Labyrinth

342

After another close call, Starsky and Hutch take a vacation to San Francisco and find more than what they thought they were looking for.

 

From the Zine Shadowplay, a Starsky and Hutch anthology edited by Carol Davis and Merle Decker.

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Part One

“Awo..o..o..o..o..w!” Hutch’s howl echoed eerily along the length of the deserted beach. Baying at the moon seemed the only way to come close to expressing the way he felt tonight. He brought his head down and turned towards his giggling companion.

“Hutch, you crazy bastard,” Starsky chuckled, grabbing his arm for support. “You think you’re Lon Chaney, Jr., or what?”

“It’s a full moon,” Hutch explained, gesturing theatrically and none-too-steadily at the night sky. The sudden move threw him off balance and he staggered; only hanging onto his partner saved him from landing unceremoniously on his backside.

“You’re also drunk, Hutchinson!” Starsky swayed slightly.

“Jus’ wanted to keep you company,” Hutch solemnly intoned, then ruined the effect by throwing back his head and letting another drawn-out howl escape.

Starsky grinned, white teeth flashing in the darkness, before joining Hutch in creating an unholy duet. The cacophony was cut short by another spate of giggles from both men.

As their laughter wound down, thoughts about their last case flooded Hutch’s mind. It was a close call this time. I could’ve died. Would’ve if it hadn’t been for Starsky. Why does it seem to get worse every year? He had felt like a time bomb ready to go off after leaving Laura and Hannah’s earlier in the evening. He hadn’t thought it showed but, as usual, Starsky had picked up on it. The two of them had returned to Venice Place and put down a number of beers–how many, he refused to think about. And, like always, just being alone with his partner helped. Slowly, the tension of the last two days ebbed, to be replaced by an almost desperate playfulness. He had gotten the brilliant idea that the beach was the perfect way to end the day. By that time, Hutch realized, he could have suggested skinny-dipping in the fountains of downtown LA and Starsky would have gone along with it.

“Come on, race you back,” Starsky challenged abruptly and took off.

Hutch was startled by the sudden move. He let out a yelp of protest and set off in determined pursuit. “Cheat!” he accused. Up ahead, Starsky’s feet threw wakes of sand and water back at him as he ran through the surf. Hutch, with his longer stride, soon closed the gap and lunged, trying to grab his friend’s arm. At the last moment he stumbled; arms flailing, he managed to grab a fistful of shirt before he fell.

Hutch found himself face down in the surf, but rather than gritty sand as a cushion he found something softer and more yielding beneath him. It felt nice. He nestled his head next to Starsky’s, wrapped his arms around him, and felt a satisfied smile settle on his face.

“Get offa me…” Starsky got out before a wave caught him in mid-sentence. The rest came out as a wet gurgle.

Hutch’s laughter escaped as little soggy snorts which disappeared into the mass of dark curls where he had buried his face. He felt an answering shaking beneath him, as if the earth were moving. Finally the laughter ebbed and Hutch summoned enough energy to roll off his squashed partner. He lay on his back looking at his foot-race competitor. And such were the funeral rites of Hector, breaker of horses.

Starsky levered himself up on his elbows, shaking his head to get some of the water out of his hair and eyes. Another wave hit, washing over them both.

“Come on, ya big lug,” Starsky wheezed, grabbing one of Hutch’s limp arms as he struggled to his feet. “Neither of us is ready for the From Here to Eternity scene.” He managed to drag his partner to his feet, draping Hutch’s arm over his shoulder. “An’ you sure as hell don’t look like Deborah Kerr.”

“Hope not,” Hutch muttered and pressed closer to the compact body.

They managed to stagger twenty-five feet or so before collapsing onto dry sand. They lay on their backs, side by side, staring up into the night sky.

“We’re a mess…” Hutch finally managed to say, gesturing weakly at their wet, sand-encrusted bodies.

“And whose fault is that, Ollie?” Starsky grumbled. “I think I got about half this beach down my pants.” There was the grating sound of clogged zipper teeth. “Shit. I think I’m gonna have to cut my way out of these.”

Turning his head, he studied the moon-lit profile of his partner. Starsky’s dark, ocean-wet curls seemed tangled in a matrix of silver light. The profile seemed younger, wiped clean of the lines of stress that marked it after the violent ending of their case.

Starsky turned his head and Hutch found himself being studied.

“Thanks,” Hutch drawled.

“For what?”

Hutch was vaguely surprised. He hadn’t expected to be asked. Think fast. “For taking that pie in the face.” He laughed, but the image of Starsky slowly licking the meringue off his fingers sent an old familiar shiver down his spine. “Yep, that one had my name on it, but you stepped right in front….”

“No, you ducked.” The dark haired man smiled, and Hutch smiled back, content in their camaraderie. He got lost in the sensations.

“I’ve been thinking, Starsky,” he finally murmured. “After this last case….” He turned his head away, eyes searching the night sky for the few brilliant stars that could struggle through the thick LA air. “This last year has been…tough. For both of us.”

“Yeah,” Starsky whispered, an undercurrent of pain in the single word.

“And I think we need some time off. Real time off, not like that sorry excuse for a vacation up at Pine Lake.”

“Okay,” Starsky agreed. “You think Laura might reconsider that Mexico thing…?”

“Starsky,” Hutch cut him off sharply. He struggled for control. It was very important that there were no misunderstandings. When he continued speaking, his words were soft and controlled. “What I meant was a real vacation for the two of us. Together. A couple of weeks someplace we can just go, have a good time, forget we’re cops.” He shifted in the sand. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off, and he was getting chilly. “Trouble is, the stuff I’ve been forgetting lately is important. There are times I can’t recognize who I am, or was, or even who you are. It’s all getting lost in the shuffle of being cops. Doin’ the job…. Needing to tie one on after the case…. I need a break. I want to get to know us again. Let’s run away from home for a while.”

He got a smile of epic proportions as an answer. “Sounds good to me…” Starsky began, then he paused and a flicker of unease appeared in the dark blue eyes. “Where did you…?”

Hutch grinned devilishly. “Relax, partner, I wasn’t thinking about camping out in the middle of the woods. Actually, what I had in mind would be enjoyable for both of us. How about San Francisco?”

“Why San Francisco?”

“Why not?” Hutch felt like laughing at the expression on his partner’s face.

“Hell, sounds like as good a reason as any. In fact, anyplace I don’t have to worry about bears sounds fine to me. Haven’t been to Frisco in a long time.”

“Great. I’ll put in for leave when we get to work….”

“An’ maybe, if we’re real lucky,” Starsky continued, “Dobey might let us go in a couple years or so.”

“Have faith, Starsky. We’ll get there real soon. I feel it.”

“What you’ll feel is crippled if you fall asleep on this beach.” Starsky groaned as he sat up. “It’s not too far back to your place and I want to sleep on something soft.”

“This is soft,” Hutch chuckled, patting the sand with one hand.

“Not as soft as your head,” Starsky growled. “Come on, Blintz. Home.” He struggled to his feet and extended a hand.

A grunt escaped the smaller man as he took his partner’s weight. Getting to a standing position, he settled his arm comfortably around Starsky’s shoulders, while his friend clasped him around the waist. Supporting each other in this way the two men set off unsteadily towards home. A baritone voice, off-key but very loud, broke the pre-dawn stillness. “I left my heart in San Fran…ci…scooo….”

“Starsky!”

~~~

After several minutes of creative Torino packing Hutch managed to fit his suitcases in with Starsky’s. He brushed his hands together. “So, where’s the rest of your stuff? In the back seat?”

“Nope. That’s it. You’ve been getting ready for three months. I just started last night.”

Hutch looked pointedly at the single piece of luggage. “You sure you packed everything?”

“Hutch, we’re going to San Francisco, not the Mojave Desert. If we forget something we can always buy it there.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more organized. All you have to do is make a list….”

“Are you calling your lists ‘organized’?’ I’ve been finding little pieces of paper all over the place for the last week. I can quote ’em. They all said the same thing–‘toothbrush, toothpaste, razor–‘”

“Did you pack your toothbrush?”

“Of course I did.”

“See, they worked.”

Starsky elbowed the taller man out of his way and slammed the trunk shut. “Get in the car.”

“Did you pack your toothpaste?”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

The blond folded himself into the passenger seat and glanced at his partner who was keying the ignition. He couldn’t resist one more shot. “Did you pack…?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Just don’t come running to me when you find that….” Hutch’s voice lost the competition with the engine.

Starsky pulled out into traffic then spared him a look. “Are you seriously telling me that if I forgot toothpaste you wouldn’t let me use yours?”

Hutch pondered for a moment. “Well, that–yes. But you can’t borrow my socks.”

“I don’t want your socks. They’re white. I don’t wear white socks,” Starsky pointed out archly.

“I’ve seen you in white socks before.”

“They weren’t mine.”

“I know. ”

~~~

After a meal of quantity, if not quality, they were back on Route 1. Hutch wrestled with the map, folding it down to the section he wanted.

“We coulda made the whole trip to Frisco without a layover,” Starsky said. “Only twelve hours.”

“Starsk, it’s over 500 miles yet. Our motel is only about 120 from here. We should get there by 10 o’clock. If you want a break, pull into one of the overlooks and I’ll drive.”

“I’m okay. You navigate. What’s the name of the place again?”

