Luigi’s. I got tickets.”

“You know we don’t like the same kind of music, partner,” Hutch reminded him.

“I know, but you’re gonna love this one. Sue Ann Grainger is playing Memorial Coliseum tomorrow. I got us third row seats.”

He expected Hutch to be ecstatic, because he knew how much his partner loved Country Music. To his confusion, Hutch looked almost worried as he said, “But you hate country music.”

“Most of it, yeah. But we know her, Hutch. Come on, you know you want to see her. What do you say?”

To his confusion, Hutch looked worried, rather than delighted. After what felt like an eternity, Hutch gave a slow nod. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, partner.”

“I’ll pick you up at four,” Starsky said. “That work for you?”

Still seeming uneasy, Hutch agreed. “See you at four.”

 

 

To Starsky’s surprise, the concert turned out to be fun. It wasn’t quite Springsteen, but most of the music had a decent beat and there weren’t too many of what Starsky liked to think of as the You-kicked-me-and-left-me-please-come-back-and-kick-me-again genre of country songs. Sue Ann had a teasing, sexy stage persona that no red-blooded man could dislike, and some of her songs were pretty provocative.

Starsky was still singing her raunchiest Too Hot to Handle as they pulled into Luigi’s parking lot. “‘His eyes were a dare, deep enough to drown in. His jeans were unfair, they left your heart a-poundin’…'”

“You know, it would help if you knew more than two lines of that song,” Hutch remarked as they got out of the car. But Hutch said the words with a smile, an absolutely breathtaking smile. Hutch was shining like a lighthouse. His face was completely relaxed. His hair glinted under the streetlights like it had some kind of internal illumination.

“Yeah, well, Sue Ann might’ve made a convert outta me,” Starsky said as they headed into the restaurant. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m giving up my Springsteen and Buddy Holly records, but I’m man enough to admit that I was wrong. Not all country music is crap.”

“At least, not the kind that’s sung by a lovely lady in a gold lamé halter top,” Hutch joked.

Starsky chuckled. “Well, the halter top sure didn’t hurt none.”

Starsky took a long look around as the maître de showed them to their seats. “There’s just something about this place—”

“That reminds you of the restaurant your grandmother lived over when you were a kid?” Hutch completed.

Starsky nodded.

“You know it’s not healthy to live in the past.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with honorin’ tradition, especially when that tradition includes amazing marinara sauce,” Starsky protested.

“Can’t argue with that,” Hutch said, taking the seat across from him.

Conversation stilled as they opened the menus the maître de had left. “Jeez, it’s so dark in here I can barely read this.”

“Old age setting in, buddy,” Hutch joked, but he was holding his menu towards the candle centerpiece. It was a little votive candle in a crystal snowball. The crystal looked like a ball of ice with a golden flame glowing within. Its light seemed equally as infatuated with Hutch as all other light sources were.

“Ha ha,” Starsky laughed, his smile fading as he took in those familiar, candlelit features. His insides gave an unexpected clutch.

“You okay?” Hutch never missed a thing.

Starsky dropped his gaze to the tabletop and gave a quick nod. Abruptly nervous and not sure why, he opened his mouth to make conversation, but was preempted by the arrival of a handsome young man with Mediterranean features who took their orders.

Lately, Starsky had been watching Hutch when they were around good-looking men to see if he could catch any sign of Hutch’s interest, but once again, his partner barely gave the guy a glance. If Hutch were attracted to men, it had to be a specific type that they hadn’t come across when together, because he sure as hell hadn’t revealed any sign of it. Could a guy just turn it off like that? Starsky wondered.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hutch’s worried question interrupted his musings.

Startled back to the present, Starsky shook himself out of it and answered, “I’m fine. You, ah, enjoyed the concert?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“You seemed a bit…uncertain the other night when I asked if you wanted to go.” Starsky was still confused by Hutch’s initial response.

“Yeah, well, I just…” Now it seemed like Hutch’s turn to look away.

“You what?” Starsky gently encouraged.

Hutch took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I guess I don’t really understand what we’re doing right now.”

“Huh?”

Hutch seemed to steel himself to answer. Starsky got the distinct impression that his partner was tackling a subject he’d been silently wrestling with for a while. “For a couple of months after you were put back on active duty, we were hitting the clubs every Friday and Saturday night. It’s been three weeks since we went out to a singles bar.”

