It Never Rains in California

It’s raining and Starsky is grouchy.

The story was first published in the zine Here With You, produced as a tribute to SH writer Kaye Austen Michaels. It was published in May 2010.

“It’s raining. Again. For the sixth day in a row.” Starsky groaned in frustration and buried his head back under the covers. “It’s fucking raining! Who in the hell said it never rains in California? Idiot.”

Hutch chuckled and patted his partner’s quilt padded backside. “I believe that was Albert Hammond.” And he sang a few bars to prove his point.

Starsky wiggled around under the blankets. “How do you know this stuff?”

“Natural superiority and unequalled intelligence.” Starsky’s snort told Hutch exactly what he thought about that observation. Hutch retaliated to the insult with a thump on his hidden lover. “Don’t get too comfy, Starsk. I want food! Besides, it’s only water. You won’t melt, you know.”

“I have mold growing between my toes!” came yet another muffled response.

“A shower and some bleach will take care of that.” Laughing, Hutch stroked the lump that was his partner. “Hey. How about we stop at Du-Par’s and I buy you a nice big stack of blueberry pancakes? We have time and I’m starving. Let me rephrase that: we’ll have time if you get your lazy ass out of bed and get dressed.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Sure, buddy. With marshmallows if they’ve got them.”

“Wmmmm crmmm.”

“What?”

The blankets rose and, from the depths of cotton, Starsky emerged. He grinned at Hutch, making him laugh yet again.

“Want whipped cream. Not marshmallows. Not in the mood for marshmallows. And I want strawberry pancakes.” Then he pouted, making Hutch want to eat him up…with strawberries on top.

“Whatever you want,” he offered helplessly, unable to deny Starsky anything. Well, almost anything… A guy had to have some boundaries, after all. He refused to buy the new car that Starsky had picked out for him. It just wasn’t going to happen, even if it was a plain Buick Century with no power anything.

“Groovy!”

Hutch had all good intentions. He planned on getting up. He planned on buying Starsky pancakes. He planned on reporting to work on time for a change. Honestly, he did, but Starsky sat just a foot away, looking positively delicious. Better than any plate of pancakes, that was for sure. His hair was a halo of dark curls brought to life by the static electricity of the sheets. He seemed alight with joy, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Mention food to Starsk and he glowed as it would be prepared by the best chef in the world. Hutch smiled. Make that the best taco peddler this side of the Rio Grande. And to make Hutch’s morning even better, Starsky was shirtless and wearing ragged pajama bottoms that were worn enough to highlight his assets. Hutch licked his lips, hungry for a lot more than a stack of hotcakes.

“Hey,” Hutch said softly, reaching out to wrap his fingers behind Starsky’s neck.

Starsky smiled, slow and sweet, eyes dancing with amusement and love. Hutch knew his own face was an open book. The love, the devotion he felt for this man had to be evident in every pore of his being.

“Whatcha want, Hutch?” Starsky slid a few inches closer. The movement dragged on his pajama bottoms, and they slipped a little more, the old elastic giving way. An enticing triangle of dark hair peeked out, as if begging for Hutch’s touch. “Thought you wanted pancakes. With strawberries.”

“Starsk,” Hutch said, voice raspy with desire. He swallowed around the dryness in his throat and longed for a taste of the liquid heat from his partner’s body. “I wanted blueberries. You wanted s-strawberries. But if you want to know, all I really want right now is you.”

“Ya got me, blondie. You know that.”

“Jesus, what you do to me.” Hutch pulled Starsky to him, wrapping his arms around the warm body. He pressed their lips together, tenderly kissing the compliant mouth that opened under his. Moaning softly, Hutch plunged in, tongue-fucking Starsky until his lover was trembling in his arms, clutching Hutch so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe. Pulling away, he palmed Starsky’s hardness, stroking lovingly. “Ease up on the ribs, buddy. Gotta breathe a little.”

“Hutch,” Starsky whispered. “Ah, man. Hutch!” Starsky arched his back as Hutch stroked harder. “Fuck me, babe. It’s been too long.”

“Too many long days and even longer nights working. We have to rectify that soon.”

“Gonna retire. Gonna spend my days
fucking-”

The phone rang, the shrill sound echoing through the quiet room, cutting off the rest of pleading words that had begun to tumble from Starsky’s lips. Hutch groaned and Starsky moved quickly, pushing him flat on the bed.

“Don’t you dare touch that,” Starsky ordered, pushing his cock between Hutch’s legs. “I got a fire burning.”

Hutch laughed, slapping a firm butt cheek. “You’re poetic this morning.” The phone rang relentlessly. Hutch reached out to lift the receiver when a sharp pain lanced his shoulder.

“Ouch! You bit me!”

“Told ya not to answer it!”

“Starsk, I have to. You know that.”

Starsky sighed theatrically. “Yeah, I know.” He rolled off Hutch and lay splayed out on his side of the bed, hand on his own cock.

Hutch grabbed the offensive plastic. “What!” he barked, harsher than he’d intended but still… Interrupting a man’s lovemaking wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“Excuse me, Detective, but this is your superior officer.”

“Oh, sorry, Captain. Good morning. How may I help you?” Hutch looked over at Starsky and his mouth fell open. His lover had a big grin on his face as he fondled himself, stroking his cock slowly while keeping his eyes locked on Hutch’s. Drawing it out. Rubbing a thumb over the slit and then licking that thumb seductively. Christ.

“We have a body in Griffith Park. You and Starsky get your backsides over there pronto. Hutch? Are you there?”

“Y-yeah, Harold.”

“What?”

“Captain! Captain Dobey. Sorry. S-sorry.” Hutch felt mesmerized by his partner’s sensuality as he pleasured himself. His own cock surged in response. “Thirty minutes.” He slammed down the phone before Captain Dobey insisted on fifteen. Starsky reached out and grasped Hutch’s hand. His mouth fell open and he helplessly watched Starsky stroke both of them to the brink of completion. Then, gasping, he came over his partner’s hand embarrassingly fast. What this man did to him was a crime!

“School boy,” Starsky said with a satisfied grin. “I can make you come anywhere, any time, in two minutes or less. Got no stayin’ power.”

“Not with you,” Hutch said with a smile, sure his cheeks were red, but really not caring since he felt so good. “Come for me, babe.”

Starsky gasped out Hutch’s name as he came. Hutch reached out and coated two fingers with Starsky’s gift. He brought them to his lips. Starsky’s passion-dark eyes followed the motion and he groaned when Hutch licked his own fingers.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, Hutch.”

“And you’re a troublemaker. No pancakes for you, Gordo.”

“You’re better than pancakes any day. Now give me a kiss.”

“No time. Got a body in the park.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’ll keep. I need a shower and a hot cup o’ joe before I can function. And a damned rain coat.”

“My delicate flower. I’ve even got you a nice pair of red galoshes for your sensitive tootsies.” Hutch batted his eyes, making Starsky laugh as he pointed to the bathroom.

“Damn right. This body is a temple. Now get that shower heated up and be quick about it. I’ll go and start Mr. Coffee. We got a body in the park, ya know.”

Chapter End Notes:

Thanks to Albert Hammond for the title.
Big hugs to Nik and Chris for the edit.
For KAM, with love.