“The Jade Beach Motel.”

Starsky chuckled. “Sounds like something out of a Charlie Chan movie. Honorable Number One Partner make reservation?”

“No. I thought we’d just take a chance and if there weren’t any vacancies we’d sleep in the car.” The sarcasm hung in the air like a bad smell.

“Cute, Hutch.”

Hutch peered out the windshield, ostensibly looking for road signs. “Sorry.”

“S’okay. Been a long week. Just don’t fall asleep on me or we’ll be lost when you wake up.”

“You can’t get lost. This goes all the way to San Francisco. Besides, I don’t think I could sleep after that dinner we ate.”

Starsky drove silently for a few minutes, then gave in to his baser instincts. “Did you pack the Alka-Seltzer?”

There was a beat of silence from the passenger seat. Then: “No, I didn’t.”

Starsky let out a wail. “Oh, whatever are we going to do?!?”

Hutch had the grace to laugh.

~~~

Starsky settled back in his chair with a contented sigh and pushed the now empty plate away, repressing the urge to loosen his belt. “This sure is the life, Hutch. Good food, a fancy setting….” He gestured at their posh surroundings–an open-air restaurant on the pier of Monterey Bay. The fine china and crystal on their table glinted in the sunlight. It made skipping breakfast for an early start worthwhile.

“…and thou?” Hutch finished, a questioning look in his eyes.

Starsky paused for a moment, as if seriously contemplating a new idea, and then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go for that.” He couldn’t keep up the act any longer and a wide smile lit his face.

The blond responded instantly with an answering grin.

The waiter’s appearance interrupted their banter. Two refilled cups of coffee and a cleared table later, the two men sat in companionable silence, sharing the view. Starsky watched, fascinated by the white winged seagulls dipping and crying in the calm air. The small fishing vessels and the sweeping line of the bay made it almost too pretty to be real–like a picture post card.

“We’re getting a late start, Starsky. Our schedule….” Hutch peered anxiously at his watch.

“Relax,” Starsky instructed, slightly annoyed with his partner. Why d’you always have to be so worried about things, Hutch? Can’t you just lie back and enjoy life as it comes? He waved a hand airily at the expanse of sea and sky. “Schedules are for breaking.”

“Starsky, you always say that when it’s your fault we’re late.”

“We’re on vacation. That means we’re here to enjoy ourselves, not get ulcers worrying about keeping up with some schedule. We enjoyed sleeping late this morning. We enjoyed this brunch. And we’re both enjoying the view. Okay?”

Hutch opened his mouth, as if preparing for an argument, then shut it abruptly. “It’s getting to be a habit…arguing with you.” A smile warmed the generous mouth, dissipating Starsky’s annoyance. “And you’re right. I am enjoying this.”

“Just listen to your partner. Starsky knows best,” he added smugly.

“Don’t let it go to your head, just because you’re right once.” Any sting to the words was lost as Hutch reached over to a flowerbox beside the table, plucked a small dandelion from the unweeded bed, and offered it to him.

Starsky took it with solemnity. For some reason the gesture got to him and he suddenly felt the need to lighten the situation. “Aw, Hutch, you shouldn’t have. Your first born, too. I see it has daddy’s hair.” He reached over and held the flower against Hutch’s cheek.

Hutch waved away the hand. “Will you get that out of my face?”

“You hopeless romantic, you.” Starsky chuckled as he waggled his finger at him. He still made it a point to carefully tuck the dandelion into a buttonhole of his shirt. “But I warn you, babe, I’m not a cheap date. Next time you give me a yellow flower–make it a rose.”

Hutch held up his cup of coffee as if for a toast, and a moment later Starsky mirrored the gesture. “I’ll drink to that.”

“How ’bout to us,” Starsky counter-proposed.

“I’ll drink to that, too,” Hutch agreed amicably.

There was a distinct ‘clink’ as the china met in a toast.

“We should do this with champagne, y’know.”

“Next time for sure.”

“Yeah,” Starsky agreed. “It’ll go nice with the roses.”

“Drink your coffee, Starsky.”

~~~

Late afternoon sunlight streamed into the interior of the Torino. To the west the setting sun seemed to be easing into the Pacific. They had left Monterey Bay behind and were on the last leg of their trip to San Francisco. Even with the winding curves of Route 1, Hutch estimated they would arrive at their destination in another hour and a half.

The blond felt slightly foolish, realizing he was sitting there smiling at nothing. It seemed a reflection of the feeling of contentment which had held him since waking.

Perfect day. Perfect companion. He knew his thoughts were bordering on the sloppily sentimental, but he found he simply didn’t care. Starsky’s right. I’ve got to relax, go with things. We’re on vacation. If it feels good, go with it. He surreptitiously studied the driver’s profile, lit from behind by the swollen sun. The tousled curls seemed particularly wayward this day, tossed by the wind, high-lighted by the dying light, making his partner particularly…endearing. Hutch searched for another word, but was soon forced to admit it was the only adequate description for Starsky. He restrained the urge to sink his fingers into the soft mass of hair. Good thing you can’t read my mind or you’d probably turn three shades of red.