“You said you were, um, disillusioned with them,” Starsky reminded him.

“Maybe I am, but…you’re not disillusioned with them. You—” Whatever Hutch was about to say was cut off by the arrival of their food.

The interruption felt like some kind of reprieve. Starsky attacked his linguini and clams as if he hadn’t eaten in months. He tried to concentrate on his food and not on Hutch. He could feel those eyes watching him as Hutch ate his ravioli.

“I’m not complaining,” Hutch said suddenly into the tense silence. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just confused. I know things didn’t go well with that redhead that night last month, but…it’s not like you to just give up.”

“Is that what you think happened?” Starsky asked, wishing this conversation was taking place somewhere other than a crowded restaurant. But, maybe the locale was a plus. He’d known guys who used to take their girls out to a fancy restaurant to dump them because it cut down the possibility of a scene. He knew Hutch well enough to know that his partner wouldn’t say or do anything to embarrass them here. So, maybe this was kind of a safe place to discuss topics that might be a little touchy.

“I don’t know. I guess that’s what’s got me confused.”

“What’s confusing?”

“You just blew a hundred bucks taking me to a show you had absolutely no interest in seeing. Look at where we’re sitting now. Low lights. Candles on the table. Starsk, what does this feel like?”

Neither of them needed to answer that question. They both knew what it felt like.

Hutch continued, “This is the fourth time in two weeks we’ve been to this kind of place. You can see where that might be…confusing.”

Part of Starsky wanted to open his mouth and make some smart-ass comment about not being responsible for a restaurant’s lighting choices, but… Hutch hadn’t lied to him last month when Starsky had been the one asking the tough questions. Maybe it was time for him to lay his cards on the table.

Still uncertain, Starsky said softly, “I saw you.”

“What?” Hutch seemed completely bewildered.

“That night I went to that party at Sheila’s, her place was across the street from a no-name dive on Pembrook.”

Starsky took no pleasure in watching Hutch’s confusion give way to horror. Even by the low, flickering candlelight, he could see all the color drain from Hutch’s face. “You…”

“You done?” Starsky nodded his chin towards the table. “This probably isn’t the right place for this.”

Hutch gave a slow nod of agreement. There was so much going on behind those familiar eyes that Starsky couldn’t even begin to follow it.

They both reached for their wallets. Starsky got his out first, put a twenty on the table and rose to his feet.

Hutch was right behind him as they headed out the door.

It was full night outside. Hutch seemed to hesitate in the crowded parking lot, but then followed him back to the Torino. It wasn’t like either one of them had anywhere to run to. Some things you just couldn’t hide from.

The silence as they settled into their seats felt funereal. Unable to stand it, Starsky turned to his partner, who looked like he was braced for an attack. “I, ah, probably shoulda told you before now.”

Some of the tightness seemed to ease from Hutch’s mouth. “I think that’s my line.” Hutch looked at him. “I thought you’d be mad. Why aren’t you mad?”

Hating how guarded against him Hutch looked, Starsky decided to try a little more truth. “Too busy being jealous.”

His words seemed to disarm Hutch entirely. Hutch gave his lower lip a nervous swipe that revealed tomes to Starsky before answering, “There was nothing to be jealous of, partner. It was a whole lotta nothing.”

Not nearly as composed as he hoped he was acting, Starsky took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel. “Meaning?”

Hutch’s laugh sounded bitter. “Meaning there was no meaning. There wasn’t anything there for me.”

“Did you think there would be?” Starsky asked, still trying to understand what he’d witnessed that night.

“Hoped, more like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I had a problem. That night was an experiment to find out if the problem had a general cure or a specific one.” Talking appeared to be calming Hutch. His partner gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “What are the odds? I go to a place like that one time in my entire life, and you end up standing across the street watching me. What kind of luck is that?”

“That was your first time?” Starsky couldn’t believe how relieved he felt.

“First and only,” Hutch quickly replied.

“So you never—” Starsky snapped his mouth shut. That wasn’t a fair question.

Hutch answered him anyway, “No. There wasn’t any point to it.”

“Huh?”

“What I needed wasn’t there.”

So, not a general cure, then, Starsky thought. A brave man might have had the guts to ask Hutch what exactly it was that he had needed, but he didn’t know if he was ready for the answer.