Suddenly a swift glance was directed at him and dark eyes were studying his face. Starsky’s gaze was quickly gone, once more focused on the road ahead. Hutch felt himself blushing.

~~~

The red Torino fish-tailed into a parking space on the quiet street. Hutch unpeeled his death-like grip on the dashboard, slowly sinking back into the seat. “Starsk….”

“Well, we’re here,” the driver announced cheerily, oblivious to the impending storm.

“Those were hills, goddamnit,” Hutch finally managed to choke out.

Starsky peered at his partner. The only illumination was from dim streetlights at opposite ends of the block, so it was difficult to read the other man’s expression, but he was good enough at picking up other signals to recognize trouble. “So?” he questioned, still somewhat puzzled at Hutch’s reaction.

“So…. You don’t drive on them as if you’re on a straightaway at the Grand Prix. I thought I was going through the roof even with the seat belt on. It would’ve been just great to get a ticket for insane driving the moment we get into San Francisco.” He turned his head to stare at Starsky, his voice lowering an octave. “If you expect me to get into this moving violation again, I’m driving.”

Starsky knew when he shouldn’t push his luck. He shrugged as he escaped from the car, heading around to the trunk. “Course it’s all right that you got us lost for half an hour as soon as we got into the city,” he muttered darkly.

Hutch followed. “Starsky….”

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “You can drive…while we’re in the city.” He opened the trunk and removed his bag. “All right, where’s this place we’re staying.”

“The Bayberry,” Hutch muttered. Delving into the trunk, he pulled out various pieces of luggage and began piling them on the sidewalk. Finishing this task, he straightened and glanced around the dim street. A fog had started creeping in, misting things over, making it difficult to see. “There,” he finally said, pointing to an old Victorian house across the street. “One eleven Elm. Hey, it looks even more atmospheric than I thought it would.” He grinned at his partner, but the smile faded as Starsky picked up his lone piece of luggage and started across the street.

Starsky ran up the steps and knocked energetically on the door. He turned, watching Hutch’s balancing act with his bags, slowly tapping his foot. Complain about my drivin’, will ya?

A beam of welcoming yellow light poured over Starsky’s shoulders and down the steps as the front door opened suddenly. He turned around, fixing a friendly smile on his face.

“May I help you?” A slender man in his early forties stood in the doorway, slowly wiping off his hands with a towel.

“Yeah, matter of fact, you can. I’m Dave Starsky…and that,” he pointed down at the figure struggling up the steps, “is Ken Hutchinson. I think we’ve got reservations.”

“Welcome to San Francisco.” He opened the door wide for the over-laden blond. “I’m Keith Palmeroy.”

Hutch, by this time, had made it into the entrance hall and had dumped his luggage in a pile around his feet.

As Palmeroy closed the front door, Starsky took a closer look at the hall and the room visible through a pair of open French doors. It was old fashioned, reminding him of his grandmother’s, with its dark woodwork, faded carpets, and Victorian furniture. There was even a large Chinese vase filled with potpourri on a hall table, filling the air with the scent of faded roses.

“Ah, I see they’ve gotten here,” another voice added. A stocky man stood framed in the French doors. “We were getting worried. You’re quite a bit past the time you set for your arrival.” He had a smile that could light rooms, mated to a face that could stop clocks.

“Rolf, I’d like you to meet our guests.” Palmeroy made the round of introductions, ending with identifying Rolf Howard, his partner in the bed and breakfast business.

They signed into the hall guest book and were led up the stairs to their room. Starsky kept his laughter under control when their two hosts took most of Hutch’s luggage in hand. They climbed two flights of stairs and were shown to a large front bedroom. Keith was beaming with pleasure when he opened their door.

“This is the best room in The Bayberry. Most of the furniture in here is antique. Except for the bed, of course,” he said waving at the king-sized four- poster.

“It sure looks old,” Starsky commented.

“A reproduction,” Rolf said, setting down the last of Hutch’s luggage. “It’s more comfortable than an original.” He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and smiled. “Well, c’mon Keith. Let our guests get some rest.”

“Rolf is right. You’ve had a pretty good drive and it’s late. Breakfast is served between eight and ten in the dining room. We’re having waffles, sausage, eggs, and fresh fruit.”

“That’s not the only fruit in this place,” Starsky muttered as the door closed behind their hosts.

“What?” Hutch asked from the depths of an open suitcase.

“Nothin’.” Starsky began investigating the room thoroughly, unsure if he liked it or not. It wasn’t exactly his idea of how a swinging vacation should start out. It was much too domestic, like home.

“Isn’t this great!” Hutch enthused. “This sure isn’t the sterilized, homogenized, early nothing you’d get at a Holiday Inn.” He pulled open the top drawer of the walnut armoire, stuffing some of his clothes inside.

Starsky muttered something under his breath as he opened his suitcase.

“What’d you say?” Hutch straightened up, rubbing absently at the small of his back.

“I said,” Starsky’s voice rose, “at least the Holiday Inn would’ve had a TV.”

“A TV?” Hutch echoed. “A TV!” A myriad of expressions flickered over the blond’s face–disbelief, annoyance, hurt, anger. “I thought a good vacation would mean more to you than getting in your quota of Saturday morning cartoons. I….” He cut himself off, slamming the drawer to the armoire shut. “I’m going to take a shower and cool off.” He grabbed his bathrobe and shaving kit and withdrew like a storm cloud into the bathroom.

Starsky stood, holding a shirt in his hands, staring at the closed door. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. He had wanted to make this a good vacation for himself and Hutch. He knew how much of the last three months Hutch had devoted to planning these two weeks. To making it perfect. He sat gingerly on the edge of the king-size bed and looked around at his surroundings. It is nice here, even if it does remind me of grandma’s. And damn, I can survive without a TV. He listened to the sound of the shower and sighed. Sorry, Hutch.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. He opened the door to find Palmeroy waiting in the hall.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Starsky, but I wanted to talk to you or Mr. Hutchinson before you retired. I know the advertisement for the room said TV included, but at the moment it’s at the repairman’s. Rolf took it in yesterday and forgot to tell me. It should be back tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

A dull flush crept up Starsky’s cheeks. “Uh, thanks.” I think. A sudden frown creased his brows. “New York?” he asked hesitantly.

“How’d you know? The accent?” Palmeroy grinned at Starsky’s knowing nod. “East Side. And you?”

Starsky grinned back. “Brooklyn.”

“Thought I’d lost enough of it not to be spotted.”

“You did. ‘Cept maybe by another New Yorker.”

“Oh, by the way,” Palmeroy continued, “I wanted to give you this. Compliments of the house.” He reached to one side and plucked a wine bucket off a hall table. A bottle of chilled wine and two glasses lay nestled amid the ice.

“Hey!” Starsky grinned again. “That’s real nice of you.”

“Have a good night, Mr. Starsky. And enjoy your stay.”

Maneuvering the door shut with his foot, Starsky arranged the glasses and wine on a small table. The shower was still running. He got undressed slowly and shrugged into his own dark blue bathrobe. Settling in a chair, he stared out the night-filled window.

Silence fell over the room as the shower cut off, then the small sounds of Hutch getting ready for bed filtered through the bathroom door. When it finally swung open, Hutch emerged, wrapped tightly in his terry-cloth robe, cool and in control. Too much in control, Starsky realized with long practiced reading of his moody partner. Time for one expert how-to-get-a-Hutchinson-out-of-a-bad-mood exercise.

“Hutch,” he said, addressing a broad expanse of back. No answer. He got up and grabbed the wine bottle and poured two glasses. “Look what the management brought. Now that’s what I call service.”

The blond turned and stared at the pale liquid, his glance following a small drop of water that trailed down the frosted glass that was held out to him. There was a slight thawing of the arctic gaze. “Glad you found something you like here.” Hutch accepted the proffered peace offering, taking a small sip. “Not bad.”

Starsky copied the action. “Mmmm. Hey, this is good.” He took another healthy swig.

A small smile tugged unbidden at the wide mouth. “Should be, it’s Californian.” Hutch settled gingerly into one of the cane-backed chairs, sitting ram-rod straight.

“Hutch,” Starsky said softly, “sorry.”

The pale blue eyes locked with his partner’s. “S’okay, I was in a bad mood anyway.”

“I’ve been looking around at this place,” Starsky waved his hand at the antique-filled room, “and it’s nice…real nice. I feel comfortable here.”

A smile lit Hutch’s face, chasing all the remaining shadows away. “Really? You’re not just saying it to….”

“Nope,” Starsky interrupted firmly, shaking his head. “This’ll be great.” He grinned back, a lopsided flashing of teeth. “To our vacation…if we don’t kill each other first.” He extended his glass.

There was a soft clink as the glasses met. “I’ll drink to that.” There was a twinkle in Hutch’s eye as he continued. “But I did promise you champagne for the next toast. Take a raincheck?”

“Okay. Holding you to it.” Starsky drained his glass and studied his partner with a knowing eye. The big blond was sitting in the chair, back straight, giving all the unspoken signals that he had come to read so well over the last year. “Back’s botherin’ you again?” he asked quietly.

There was a pause and a muffled, “Uh-uh.”

“Come on. Time for a Starsky special,” he said with a grin, flexing his fingers like a mad pianist.

Hutch chuckled. “If I had any sense I wouldn’t let those ten wiggling snakes of yours within fifteen feet of me.”

“So who ever said you had any sense, Blondie?” Starsky moved toward the bed, flipping down the spread, blankets, and top sheet with a flourish. “Come on, move it. Oh…wait.” He disappeared abruptly into the bathroom, but emerged a moment later, flourishing a small bottle. “Body lotion, compliments of the house. Okay, down on the ol’ tummy.”

Hutch rolled his eyes heavenward but nevertheless obeyed the command. Slipping out of his robe he lay stomach down on the wide bed, the length of his tanned body an abrupt contrast to the white sheets.

They jostled for comfortable positions, but within moments had settled with Starsky kneeling at Hutch’s side. Starsky applied the lotion in long, even strokes, giving special attention to the lower back and attendant muscles. His fingers dug into tense areas with practiced ease. Starsky smiled as he felt the gradual loosening under his hands. Ever since the attempted hit by Slater, when Hutch had been pinned under his car for two days, his back periodically gave him trouble. Starsky had bullied the doctors into giving him instructions on how to help with Hutch’s physical therapy. He had put it to practical use ever since. When his partner was hurting it made him feel a hell of a lot better when he knew he could do something to help. Like now. Starsky could see enough of the other man’s face to observe relaxation, mingled with pleasure, steal over the tensed features. Any second the walls would be falling….

“Mmmmm,” slipped like honey from Hutch’s throat.

Eureka, Starsky thought. You’re always in control, aren’t you, Hutch, with that WASP mentality of yours. Takes a while for you to start showing me this feels good…. His thumbs marked slow parallel trails up either side of his spine. But once you start, you sure let me know loud and clear that you’re enjoyin’ it. He grinned as another little moan of pleasure issued from the pillow. Hope this doesn’t disturb the neighbors…. His hands faltered for a moment at what interpretation might be placed on such sounds issuing from their room. Then he grinned evilly, resuming the steady pressure, the slick gliding of flesh against flesh. Let ’em think what the hell they want. They’re not real.

As the minutes passed Hutch’s noisy appreciation slowly subsided, fading smoothly into the deep, even breathing of sleep. Starsky’s hands, as if on automatic, continued to stroke the smooth back. The sensation of touching Hutch like this felt good, the contact having unconsciously grown into a caress. He blinked suddenly, pulling himself out of the almost hypnotized state into which he had slipped.

Starsky’s open palms rested gently against the evenly rising and falling back. He leaned forward until his mouth was a scant inch from the blond’s ear, his breath stirring the fine gossamer hair. “Hey, Blintz,” he whispered. “You awake?” There was no response. Starsky chuckled silently and gently pushed a few golden strands out of his friend’s eyes. “Sleep tight, sleepin’ beauty.”

He carefully levered himself off the bed and covered the totally lax figure with the sheet and blankets. A few minutes later he had joined his friend and was soon sound asleep beneath the covers.

~~~

Starsky woke slowly. The first thing that registered in his mind was the few dim glimmers of daylight which managed to filter in through the drawn drapes. He opened one bleary eye and finally focused on the bedside clock–6:14. AM, his mind supplied unnecessarily. He moaned and pushed his face further into the pillow, snuggling back into an encircling warmth. Part of his mind registered this last sensation. It was definitely pleasurable. It was also something that shouldn’t be there. He opened his eyes and saw a large hand with an accompanying muscular arm draped loosely over his chest. He immediately knew it was not his own because there was blond hair on the arm. Hutch. He identified the warmth. His not inconsiderable-sized partner was plastered spoon-like against his bare back, and Hutch’s knee had somehow managed to insinuate itself between his legs. He felt warm breath tickle against his neck, timed with the slow, even rhythm of sleep.

Starsky considered the situation. Hutch and he had certainly shared beds before this, but somehow they always managed to keep roughly to their own sides. With this giant expanse of mattress at their disposal there wasn’t even the excuse of crowding. Sleep tugged at his eyelids. It was too early to think, he finally decided. He snuggled back into the familiar presence, feeling very safe. He’d worry about it…later.