The conversation stopped. They sat there not speaking in the parking lot, both their eyes trailing an affectionate couple making their way to a nearby white Love bug.

“Okay,” Hutch said once the Volkswagen pulled out. “I think I’ve pretty much laid my cards on the table here. It’s your turn now.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“So, you see me come out of a gay bar with another man and you—what?—start dating me?” There wasn’t any accusation in Hutch’s voice; he sounded confused again.

Realizing that was precisely what he’d done, Starsky shrugged and tried to explain, but no words would come. He felt like a complete idiot.

“That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, partner,” Hutch said.

The gentle words sent a shiver through him.

“Me, neither,” Starsky finally managed.

“Huh?”

“That night…I saw red, but for all the wrong reasons,” Starsky tried to explain.

“You said jealous?” Hutch checked.

Starsky gave a tight nod, his gaze fixed on the empty parking space the Love bug had left behind. He could feel Hutch watching the side of his face.

“You gotta give me some clue here, Starsk,” Hutch all but pleaded.

“Would we be sitting here having this ridiculous conversation if I had a clue?” It felt like some kind of confession. His gaze dropped to the logo in the center of the Grand Torino’s steering wheel. “I mean, give me a break here. I just found out we’re accidently dating.”

Starsky jumped at the laughter that exploded from the other side of the car. “God, Starsk,” Hutch finally gasped.

The hand that squeezed his shoulder felt like it sent a lightning bolt of electricity shooting through him. Starsky couldn’t hold in his gasp. The hand stayed there, the grip firming.

“You were supposed to hate me, not date me.”

“I never got that game plan,” Starsky tried to joke. Taking in Hutch’s shell-shocked expression, he felt his grin slip away.

Their eyes met, neither of them seeming to know what to say or do next. Then, Hutch’s face firmed with deliberation and that big warm hand slipped from Starsky’s right shoulder, trailing down his white denim jacket, to tentatively settle on his right thigh.

The heat galvanized his whole body. Starsky jolted in the seat, hissing as his system rocked under a wave of sheer, erotic stimulation. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure he could respond to Hutch sexually. He’d tried to imagine what it would be like making love to his big, male partner, but hadn’t gotten very far. That single, intentionally erotic move bypassed the mental morass he’d gotten stuck in and jumpstarted him into a whole new reality where he felt what making love to Hutch would be like.

“Hutch…” Starsky turned towards Hutch, reaching out for his shoulders.

“Not here,” Hutch said, pulling back to the far side of the passenger seat.

Shocked, Starsky realized that they were still in public. For a second, he’d forgotten where they were. There was a crazy part of him that wanted to throw caution to the wind and just taste those amazing full lips. They were in a dark parking lot. Even if they were seen, what was the chance they’d be recognized? But, what were the chances he would have seen Hutch that night outside that bar? Recognizing that Hutch was right, he grated out, “Where?”

“My place is closer,” Hutch offered.

Nodding, Starsky turned on the ignition and headlights, pulling quickly out of Luigi’s parking lot.

Hutch’s place was nearly ten minutes away. Not a word was spoken on the trip. Starsky tried to concentrate on his driving, so he didn’t wrap them around a telephone pole, but he was preternaturally aware of every breath Hutch took. Hutch’s breathing sounded as ragged as Starsky felt.

He managed to park the Torino in its usual spot in front of Venice Place without hitting anything.

They turned to face each other as Starsky turned off the ignition. The streetlights were unbroken on this block. They were sitting right below one, but the light wasn’t bright enough to read any expression.

“We go up those stairs together tonight, everything changes,” Hutch said. It sounded like a warning.

Recognizing that Hutch was giving him a chance to bail before things got too heavy, to go back to pretending, Starsky swallowed around the lump choking him and tried to think things through. But thought was impossible. His heart was pounding so loud, he couldn’t concentrate on anything but its thundering beat and his raspy breathing. He was shaking as bad as the night he’d finally gotten up the nerve to kiss Betty Klein in eleventh grade. His thigh felt like it was still burning from Hutch’s touch.

Taking a shaky breath, Starsky grated out, “Everything’s already changed.”

He heard Hutch’s gulp from across the seat. “If this doesn’t work out—”

Starsky cut off the fretting with, “Change isn’t necessarily a bad thing, partner. Come on.”

Before Hutch could say anything else, Starsky got out of the car. He didn’t wait to see if Hutch followed.