He drifted back to sleep easily and slept deeply. His second awakening was much more abrupt. Hutch was still pressed close, their bodies lying in the same intertwined embrace. However, this time, Starsky realized his friend was very much awake. He lay there, afraid to move, wondering if Hutch was mirroring his own feelings of awkwardness over their intimate position. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to be the one to make the first move. He had just about dredged up the courage to pull away when a small snort of expelled breath exploded into his hair and he could feel Hutch’s chest vibrating against his back. Suddenly, the comic aspects of the situation hit him, and a snicker escaped his lips. Within moments they were laughing helplessly. When the fit started to die down to weak giggles, Starsky managed to gather enough strength to roll over, coming eye to streaming eye with Hutch. “My partner…the…octopus,” he managed to get out between hiccuping breaths and affectionately ruffled the already mussed hair into an even worse state.

When they finally managed to roll out of bed they dressed quickly, goaded on by Starsky’s single-minded desire to attack the gourmet breakfast and Hutch’s worry about a late start. Even hurrying as they were could not make up for their sleeping in, and the hall clock was striking half past nine when they finally made it downstairs. Because it was a beautiful morning, breakfast was served on the small patio at the back of the house. Without the usual inland fog to obscure the bright blue of the August sky or the August sun, the day was already heating up, but in the distance they could see a thick bank of gray still hovering over the bay. Rolf was their visible host for the morning, but they could hear Keith clattering away in the kitchen. He served them the promised fare and a half-hour later both men pushed back from the table feeling replete and totally content. It was over their last cup of coffee that Hutch innocently asked how Starsky felt about boats.

~~~

It was still foggy on the bay. Starsky sat on one of the benches along the back of the tour boat, his arms hugging each other. He squinted against the wind and spray at the block of buildings on the little island.

“Looks like a tomb.”

Hutch sat beside him in much the same pose. “I guess in a way it was.”

Starsky turned to watch the seagulls following the boat. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the engine noise. “Whenever I think of Alcatraz, I think of George Raft, Edward G. Robinson, and those guys. The movies. Not about the people who really had to stay there.”

Hutch shrugged. “It served its purpose in its day.”

Starsky surprised his partner with a grin. “My father used to tell me he’d send me here, and that he could arrange it. Then he’d say ‘Ha-ha,’ and I’d go ‘Ha-ha,’ but somewhere in the back of my mind I thought he just might do it. Then I used to think that I could survive there. I’d work real hard and become top-con and everything would be just fine. ‘Course I was about eight. Got over that real fast.”

“My father used to threaten me with West Point.”

“Really?” Did he ever take the time to ‘threaten’ you with anything?

Hutch considered for a moment, then smiled slightly. “Nope. Made it up.”

“Well, I think I’d rather have gone to Alcatraz.”

Hutch chuckled. “Me, too.”

“You? You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.” Probably less than three, judging from the way that turkey in the leather pants is eyeing you. Starsky watched as the man wandered off, obviously not encouraged by Hutch’s failure to notice him. If I had a nickel for every guy who’s goggled at you today, we could retire.

“Whadaya mean? I bet I could last just as long as you. Maybe longer.”

Starsky stared at him through slitted eyes. No you couldn’t, Hutch. Not looking the way you do. They’d have been all over you. His jaw came up belligerently. “Bet my mom could beat up your mom.”

“What?!” Hutch laughed, taken aback, as if he had been prepared for a longer round.

Starsky stood and pointed. “Hey! Look–a bridge!”

Hutch just looked at Starsky.

~~~

Hutch was feeling mellow. They had just finished a leisurely dinner at a small restaurant. The food had been excellent and the wine good. He and Starsky had talked of little things, nothing of great importance, but the closeness felt so palpable he wondered if it could not be seen by casual passersby.

They had decided to take a walk after dinner, to stretch their legs and to soak up the feel of the city. The fog-heavy air felt wonderful to his slightly flushed cheeks. Even in August, San Francisco was chilly at night, a far cry from the smothering heat of Los Angeles. A low, lonely sound suddenly echoed eerily in the distance.

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, looking around suspiciously.

“Fog horn. To warn the ships.”

“Sounds kinda sad.”

“Someone once wrote that it reminded him of the cry of a lost soul.”

Starsky shivered dramatically. “That’s creepy.”

Hutch grinned evilly. “I know lots of stories that would make your skin crawl. There’s this one that’s a favorite of mine about a mad doctor who stalked the fog-enshrouded streets of Victorian London.”

“Hutch…!” Starsky growled warningly, eyes nevertheless scanning the fog-enshrouded street they were traversing with a nervous glance.

Hutch’s voice lowered dramatically. “He crept up behind his victims like a phantom, a long wicked blade clutched in one claw-like hand and….” He ducked as Starsky made a swipe at his head. “…then he’d cut out….” The blond tried to continue the lurid tale but had to run for his life when his partner lunged for him. The chase was short but energetic, lasting only to the end of the block. A temporary truce was called, but Hutch secretly vowed to tell the rest of the story once they were in bed and the lights out.

Their evening stroll finally took them on to a street with a number of brightly-lit restaurants and bars. “Hey!” Starsky pointed at one sign. “‘The Labyrinth.’ Didn’t Palmeroy mention this as a neighborhood bar worth going to? Has dancing, too.”

“Want a beer?” Hutch asked.

“Sounds good to me. Walking makes me thirsty.”

Once inside, they found The Labyrinth aptly named. The interior was divided into two discrete sections. The bar half was decorated in wood and cut glass, but the stone floor was patterned in black and white with a design that looked like a maze, while over the bar hung a l9th century painting of Theseus battling the minotaur. Through a large archway beckoned an open space where patrons were dancing to the beat of loud music. This room was more modern in feel than the bar area, but the floor in there looked as if it were marked with the same maze pattern.

Hutch spotted a free table near the bar and homed in to claim it. Starsky was momentarily diverted from the siren call of the music and trailed after his partner. “Beer first,” Hutch directed, as he settled into a corner seat.

A waiter ambled up after a few minutes and took their order. Two large iced mugs of beer were soon placed in front of the thirsty men, on napkins patterned with a labyrinth. Hutch could tell it wouldn’t be long before his partner was up and heading for the other section. The lithe body sitting opposite him was already moving in time to the insistent beat of the music. He drained the last of his beer, then stood, smiling down benignly at his restless friend. “Come on, Astaire, let’s go look at the dance floor and see if there are any friendly ladies who feel like cutting loose.”

“Terpsichore, anyone?” Starsky offered as he jumped up, eager for one of his favorite pastimes. He led the way and stood in the entrance doing a quick reconnaissance. The wide grin on his face slowly died as he carefully studied the dancers.

“Won’t be dancing here, will we, partner?” Hutch let his amusement show.

Starsky shot back a sheepish smile and shrugged. A couple undulated past, the two men moving in perfect unison. “Didn’t look like a gay bar,” he whispered.

“Come on…” Hutch began, turning as if to leave. He halted in his tracks when his partner did not copy his retreat “Starsk…?” The rest of his sentence froze in his throat when he noted the interested gaze.

“Those two are doin’ pretty good,” Starsky observed, pointing to one male couple who looked like they were professional dancers.

Hutch nodded mutely and then really studied the mixed composition on the dance floor. About half the pairs were male, a smattering were female, and the rest were mixed.

“Heard that in Frisco there were mixed bars,” Starsky observed. “It’s more accepted here than in LA; the straights like to mix in some of the nicer places.”

“Uh-huh,” was the most intelligent thing Hutch could think of in response. A niggling feeling of disquiet assailed him when he noted the renewed sparkle in the wide-open, eager blue eyes and the resumed body movement. One part of his mind acknowledged the danger signals, warning him to drag his impetuous partner away. “Starsk….”

Starsky turned to him, a wide smile lighting his face. “Hey, Hutch, you don’t think we could…?”

“No,” Hutch snapped emphatically, realizing his friend’s intent, “we….”

“Why not?”

“Why not…?” Hutch realized he was communicating in partial sentences.

Starsky laid a hand on the blond’s arm. “Look, we both like to dance. And there sure as hell aren’t any free ladies here, so….”

“Because we’re two guys, that’s why not. We can try another bar.”

“We sure won’t be standing out in this crowd, Hutch.”

“Starsky, I’ve heard some crazy ideas from you before, but this….”

“Don’t have such a closed mind. Don’t you want to try it? If we were back in LA I’d agree with you. Someone we know could see us, get the wrong idea. Here, who cares what we do? After all, we’re on vacation. Let’s live dangerously and try something completely different.”

“Oh no, of course, we don’t live dangerously already,” Hutch muttered. He could feel his objections melting before his friend’s enthusiasm and his own curiosity. If he were honest with himself he knew he wanted to try it.

“Come on. I dare ya.”

“Dare me?”

“Yeah! You’re just scared I’ll dance you into the floor.”

A distinct note of challenge rang in Hutch’s voice. “You and what ballet company?”

Starsky grinned victoriously. “C’mon, Blondie,” he laughed, grabbing an arm, pulling Hutch after him on to the dance floor, “show me if you can dance or if you’re just all talk.”

The song was a fast one and Starsky’s body moved easily in time with the tempo. It seemed to Hutch as if nothing on the smaller man was attached, each portion of his anatomy moving independently of the whole. In comparison he felt awkward, stilted, sure that every eye in the room was making note of his presence dancing with another man.

“Hutch,” Starsky admonished gleefully, “ya look like somebody put a rod up your….”

“Starsky!” Hutch hissed. He stopped dancing and glared ominously at his companion.

The gyrations of his partner did not cease, his body moving in ways that would be considered unacceptable in polite society. He was obviously having a wonderful time. “Forget about what you’re doin’. Just let your body move.”

“Okay, okay. You talked me into this, Starsky, so I’ll do it. But I won’t enjoy it,” Hutch growled. He could tell by the answering grin that he was not believed. Trying to take Starsky’s advice anyway, he forced himself to stop thinking about what he was doing.

“Better,” Starsky encouraged, moving his hips in a grind that made his partner blush. “Now try this….” He moved to one side and bumped his hip against Hutch’s. “And again….”

Hutch tried it and felt a small glow of accomplishment when it worked. “Attaboy, Hutch!” Starsky crowed, and tried some other serpentine movement. Hutch followed suit.

By the third dance Hutch had forgotten to feel conspicuous. In fact the only thing he was conscious of was that he was having a damned good time.

Many dances later, they took a break–hot and sweaty and grinning like idiots. Finding a free table around the perimeter of the dance floor they settled down to enjoy a couple of cold beers. Hutch grinned over the top of the glass, “Ya know, this ain’t half bad.”

“Neither are you, schweetheart,” Starsky tossed back in his best Bogart imitation.

After a few minutes of rest, Hutch was the one who led the way back to the dance floor. Two more dances took place before the music turned to a slow beat. Hutch stood frozen, unsure for a brief instant what he should do, when Starsky grabbed him around the waist and started to lead. Hands maneuvered awkwardly as each man jockeyed for the leading position.

“Hutch, let me….”

“Why not me? It’s aesthetically more pleasing when the taller person leads.”

Starsky made a rude sound and glared up at him through slitted eyes. “Taller, my ass. I’m the better dancer, so I should lead.”

Hutch glanced around realizing they were being a tiny bit obvious. “Come on, let’s dance,” he hissed, trying to maneuver the smaller man.

Starsky whispered back, “Okay, but Ramon will lead.”

Hutch gave in, muttering imprecations under his breath about shrimps and taking advantage of people in public places and that if Starsky tried to dip him he’d deck him.

Starsky just beamed beatifically and swirled the other man around the floor.

The hour was late and the rest periods they took between dancing were becoming more frequent. It was during one of these that they had returned to their table to cool off and have another drink.

Hutch sipped appreciatively at his beer and studied the dancers. “It’s society’s fault…our society.”

“Hmmm?” Starsky looked at him questioningly. “What’sits fault. Gays?”

“No, dummy,” Hutch said solemnly, then giggled. A part of his mind registered that he had had perhaps a little too much to drink, but he simply filed that bit of information away under ‘interesting facts.’ “Cultural…conditioning. Lotsa countries…men dance to…together. An’ nobody makes any cracks.”

Starsky stared intently into his now empty glass, nodding his agreement. “Yeah.”

“In Greece men…dance t’gether.”

The dark head rose and Starsky peered owlishly at him. “Lesh go to Greece.”

“Sounds good.” Hutch grinned. “But right now let’s dance.” He rose grabbing an arm in passage.

The last song was slow, and there weren’t many people left on the dance floor. The two men were tightly pressed together, the dark head resting on the taller man’s shoulder. Hutch realized he was finally leading. It felt good to hold his friend like this, close to his heart, and there was no pain. He smiled into the dark curls. The words of the music filtered slowly through his consciousness. All I want is a lover with a slow hand. All I want is a lover with an easy touch. He gripped the body in his arms a little tighter.

~~~

“We’re…lost,” Starsky informed the world in general.

“Not…loss,” Hutch said firmly, “Ju’s made an un…unexpected detour.” The blond propped himself against the streetlight and tried to focus on the map in his hands.

“Lost!” Starsky muttered under his breath. He looked around suspiciously. They had closed down the bar at 2 a.m. and had perhaps unwisely decided to walk back to the Bayberry instead of taking a cab. The fog had grown very thick and he acknowledged that neither of them was thinking too clearly. He glanced back at Hutch and was suddenly fascinated with the effect of the streetlight illuminating his partner’s bent head. Looks like beaten gold threads. Or a halo. Nope, he thought, you’re no angel, are you, babe? You’re my partner. Always will be my beautiful partner. Follow you anywhere. Even if you are lost. He knew he was getting maudlin, but he was enjoying the sensation. He stumbled slightly as he moved towards his companion. He’d get them out of this situation.

“Hutch,” he enunciated carefully, throwing an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Look.” He pointed to a small Chinese laundry located at the other side of the intersection. “Th’ash right up…from…our place.”

“The map….” Hutch began.

“Blintz…you can’t e’en see the map.” He started to snicker.

“Can too!” Hutch straightened haughtily.

“Can’t!”

“Can.”

“Okay, you can,” Starsky agreed. “But we’re still only two blocks…from Bayberry.” He sagged slightly against his equally inebriated partner.

Mollified, Hutch slipped a supporting arm around his waist. “S’okay, we’ll try it.”

Surprisingly, Starsky was right. He had a slight problem finding the key and then fitting it into the constantly shifting lock. He never did remember just how he made it into their room or managed to undress.

~~~

Starsky tipped his wrought iron chair back on two legs. “So, what’re we going to do today, Hutch? Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge?”

Hutch took a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Nope.”

“Climb up a redwood?”

“No. Not even close.”

“Give me a hint.”

“The play’s the thing to catch the conscience of the king.” Hutch fished out his wallet and removed a pair of slightly curved theatre tickets.

“I don’t want to see Hamlet, Hutch.”

Hutch waved the tickets. “Would I make you see Hamlet? I saw this play about six years ago, and I’ve been wanting to see it again. The Chronicle had an ad for ACT and they were putting it on, so I mailed for tickets. You’ll like it. It’s funny.”

“You’ve done a lot of homework for this vacation.” Starsky took one of the tickets. “‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead‘? Sounds depressing.”

“Think of it more like an intellectual Abbott and Costello meet Hamlet.”

“Sounds boring.”

“All right. If you don’t want to….”

Starsky avoided the grab Hutch made for his ticket. “No, no, no. If you wanted to see it again after all this time, I guess it can’t be all bad. As long as there aren’t any subtitles.”

“It’s live, Starsky.” Hutch held out his hand and Starsky surrendered his ticket which joined the other back in Hutch’s wallet. “Everyone in the play keeps mixing the two main characters up. Calling them by each other’s names.”

Starsky laughed. “I’m Rosencrantz, he’s Guildenstern, huh? I can relate to that.”

“I thought you might.”

~~~

“What’s with you, Hutch? You wanted to come to this restaurant. We’re here. I even bought clothes to eat in. The food is wonderful–excellent. I approve. And you just sit there like someone knifed your petunias.”

“It’s not this place. It was the play.”

“I liked the play. I’ve been telling you for over an hour. I liked it. It was very funny.”

Hutch stared into his coffee cup. “It was depressing.”

Starsky stopped in mid-gesture. He lowered his dessert fork. “Sometimes I think we have a real problem here. Okay. Was it funny in a depressing sort of way, or depressing in a funny sort of way?”

Hutch folded his napkin. “It was depressing in a depressing sort of way.”

“Your problem is you take death too personally. Sure, they all ended up dead at the end, but then, doesn’t everybody? At least they got from A to B with a laugh or two.”

“Not for them…. You’re not cheering me up.”

“I’m not trying to.” Starsky reached over and covered one of Hutch’s hands with his own. “Hey, look, they all got up, dusted themselves off, took a bow, then left the theatre to do whatever it was they wanted after the show.”

Hutch pulled away. “I’m not 12 years old. I know it was a play. I bought the tickets.”

“If I offered to lick your toe would you find that depressing?”

Hutch shivered, “No, I’d find that disgusting.”

“Wanna build a short blunt human pyramid?”

“You can stop quoting from the play, Starsk.”

Starsky signaled the waiter for the check. “Ya know that coin they kept flipping– and it came up heads 92 times in a row? Well, I wonder how different it would have been if it had been tails instead. Maybe they would have killed Hamlet’s uncle and all have lived happily ever after.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

“One of the characters reminded me of you.”

“Starsky, every time you see anything, someone reminds you of me…”

“Guildenstern.”

“…I don’t usually mind–except when you compared me to Mothra…Guildenstern?”

“Yeah, he thought the play was depressing, too.”

“Leave it, Starsk.”

“You’re the one who said it was a comedy.”

“No, I said it was funny. Six years ago I thought it was. I don’t now.”

“How come, Hutch?”

“People change.”

“Don’t change too much, okay?”

Hutch reached over and opened the leather folder holding their bill. His eyes grew very large. Starsky just laughed.

~~~

Hutch emerged from the bathroom, tucking the white silk shirt into his white pants. His partner, already dressed for another night on the town, sat cross-legged on the bed surrounded by his cache of Chinatown trinkets. Lacquered chopsticks, paper fans, and plaster buddhas were sorted in small piles; only a few items remained mysterious in their paper bags.

“Well, Mr. Memento, do you think you bought enough junk?” Hutch reached for one of the bags and got his hand slapped.

“This isn’t junk–these are presents; and that one is yours, so don’t touch.” Starsky held a little fat Hotai figurine. “This one is for Dobey. Looks like him, don’t ya think?”