As Starsky climbed the stairs up to Hutch’s place, he could feel his partner’s gaze on him the way he’d feel the heat of the sun. He waited outside the door for Hutch to join him.

Hutch’s hand was shaking as he unlocked the door.

It felt like he was stepping off a cliff as he followed Hutch into that dark apartment. He knew this place as well as he did his own, but it felt different tonight. The streetlights filtering in through the windows gave the living room a strange, eerie feel.

Hutch reached to flick on the nearby light switch.

Starsky stopped his hand, afraid everything that was between them would shatter with too much light. The hand he held was damp, trembling ever so slightly. Starsky tightened his hold, moving his other hand to clasp Hutch’s between them. “It’s just us. Just you ‘n’ me.”

Wanting to show Hutch that he had nothing to fear from him, Starsky lifted the captured hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss upon his partner’s rough-skinned knuckles.

The sound Hutch made at that—half-gasp, half-hiss—went right through him.

All the scary logistics of doing it with another guy, all the things that had given him pause these last three weeks, were blasted away by that utterly erotic sound. He might not know jack about how things went down between two guys, but he knew what that kind of sound meant, what it said Hutch needed.

Running on instinct, he stepped into Hutch’s personal space, backing his taller partner up against the wall beside the front door. Starsky had never kissed anyone so much taller than him before, but his hands found Hutch’s shoulders, then his mouth found Hutch’s and everything just fit. All the anxiety he’d experienced, all the soul searching, all of the doubt was blasted away with that first intentionally erotic contact. Kissing Hutch wasn’t alien and awkward. It was gut wrenchingly erotic, the most righteous feeling he’d ever experienced.

Hutch had the sweetest, juiciest mouth he’d ever tasted. The addictive flavor flushed through him like a shot of Russian vodka. Hutch’s moustache was a bristly reminder of how different this was from all the other kisses he’d had in his life, but even that was hot. He’d always liked the way Hutch smelled: pine-scented cologne, soap, and all things clean and good. But tonight the scent and heat of the man he was kissing surrounded him like some exotic aphrodisiac.

Starsky pressed his front against Hutch, felt the bulge of flesh his thigh pressed against harden and grow to truly impressive proportions. That was another never-before-felt sensation, feeling Hutch harden and grow against him because of what he was doing. It should have been scary, would have with anyone other than Hutch, but with Hutch, it was all just mind-blowingly carnal. Starsky’s hands scrambled up and down Hutch’s sides, wanting more, wanting everything.

He could feel Hutch’s hands on his back, pulling him closer.

Finally, they broke for air.

Hutch’s eyes were flickers of silver in the low light, his hair a shimmer of solidified moonbeams. While they were gasping in oxygen, Starsky reached out to stroke the glinting nimbus surrounding Hutch’s face. It felt softer than mink, softer than kitten fur beneath his fingertips.

“Oh, God, Starsk. Wanted you so long, babe, so long. You’re so fucking beautiful….”

The words shocked him. Although he knew how to sweet-talk his ladies, Starsky wasn’t used to receiving such open compliments in return. Nor was he accustomed to the strength in the hand that cupped the back of his skull and guided him into another of those earth-rocking kisses.

Hutch’s greater bulk shifted within the kiss and Starsky found himself backed up against the wall. Hutch’s hands were roaming all over him, his partner’s touch strong and sure in a way most women’s weren’t. While Starsky had had his share of sexually liberated women, not one of them had been this…aggressive, this direct. What Hutch was doing to him felt like a mudslide or an avalanche, a powerful force of nature there was no denying or avoiding.

A touch of unease trickled down his spine. Every day, Starsky was made aware that he wasn’t what he’d once been. On his best day, Hutch was stronger than him. Now….

As those lips latched onto his neck and began an utterly seductive sucking, Starsky stopped worrying that Hutch was stronger. This man’s strength had held him up during the worst eight months of his life. As he shook under the sensations that incredible sucking caused, that strength moved in to brace him as his knees went weak.

Hutch’s hands squeezed between them, undoing the buttons on Starsky’s red shirt, pushing it aside to reveal what Starsky preferred to keep hidden. Only, for once he didn’t feel exposed and mutilated by what the bullets and surgery had done to him. As Hutch’s mouth and fingers moved over the scarred flesh with unmistakable hunger, everything inside Starsky liquefied. Hutch was just so intensely focused on him that it was like those ugly marks weren’t even there.