“An authentic replica of a Japanese god bought in Chinatown. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

“Aw, you’re just jealous ’cause I thought to buy stuff to take back to people and you didn’t.” Starsky gave the long, white-sheathed body an appreciative once-over. “Didn’t do too badly for yourself though. That shirt looks a lot better on you than it did in the store.”

Hutch felt a warm flush creeping up his cheeks. Suddenly, he found something of overriding interest in the interior of the armoire drawer. His searching fingers closed over a small notebook which he flipped open before turning back to his partner.

“I thought tonight we’d try a disco downtown which is supposed to be great. It’s on top of the St. Francis Hotel, and would you believe it’s called Oz?” He waited for the expected response and when it failed to appear, looked up from his notes in time to see a disappointed look flicker briefly over the dark, gypsy features. “At least that’s what Joe Hackman down in Vice told me,” he finished lamely.

“What is that, anyway?” Starsky asked abruptly, pointing at the notebook clutched in the blond’s ample hand.

“It’s our schedule.”

“Lemme see.” Starsky gestured for the pad and began leafing through its contents. A small frown line grew between the thick brows. He looked up, a strange glitter in the deep blue eyes.

“Hutch, this looks like a damned bootcamp training schedule. You have every minute here accounted for.” He tossed the booklet back to his slightly miffed friend. “Remember, we’re here to relax…not to cause stress.”

“I spent weeks doing research for this trip,” the blond complained, a hurt edge to his voice. “I’m sorry if my wanting us to have a good time….”

“Remember what we promised in Monterey?”

After a slight pause, Hutch nodded, head bent slightly, and handed the booklet back to his companion. “Okay. So what do you want to do?”

“Hey, this ain’t no contest, babe. We’ll do whatever feels good at the time. Just like what we’ve been doin’. Okay?”

The wide smile was impossible to resist and Hutch found himself nodding and smiling in return.

“Okay. So, should I rather ask if you feel like going to Oz?” He couldn’t help chuckling at how strange that question sounded.

“Well….” Starsky peered at him disarmingly from beneath thick lashes and Hutch was afraid that the next thing his partner would do was flutter them. “Now that you ask…what I’d really like to do is go back to The Labyrinth.”

“What?”

Starsky looked as if he could barely keep back his laughter when he took in the open mouthed, dazed expression on his companion’s face. “You tryin’ to catch flies, Hutch?” he asked innocently.

The mouth shut with a snap. “Why do you want to go back there?” There was honest bewilderment in Hutch’s voice.

“For a lotta reasons. First off, we both had a hell of a good time there. Next, we now know how to get there and back. And last, we won’t have this chance again.”

“I thought you’d want to pick up a couple of girls….”

Starsky interrupted him. “Most times you’d be right, but I dunno, somehow, I just don’t feel as if I need it here. I’m not in a one-night-stand kind of mood. Besides, I don’t think our hosts would be ready for that kind of foursome. What do you think?”

“I…I already told you I wanted this time to be for us,” …and I don’t really want to share you with anyone–at least this once. Hutch didn’t dare voice these last thoughts aloud.

Starsky grinned wickedly. “If you’re having trouble deciding, we can always leave it to the flip of a coin.” He had to get up off the bed and struggle to get a coin out of his left rear pocket. From the tightness of the pants, Hutch could tell it was the only bit of change in there. “Heads it’s the Labyrinth, tails we go to Oz to find you a brain.”

Hutch watched the spinning quarter. A curious feeling of satisfaction washed over him as his partner announced, “Heads.” He schooled his features to sudden seriousness and stared earnestly into the laughing eyes. “Can I lead?”

“Not very well.”

~~~

The Labyrinth was already packed when they arrived. Bypassing the bar, this time they headed directly for the disco. As Hutch looked over the crowded room, he spied a couple leaving a small corner table free and managed to claim it before anyone else could move in.

They were only partway into their first glass of beer when the siren call of the music dragged them out to the dance floor. Hutch was slightly daunted by the decibels. Seems to be louder than last night. Should have brought some cotton to stuff in my ears.

“Hey, Blondie,” Starsky observed with a wide grin a few minutes later, “You’re gettin’ better.”

“What do you mean, ‘better’?” Hutch demanded over the blare of the music, undulating in a fairly rhythmic manner. “How can you improve perfection?” His challenging smile dared Starsky to contradict him.

Starsky made a face. “Talk about getting a swelled head….” His complaints were cut short when Hutch grabbed him around the waist for a dizzingly quick series of spins.

They had been dancing for some time and were into a quieter song when an unexpected tap on Hutch’s shoulder made him stop short. He pulled away slightly from Starsky and turned towards the source of the interruption. A well-dressed young man was standing next to him, a half-apologetic smile on the attractive face. He brushed nervously at the thick strands of hair that fell over his forehead.

“Excuse me, may I cut in?” he said to Hutch. He turned his admiring glance to Starsky. “I watched you all last evening and tonight, well…I finally got up enough courage to ask you to dance.”

Hutch stood frozen in his tracks, sensing an echoing surprise in his friend. Before he could phrase a response Starsky sidled close. He slid an arm provocatively around Hutch’s waist, dark eyes twinkling with mischief, and demurred politely, “I’m flattered, but I’m afraid my partner here is the jealous type.”

The man looked as if he were about to argue the point but then took in Hutch’s forbidding expression, and obviously thought that in this instance it was safer to look elsewhere.

As soon as he was out of hearing, Hutch pulled out of the embrace. “You’ve got a perverse sense of humor. Why the hell did you tell him that?” he hissed, eyes slitted with annoyance.

“Now, don’t get like that,” Starsky admonished sweetly. “You wouldn’t have wanted me to dance with him, now would you?”

“No….” No.

“And we didn’t have to get into any lengthy explanations or hurt the poor kid’s feelings.”

“Yes, but….” Jealous?

“No buts. C’mon, my big blond beauty, let’s cut a rug.”

Hutch just shrugged. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Yep.” A wicked gleam sparkled in the dark fringed eyes. “And ain’t you glad?”

At that, Hutch allowed himself to be pulled into a tight hold and led back into the easy flowing rhythm of the song. Sometimes I’m glad. Sometimes.

~~~

The evening passed quickly. They would dance for a time, return to their table to cool off, have a beer and try to talk above the music, then invariably return to the center of the room.

During one of their breaks, Starsky was feeling mellow, not drunk, just knowing that everything was right with the world. Especially Hutch. He realized that it gave him a bit of a forbidden thrill to know how attractive his friend looked and that he was drawing the admiring glances of the other patrons. He’s mine, he wanted to call out for everyone to hear. Hutch’s gold hair seemed to him like a nimbus of light, and the tall, muscular body clad all in white created a feast for the eyes.

God, Starsky thought dazedly, he is beautiful! A sudden tightness grew in the pit of his stomach as he found himself inexplicably but intensely aware of how the other man looked. The way he moved…. The way he was watched….

“Starsk? Are you okay?” Hutch’s concerned voice cut through the mental fog.

The dark haired man flushed with embarrassment, realizing that something had been showing on his face.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he reassured quickly, his usual cocky grin reassumed as a protective mask. He felt dizzy. A well-established excuse rose automatically to his lips. “But I won’t be if I don’t make a fast trip to the john.”