Tears stung Starsky’s eyes as he watched that glimmering blond head move across and down his chest, healing a million dents to his self-image with the cherishing quality of the touches and kisses Hutch lavished on him. He’d slept with ten women since he’d been released from the hospital; not one of them had ever touched him like this. Hell, Terry hadn’t even showered him with love like this. Hutch was fucking worshipping him.

That lush attention didn’t stop with his chest.

Breathless and shaking all over, Starsky watched Hutch’s beautiful, long fingers reach out to undo his jeans button and matter-of-factly unzip him. Hutch didn’t play the moment out. There was no drama or hesitation, Hutch just undid the constricting jeans, undoing him in the process.

With the same natural, smooth grace, Hutch pulled Starsky’s jeans and briefs down past his knees, baring him to the cool, dark air.

Hating the constriction around his shins, Starsky kicked the pants and underwear off, or off enough for him to move. He was able to free his left leg, but the obstructions tangled around his right Adidas. Feeling like an idiot, he tried to subtlety shake his foot free.

His not-so-subtle struggle didn’t go unnoticed. Hutch’s big cowboy boot landed on the tangled jeans, holding the mess in place while Starsky extricated himself.

Feeling like a complete jerk, he looked up at Hutch, afraid he’d see laughter. There wasn’t much light, but what there was revealed an emotion so raw that it bypassed Starsky’s own insecurities. No one had ever stared at his cock with such unmistakable hunger.

The breath caught in Starsky’s lungs as Hutch dropped to his knees in front of him. If the sight of that golden head moving across his chest had been erotic, the view of Hutch going down on him just about melted his brain.

Hutch collected him into his hand, giving his dick a welcoming squeeze that went right through him. Starsky groaned under the onslaught. Hutch’s touch was so perfect. It was like his partner knew his cock from the inside out. Hutch sure as hell knew how to make it feel good.

His world froze as Hutch’s generous lips parted to suck him in. Starsky’s reality shifted at that moment. The wet heat of Hutch’s mouth was eclipsed only by his skilled sucking. There was no describing or enduring the sensations that ripped through him. Every cell Starsky owned seemed to nova with delight. He didn’t even last for five sucks before he was exploding into the welcoming depths of his partner’s unexpectedly talented mouth.

It felt like he came forever. He shouldn’t have been shocked at this point, because Hutch had been a walking wet dream since the moment they’d kissed, but it still surprised him that Hutch drank him down instead of spitting him out. His orgasm went on and on, liquefying everything he was and delivering it into Hutch’s mouth, and Hutch took all of him, every last drop.

When the orgasm was done, so was he. All the strength went out of his legs as the pleasure cut off and Starsky sank down to the ground like he’d just taken a bullet.

Fortunately, Hutch was with it enough to release his deflated cock, so he didn’t end up unmanning himself.

Starsky leaned back against the wall and waited for his brain to reassemble. Stunned in the aftermath of what was incontestably the hottest sex of his life, he stared at this man he’d known for more than a dozen years, feeling like he’d never seen his partner before.

God knew, he’d never seen Hutch looking like that, like the embodiment of sex itself.

Hutch was still on his knees, still fully dressed. The light wasn’t enough to see anything clearly, but Starsky would swear Hutch’s cheeks were flushed. His partner’s eyes were glittering so bright, they looked almost liquid.

Starsky considered himself a man of the world, but he hadn’t a clue as to what he should say. He could tell the awkwardness was setting in, because Hutch’s form was visibly tensing, as if he were expecting all hell to break loose.

That just wasn’t happening, not after the gift this incredible man had just given him.

Before any words could shatter the magic they’d found, Starsky launched himself at his kneeling partner, bringing them down to the carpeted floor.

Hutch’s grunt of surprise was absorbed into the kiss. Starsky fastened his hands in that golden softness and kissed Hutch for all that he was worth. His insides flip-flopped as he tasted the bitter remainder of his semen in Hutch’s mouth.

Beneath him, he could feel Hutch shaking like he was coming down off Forest’s horse again, trembling all over. As he pressed down against Hutch, Starsky could feel how hard his partner’s erection still was. Hutch had given him all that wonderful loving, and done nothing to ease his own need. That was so like his amazing partner that it choked him up inside.

Starsky could feel a tightness gripping his guts, a yearning that had nothing to do with sex. Had anyone ever loved him like this, loved him so much that their own need came second?

Locked in the kiss, Starsky worked the denim jacket off Hutch’s shoulders, got it tangled up in the holster he’d forgotten about, which was now jabbing him in the chest. He pulled back far enough to undo the holster, get it and the jacket off. Feeling Hutch’s gaze burning him, he reached down to grab hold of the green t-shirt Hutch wore beneath and pull it off him.

Starsky gasped in a breath as Hutch’s hair haloed around his face as the static made it stand up. He tossed the shirt over where the jacket and holster had landed, and surveyed the territory below. Hutch’s looked like spilled milk in the low light. There was a dark mark on the left side of his chest where that teenage girl’s bullet had damn near killed him a year and a half ago, but other than that, he was smooth.

Sensing Hutch’s sudden tension, it didn’t take much effort to figure out that Hutch had to be nervous right now. Hutch had revealed how much he’d wanted Starsky, but hadn’t gotten any kind of reassurance. They were both old enough to know that hormones could propel a man into accepting a blowjob from any source. It didn’t mean anything more than a momentary release. Hutch looked like he was lying there waiting for his whole world to fall apart.

Realizing that he had to say something, Starsky rasped out, “Sayin’ you look beautiful would be a gross understatement. You look like something that fell out of the sky, babe. Too perfect to be real.”

Right move. This time, Starsky was sure it was a blush that darkened Hutch’s cheeks.

Releasing a breathy chuckle, Hutch admitted softly, “You got one part right. I sure feel like Icarus after the fall.”

None too sure of his mythology, Starsky checked, “That’s the dude with the wax wings?”

Hutch nodded. “I…I just touched the sun, Starsk. I’m gonna crash and burn.”

Hearing his genuine fear, Starsky reached out. The skin under his palm was fever-hot. Hutch hissed as if Starsky’s touch burned. Small wonder. Hutch still had an erection the size of a salami trying to make its way out of his pants, while he was lying there worrying about his world falling apart.

“Not this time,” Starsky said gently, making his touch an intentional stroke down Hutch’s milky chest. “You fall, I’m gonna be there to catch you. Always. You got my solemn word on that.”

“Always?”

Sensing how easy it would be to shatter his friend, Starsky tried to lighten the mood. He didn’t want Hutch to crash. He wanted him to fly as high as Hutch had just sent him. Trying not to make too big a deal of it and overwhelm his shaky friend, Starsky asked softly, “What? Can’t a guy go from accidentally dating to accidentally in love?”

Starsky was a little shocked to realize that the words, though offered in jest, were undeniably true. What he was doing here with Hutch wasn’t like what he did with the women he picked up in clubs. This wasn’t solely about getting his rocks off. What it was about floored him.

It was painfully awkward at moments, definitely a learning experience, but Starsky’s heart was involved here as it hadn’t been in so long he could hardly remember. This wasn’t just about tonight. Hutch wasn’t some hot stranger who would disappear from his life with the morning light. Even though he didn’t know what he was doing, Starsky recognized that they were building something here, something that would last.

Before Hutch could react, Starsky lay back down beside his partner and kissed him. Starsky felt like his entire body was made of wax. The heat that kiss generated totally dissolved him.

Belatedly, Starsky became aware that their naked chests were touching. Hutch’s flesh was smooth and soft as a woman’s there, if nowhere near as curvy. Starsky’s hands did some exploring. Every inch of the territory charted was addictive as velvet.

Starsky squeezed his left hand between their tight-pressed waists and undid Hutch’s jeans. A little maneuvering and he had both jeans and briefs pushed down past Hutch’s endless thighs.

Curious, Starsky stared down at his friend. He’d seen Hutch naked a billion times over the years, but they’d always been in the showers or locker rooms, where, if you looked at another guy’s equipment, it was only to ensure that yours was bigger, or at least in the running. Hutch had always won those silent locker room competitions hands down. There was no denying his partner was built. Completely flaccid, Hutch was impressive, but here in a sexual situation, Hutch was awe-inspiring. Hutch’s cock was long, thick, and pale. Starsky knew he was pale because the light was awful here on the floor and he could still see Hutch’s full length. In contrast, his own dick was a thicker shadow against his dark-downed thighs.