“I should have known,” Hutch laughed. “I’ll be here at the table.”

~~~

Starsky made a hasty retreat to the men’s room. Bending over a sink he turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face. It helped a bit, but his thoughts were still chaotic. Wow, that was some trip. Finally he brought his head up from the basin and was confronted with the reflection of a dark-haired man regarding him from the mirror. “You got something to say? Say it,” he demanded of the insubstantial image. Nothing to it. It’s just the time and the place and the beer and…Hutch…. He did a double-take and stared at the reflected lips. He could have sworn they hadn’t moved. Must be a little more mellow than I thought…. He gave a start when he heard an unfamiliar voice that belonged to a face which had suddenly appeared a little behind his own.

“Cruising yourself? An interesting situation in a bar as crowded as this one is tonight.”

Starsky turned slowly and leaned back against the sink. “Not so unusual if you happen to be the best looking thing in it.” He grinned at the whoop and raised eyebrow he got in response.

“I suppose, under those circumstances, it would be pointless for me to….”

Starsky nodded. “Utterly. No offense, but you’re just not my type.”

“Well, if your type happens to be big, blond barbarians, like the one you came in with, I suggest you get out there and save her. There is a dark, hulking brute about to carry her off for parts unknown.”

To his surprise he was enjoying this game; he sighed mightily. “Can’t leave her alone for a minute.” He gave a conspiratorial wink as he brushed past to exit the men’s room. Save Hutch, huh? From what? He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Still, he found himself hurrying, just a bit.

Part Two

Snaking a tortuous path around the crowded periphery of the room finally brought him near his destination. A clear view of their corner table stopped him in his tracks. Hutch was sitting back in his chair, relaxed. A single finger was tracing a random pattern on the surface of the sweat-dewed glass sitting in front of him. He was not alone.

A slender, dark haired man stood close to Hutch, flaunting indecently tight pants and a form fitting top. His posture was one of blatant invitation. Whispering something, he bent towards the seated blond, and Hutch smiled slightly, shaking his head. No thought went into Starsky’s next actions.

Hutch looked up as Starsky approached. A welcoming smile began forming on his lips, then died as he seemed to pick up on the unspoken danger signals that radiated from the approaching figure.

“Starsk, there you are. Wondered if you had fallen asleep in there.” The note of lightness in Hutch’s voice was strained. It was obvious he had picked up on Starsky’s changed mood.

The stranger turned at his arrival, a challenging gleam in the dark eyes which fueled Starsky’s initial instinctive response. “Nope,” he forced himself to say calmly. “Just took a little longer than I thought.” Casually, as if it were the most natural act in the world, he deliberately positioned himself between the stranger and his seated partner. He maneuvered close, pressing his hip against Hutch’s arm, while with an easy familiarity supported an arm along the other man’s broad shoulder. His statement of ownership was clear.

Starsky felt Hutch tense, but the blond did not challenge his position…or his claim. He couldn’t afford to meet the puzzled eyes he knew were staring up at him, demanding an answer. His own gaze was locked in a silent battle with the intruder.

Hutch cleared his throat uneasily. “Starsk, this is Harry….”

“King,” Harry supplied. “Your friend here looked a little lonely; thought I’d come over for some conversation.”

“That was real friendly of you, Harry. But, as you can see,” Starsky pressed fractionally closer to Hutch, “he’s not alone.”

“Yes,” Harry almost purred, voice heavy with sarcasm, “I can see that.” His eyes sought out the blond. “It was nice talking to you, Ken. Maybe some other time….” He smiled knowingly and slowly walked away.

“Yeah….” Hutch whispered.

I could do better than that…, Starsky thought as he watched the exaggerated swagger of the retreating figure. In the pregnant silence that followed he moved around the table and reclaimed his chair. He met the demanding gaze boring into him from across the table.

“Starsk…” Hutch began hesitantly.

“Hey,” Starsky interrupted, abruptly consulting his watch, “it’s almost closing time. We can fit in one or two more numbers if we dance fast.” He grabbed Hutch’s beer and finished it off for him. “C’mon and strut your stuff, Blondie. Everyone’s watchin’ ya, so let’s give ’em a show.”

“It’s not me they’re….” Starsky cut him off by grabbing his arm and pulling him from his chair onto the dance floor.

~~~

They shrugged into their jackets, paid the bill and filed outside with the others who had stayed to close the place down. Starsky watched as the little crowd dispersed along the sidewalk. Some walked despondently alone, others in couples, I know what you’re going to be doing tonight, or even more intriguingly in groups of three or four. Outside, the cool night air re-energized him, but he felt keyed up, restless. The last thing he wanted right now was to be cooped up in their room.

He save a sidelong glance to his partner. Hutch was being very quiet. He nudged the man in the ribs. “How ’bout a drive? Maybe find a place with a view of the city.” He rubbed his hands together. “God, I love vacations.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Tired? We can be tired when we get back to LA. Let me take you for a ride, schweetheart, and I’ll show you some sights.”

Warmth slowly spread over Hutch’s face, finally emerging as a smile. “Sure. Sounds good. I’ve always loved the way cities look at night with the lights and all.”

“Like a giant Christmas tree.”

Hutch gave a small snort of amusement. He fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out the key ring on which swung the keys to the Bayberry and the Torino. “Here, catch.” He made a quick throw. “Just take it easy, otherwise you can make this a solitary jaunt all by your lonesome.”

Starsky tossed the keys in his hand. Pushover. He gave Hutch a victorious grin. “Admit it, secretly you love the way I drive.”

“I may be sorry about this,” Hutch muttered as be slid into the passenger’s seat.

~~~

He drove towards one of the higher peaks surrounding the city. There was little traffic, and he played the accelerator like a virtuoso. He knew Hutch would understand. With the Torino responding so willingly to his touch, he didn’t have the heart to make her crawl. He pulled on to the dirt semicircle of the overlook and let her purr a moment before silencing her.

He was the first out of the car and over to the edge of the cliff. He bent to lean his arms on the safety railing and looked out over the patterns of the city below. He heard footsteps, then Hutch was beside him, silent, but radiating faint disapproval. He waited until the other man turned his attention to the urban light show. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he sighed. He gestured outward. “You can live in a city, and there’s a creep everywhere you turn. Up here, it’s civilization at its best. Lookin’ down on it.”

“Like a god?” Hutch’s question was lightly mocking.

“Naw.” He turned and grinned at his companion. “Gods die. We’re gonna live forever.”

“I oughta arrest you for DWI.”

“I am not drunk. I can touch the tip of my nose with my finger….”

“You could do that unconscious. Try a smaller target.”

His smile faded. “What’s eating you?”

Hutch’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead the blond turned his attention back to the scenery and took a couple deep breaths. It seemed to calm him. “I can smell the sea.” Hutch’s nostrils flared slightly as he tested the air. “It always smells so…clean, untainted.”

Starsky scented the salt on the air. Like the sea is sweating. Pounding itself into the beach again. And again. Into the slowly yielding beach for all eternity. He shook his head in an effort to clear it. He strained for conversation. “That why you stay in Venice?”

“One of the reasons. What I’d really like is a place overlooking the ocean, like the house Professor Gage had.”

Starsky grinned. “If you had a house like that you might have a permanent housemate.” He swung his legs up over the rail and sat on it.

“Sure we wouldn’t kill each other?”

Starsky laughed. “There’s always that possibility.” The answering laughter was comforting. His line of sight was even with the horizon, which drew his gaze up in an arc directly overhead. The city suddenly seemed like a congested reflection of the natural lights above. “Look at the stars!” All those scattered burning bodies. The lingering traces of the biggest bang of all. He shook his head again, and then strong arms were around him.

“You’re gonna fall, idiot.”

He twisted in the embrace and grabbed the sides of Hutch’s face and kissed him before the startled man could back away.

~~~

The pulsing beat of his blood drove Hutch as he contested with Starsky in the age old game of dominance. First one, then the other rose to the top of their pyramid of two on the wide expanse of bed. Their naked bodies pressed tightly together, blindly seeking; their mouths found warm darkness where their tongues played a teasing game of hide-and-seek. The adrenaline high fueled by their precipitous race back to the Bayberry still echoed in Hutch’s body.

“Mmmmm,” Starsky breathed when he pulled back some time later to catch a lungful of air. “You taste good.” He leaned forward again, parted lips demanding another sample.

Hutch found the sensation strange, as if he had suddenly fallen through the looking glass into another reality, but at the same time it was incredibly erotic. He surged forward automatically in response. The dark head fell back on the pillow in reply, exposing the curve of his throat. It was too much of a temptation for Hutch and he moved his attention to this new territory, kissing and licking his way down its length. “Don’t…taste bad…yourself,” he managed to get out between fast, panting breaths. “Salty…” his tongue delved into the moist hollow, “n’sweet…wonderful.” His teeth fastened lightly into the tender skin of a shoulder.

Starsky moaned deep within his throat. “Oh…god,” was all he managed to sob before Hutch rolled over, pinning him beneath, and began thrusting wildly. Starsky’s corded thighs wrapped eagerly around Hutch and began moving in counterpoint.

Hutch’s conception of reality soon narrowed down to the burning throbbing of his cock, and the incredible sensation of sweat-sheened flesh beneath him, matching him move for move, passion for passion. Always in tune with each other, this rapport was not altogether strange, but he had never experienced it at quite this intensity, hovering on the fine edge of overload for both mind and body. Hutch vaguely realized small animal-like sounds were being torn from him, intertwined with the familiar pattern of his partner’s name. His blood somehow transformed itself into liquid fire, coursing through his veins, pounding loudly in his ears in time to a primitive rhythm. His hands, ungentle now, clutched and clawed at the flesh beneath him, trying to draw the other into his substance. Unity with Starsky seemed so close. He clutched at the heaving, thrusting, beloved flesh as if this could make it true.

It was going to happen. It was pain; it was pleasure; it was unendurable sensation that he prayed would never end. “Oh, babe,” he panted. “Now…now!”

Hutch heard his own name being shouted but as if from a great distance. The body beneath him gave one last thrust-and-shudder and then froze into muscle-tightened immobility. Teeth sank into his neck but it didn’t matter. A sudden warmth bathed his belly, spreading between their close pressed flesh.

Starsky’s seed joining them together was the last thing needed to topple Hutch over the edge, to fall with his partner into oblivion. A gathering tightness centered in his balls and ran like lightning down the length of his swollen cock. His fingers dug desperately into his companion’s hips. One last thrust and he exploded with an overload of pleasure. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, his body caught in a web of ecstasy.

As the ‘little death’ took him, he felt cast adrift in the great dark. He was suspended in time–mindless, bodiless, but not alone. Never alone. Starsky and he were still together, floating like two small sparks cast out from a great fire. Peaceful. Vulnerable. Slowly the real world returned. Hutch sighed, feeling his heartbeat and breathing slowing to normal. Starsky lay lax and equally spent beneath him. His arms stole slowly around the solid warmth, nuzzling into the sweat-damp neck. He sighed again, feeling wonderful, noticing that even his toes seemed to be tingling with the aftereffects.

The dead lump that was his partner finally stirred and a tousle-haired head rose wobbly from the pillow. “Wow,” Starsky breathed, and his unfocused eyes fixed on his partner’s face. An expression that could only be described as smug slowly emerged as a smile.