“It gets bigger?” Starsky all but gasped as Hutch twitched and expanded under his gaze.

“He likes you,” Hutch said in a gruff tone Starsky had never heard before.

Shivering at that sexy voice, Starsky swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. Hutch’s cock liked him. The implications of that were a little intimidating. Still, watching his normally controlled partner lose his cool, seeing the visual evidence of how much Hutch liked him as that organ swelled to fullness was a heady turn on. No way would there ever be any question that Hutch was faking interest. His scarred, stitched-together body had aroused this beautiful man to this point. That was a powerful elixir to his battered ego. Finding his voice, Starsky rasped out, “That’s good, ’cause I like him, too.”

“You do?” A child could have deciphered the worry in Hutch’s question.

This amazing man had kept quiet about wanting him for God knew how long, probably because Hutch knew he liked women. Starsky abruptly realized that this had to be damn terrifying for his partner. He thought about how he’d feel if their positions were reversed, if he’d been the one who had been man enough to recognize the change in their relationship first and suddenly found himself making love to the person he’d pretty much convinced himself was unobtainable. He’d be a nervous wreck.

He didn’t want Hutch feeling that way. Finding his voice and his courage, Starsky offered, “I do. I like everything about you, babe. That big, amazing dick…I love the way he responds to me.” To prove his point, Starsky reached out to collect that pulsing organ into his hand. The moist, hot flesh felt so different than his own.

Hutch moaned at his touch; the needy sound accentuated what Starsky was doing, what he was holding in his hand. The angle was wrong for the action his left hand was used to employing on solo nights. He gave an experimental pull. Hutch’s entire body surged up at him, the resulting whimper sounding like something that was ripped from him.

That sound hit Starsky where he lived. It bypassed his inhibitions and civilized veneer, touching that primal place he hardly ever allowed himself to visit. Where he’d felt intimidated and out of his depth a moment ago, that whimper made him feel like a king. It was a heady feeling, knowing he could reduce this competent man to pulsing need.

High on that feeling, Starsky’s voice thickened as he continued to speak, as he learned the proper grip and pull to bring his beautiful partner pleasure. “I love the long, lean length of you, partner. I love your strength. I love that you were brave enough to see what was happening between us and do something about it. I love that you didn’t rush me, that you let me find my own way to you. I’m right here with you now, Hutch. Right here loving you. Do you feel me? Can you feel how much I love you?”

“Starrrrssssssk…” Hutch made his name the embodiment of sex.

More than anything, he wished he could press himself against Hutch and have them come together. Before Gunther’s bullets had changed his world, he’d have been ready for a second go round, but he never made it twice a night anymore. But, for once, the inequities of his new reality didn’t matter. As Hutch’s smoldering body bucked up at him, that sizzling need was enough to rock his world. It was enough to bring his partner to those dazzling heights Hutch had raised him to just a few short moments ago.

Hutch gave a piercing cry as he came.

Feeling another man shower his hand with semen was another new experience. Starsky concentrated on the warm, sticky spurts, deciding that he liked it.

There wasn’t anything about this he hadn’t dug.

Hutch vented a shuddery breath afterwards.

Feeling Hutch’s gaze come to rest upon him, Starsky released his partner’s dick, which was now just normal human flesh again instead of some exaggerated archetype of male sexuality. Feeling the questions churning behind those shadowed eyes, Starsky raised his white-speckled fist to his face. The drops of semen glittered like pearls in the low light. Not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he stuck his tongue out to lap up Hutch’s messy gift.

The taste was predictably awful, but…there was still something about it that got under his skin.

Hutch hissed in a breath.

Not knowing what to say, Starsky met Hutch’s gaze before deliberately laying down beside him and leaning in for a tentative kiss.

Relieved, he felt Hutch’s lips cling to him as that big body wrapped itself around him. For what felt like forever, they just laid there on the rug as if too shocked by what they’d done for independent movement.

Deciding to test the waters, Starsky broke the kiss and leaned a couple of inches back to meet Hutch’s eyes. Seeing how the streetlight filtering in from the windows was glimmering through Hutch’s hair, he reached out to stroke his fingers through the lush strands. “I’ve been aching to touch your hair like this for years. I think I fell in love with it that first day I saw the sun blazing through it in the Academy shooting range.”

His words seemed to startle Hutch. Though his partner didn’t speak, Starsky could almost hear him thinking.

Finally, Hutch drew in a deep breath. “What you said before about being…accidentally…”

“In love,” Starsky supplied when words seemed to fail his friend. “The accidental part isn’t important.” Recalling what Hutch had said about modern day romance the afternoon he’d begun his Keep Hutch Occupied Campaign, a part of Starsky panicked. There had been little romance to jumping his partner’s bones inside the door. “I know this wasn’t exactly a hearts and flowers courtship, but if you give me half a chance, I’ll—”

“You…want to court me?” Hutch sounded stunned. “You’re okay with this? With courting me? I know you didn’t plan on any of this happening.”

It was a legitimate concern. Not even the poor lighting could hide how worried Hutch was. And, who could blame him? It wasn’t like he’d given his partner anything but pillow talk, Starsky realized. Raging hormones made for a great ride, but that ride was usually short-lived.

“I didn’t know it could be like this with us,” Starsky admitted. “So, no, I didn’t plan on it. But I’m damn glad it happened. What about you?”

“What about me?” Hutch asked, sounding confused instead of the overjoyed Starsky had hoped for.

Starsky preferred laying everything on the line, but sometimes the blunt approach could leave a person feeling too exposed. He didn’t want to do anything to make Hutch uncomfortable, but he still needed to know where he stood.

“You don’t seem exactly overjoyed.” There was an explanation, of course, one Starsky would rather not consider. But his heart was on the line now and he needed to know. “Wanting someone for a long time builds a lot of…expectations. Reality doesn’t always live up to fantasy. I know I’m not anybody’s dream—”

“No. God, Starsk…” Hutch’s arms were instantly around him, drawing him in tight.

Starsky settled his cheek against Hutch’s naked shoulder, loving the skin-to-skin feel of them, even if he hadn’t a clue as to what was bothering his partner.

Starsky could feel Hutch’s heart racing against his chest, could feel how unsteady his breathing was. Finally, Hutch whispered, “I’m overwhelmed.”

Starsky tried to understand, but nothing in anything they’d done had been the least bit frightening. “Overwhelmed? How? What we did before felt pretty mutual, babe.”

Could he have been wrong about everything? Had he steamrollered Hutch into sex?

Hutch gave a shaky chuckle. “It felt like heaven.”

“And heaven is bad?”

“I…haven’t had a lot of heaven in my life, Starsk. You…I don’t know how to take this in stride. Every time I’m ready for disaster to strike, you…turn my world upside down and make everything all right. I never had that before.”

“Neither have I,” Starsky admitted. “You’ve been doing the same for me for years. It’s not scary or overwhelming; it’s just us. Us doing something new.”

“There you go, making me crazy again,” Hutch said, his grip tightening. This time he didn’t seem so overwhelmed.

“I make you crazy?” Starsky asked, half flirt, half question.

“Try insane. How ’bout we move this conversation into the bedroom and I’ll show you how crazy you make me?” Hutch offered.

Up close like this, he could hardly miss his partner’s renewed interest.

Starsky tensed and pulled back. What they’d done before would have been foreplay for most guys. Before Gunther, he’d have been good for another go round, maybe even two. How was he supposed to tell Hutch he’d shot his load for the night?

“I want that. More than anything—”

“But?” Hutch sounded worried again.

Seeing no way around it, Starsky just put the truth out there. “The heart’s willing, but the flesh is weak, Hutch. I’m probably done for the night. I haven’t been able to do it more than once a night since Gunther. I want to love you again, but…I can’t, I mean….”

“Hey,” the hand that cupped his cheek was as soft as the word. “I will hold you in my arms until you can. Then I’ll make you crazy. If that happens later tonight, that’s great. If it happens in the morning, even better. No pressure. Like you said, this is us doing something new. You’ve spent the last three weeks making my dreams come true. Give me one more? Let me rock you in my arms all night long, babe. Please?”

Starsky shivered at the new tone of the familiar endearment. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. “That’s an easy one. Tonight—and every night, Hutch.”

Somehow, he was in Hutch’s arms again, holding on. This man had given him a reason to live when there’d been nothing but pain in his world, and now …now Hutch was giving him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Drowning in the subsequent kiss, Starsky thought that with the way they were going, they were never gonna make it off this rug. But…that was all right. Being accidentally in love was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

 

The End