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, feeling similarly articulate.

Hutch reached up and gently carded through the dark riot of unruly curls. This was the extent of his capacity for renewed movement and he sank back, snuggling his face into the side of his partner’s neck.

“Hey,” Starsky whispered into Hutch’s ear.

“Mmmm.”

“Uh-uh,” Starsky chuckled and nudged him.

“Wha?” Hutch mumbled, and lifted his head up again.

“Lights.”

“Lights?” The blond felt totally disoriented, then he peered towards the table lamp across the room. “You wouldn’t want to…?”

“Nope.” Starsky smiled sleepily and reached up for a kiss. “You’re on top. You gotta move anyway. You don’t want a flat partner, do ya?”

“Smartass,” Hutch growled, but forced himself to sit up. He stumbled across the room to the light and the chamber was plunged into darkness.

Hutch made his way slowly towards the bed, one arm outstretched protectively. He dimly saw Starsky sit up, to grab the end of the sheet and a blanket. When he had groped his way back to the bed Starsky wrapped one arm around him and pulled him under the covers, cradling him in an affectionate embrace of tangled limbs.

“‘Night, lover,” he heard Starsky mumble as sleep took him. Somehow the word seemed right.

~~~

Hutch sat at the window of their room, staring down into the deserted street, watching the shadows crowd around the pale island cast by the streetlight. Somewhere in the distance a car roared, tires screeched. A floorboard creaked somewhere above him and was answered from below–the sounds an old house makes as it stretches in the night. Hutch settled more comfortably in the armchair and rested his head against its back. He felt warm and totally contented. He turned his head till he could see the dark ball curled in the middle of the bed. Starsky had fallen asleep almost as soon as the light had been turned off. In his own contrary way, Hutch found his mind had spun into high gear. Rather than disturb his partner, he slipped on his robe and settled in for a late-night vigil.

The subtle scent of their lovemaking clung to him still, conjuring up the sight and sound and feel of Starsky in his arms. He smiled slightly to himself. He turned his eyes back to the street. Can’t lie and say that I’d never thought of it. Starsky, you sure took me by surprise tonight. If I’d had time to think…. But he hadn’t; he’d only had time to react. His body had known what it wanted. He needed this time to himself so his mind could catch up with it.

There were so many things he had to talk over with Starsky. Problems of the real world to face. Decisions to make. But somehow he already knew his decision had been made. He turned the thing around and around in his mind and it came up the same way every time.

He realized he was cold when a sudden shiver shook him. He rose and padded quietly back to the bed. Slipping out of his robe, he slid under the covers and curled around his partner’s warmth. I love you. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He knew all the rest would somehow work itself out as long as they were together in this.

~~~

Starsky awakened slowly as his body told him the warmth that had lain against his back was gone and now he was cold. The sound of running water told him where Hutch had gone. He cracked his eyes open enough to see that it was just beginning to get light out. Getting up at this ungodly hour during a vacation was inhuman. He pulled the bedclothes up around his shoulders and curled back into sleep.

He felt as if he had just drifted off again when he was roused by the bed rocking. That didn’t make sense. Nobody takes a shower and then gets back into bed unless…his eyes opened of their own accord and he was suddenly very much awake.

His mind raced. Should I say a was drunk? Should I say at was all a mistake? He rolled onto his back and there was Hutch looking at him with that smile. He didn’t know why he thought of it as ‘that’ smile. He wasn’t even sure he had even seen it before, but the sight called up one of his own. He was sure it was idiotic.

Hutch was bending down for a good-morning kiss. He could smell the soap and shampoo scents clinging to the man, while he must smell like an old sock. Hutch’s lips met his, and he closed his eyes, but wouldn’t open his mouth to the inquiring tongue. The gentle pressure stopped and he opened his eyes to the wary look the blond was giving him.

“Can I please brush my teeth first?”

That smile was back. “Nope.”

Boy, are you gonna be sorry. “Okay….” He reached up and caught the nape of Hutch’s neck and drew him down for a real breath-stealer. Hutch shared the taste of his toothpaste with him and soon he wasn’t thinking about morning-mouth or anything else.

Hutch drew back. “Ever had your teeth washed like that before?”

“Never on a first date.” Starsky craned up for a quick kiss then pushed Hutch over onto his back. Positions reversed, he smiled down into the startled face. Then he let his eyes travel down the length of Hutch’s torso about midway. “Always knew you were an early riser.” He patted Hutch on the belly.

Hutch grabbed his hand. “Don’t tickle.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He started to rub slow circles into the abdomen. Move your hand down. Go ahead. It’s easy–just do it. He slid his hand up to Hutch’s chest, palm cupping a nipple, and tried some intricate smaller circles. Hutch shivered and closed his eyes. Okay–now. Grab him while he’s not looking at you. He bent and kissed the slightly open mouth, then trailed his lips down over chin, onto throat, across collarbone to the areola he had been neglecting, then he sucked. He got a reaction on that. A distinct moan. He pulled up to look at the contented face, and stroked his way back to Hutch’s belly. Hutch’s hips rose. This sure is weird.

He sat up, facing the blond’s feet. He had the feeling Hutch had opened his eyes and was looking at his back. If I turn and look I’ll never get this going. He changed his stroking hand. Less awkward. One small step for man…. He was surprised to find his left hand firmly holding Hutch’s cock. His mind went blank as he stared. Move. He stroked up the length until he had his thumb resting on the glans. He rubbed it just a little. He became engrossed in exploring, tracing veins, fingering the shaft, touching the head; ignoring the moving hips, the beading sweat, and the assorted noises that Hutch was making. He was fascinated. He could never have done this to himself without…. Oops. He chanced a look over his shoulder. Hutch was lying there, eyes wide open, clenching as much of the bottom sheet as he could get in his white-knuckled fists. Okay, okay. Enough fooling around.

He closed his hand around the distended organ and pumped. Then again. Again. He couldn’t find the rhythm. Know it well enough. Done it a million times…. This was different. He was used to feeling this from the inside. All right. Don’t panic. His right hand found his own cock. Have to really work to get caught up with Hutch…. He pumped to a hard, fast, steady beat. Then he noticed Hutch’s toes were curled tight to form feet-fists. He realized both hands were moving in symphony. Wouldn’t you know, the only time I don’t want it to happen, my left hand knows what my right is doing. He dared another look over his shoulder. Hutch’s eyes weren’t open any more, they were squeezed shut. His lips were drawn back over his teeth. It was horrible. Starsky dropped everything he was holding. “Hutch. I’m sorry! I’ll stop….”

“Don’t. You. Dare,” issued from between clenched teeth.

“All right. I’ll try to be more careful.”

Hutch enunciated all his consonants, but there weren’t any vowels in between.

Starsky clambered up to his knees and bent over Hutch’s groin. He took hold of the throbbing cock. It seemed to have a life of its own. Pretend you’re churning butter. He’d never churned butter in his life, but the imagery helped. He could tell Hutch was close; he studied the droplets forming at the tiny opening of the head.

A moment before it happened he remembered someone telling him: ‘Never look into the barrel of a gun to see if it is loaded.’ His automatic reflexes closed his eyes for him a split-second before Hutch erupted into his face.

He stumbled, eyes only slitted open, into the bathroom, slammed the door, splashed water on his face, dried off, sat down on the closed toilet lid and decided to kill himself. What a wonderful sex partner he was turning out to be! He should have stayed in there with Hutch, held him, maybe even given him a compliment or two. He imagined himself, bending down for a kiss, his face glistening with semen…a harsh laugh escaped his lips. So much for the poetry of the moment.

He heard hesitant footsteps outside the door, and then a timid knocking. “Starsk, you all right?”

Starsky leapt into action. He turned on the tap. “Yeah, just brushing my teeth.” He squeezed too much toothpaste on to his brush and started scrubbing noisily.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He took the washcloth and wiped the mint scented spray off the medicine chest mirror. When he raised his head from rinsing out his mouth, the mirror reflected Hutch standing behind him looking…worried.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Starsky turned and stepped back against cold porcelain. He shivered. Was it good for you? “I’m fine. You?”

Hutch was studying him. “That was some sprint from the bed to the bathroom.”

Oh, great. The perfect memory. Either Hutch would tease him about this forever, or never mention it again, insuring that they’d never forget it.

“I, uh…got something in my eye,” he lied lightly.

“Uh-huh. Get it out?” The worried look was lifting.

“Yeah….” He was distracted by hands stroking his forearms.

“Coming back to bed?”

“Do you want me to?” Incredulous.

Hutch laughed. “Yes. I want you, too.”

“Give me a minute?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Hutch exited with a knowing look.

When Starsky came back into the room, Hutch scooted over to make room for him in the bed. He climbed in feeling very naked. His hand was stopped from reaching for the sheet.

“You won’t be needing that.”

The pillow was arranged beneath his head and a kiss planted on his nose.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.” His voice squeaked. He wanted to die. Why does it have to be so light in here? Hutch was smiling down at him. It wasn’t ‘that’ smile. The man was trying not to laugh. If this is a contest, do your worst. I already lost.

Hands cradled his face and then he was being kissed. Slowly. Thoroughly. One hand moved up to cup the nape of his neck, the other moved to caress shoulder, throat and chest. He was turning to Jell-O. With great effort he moved his arms up and across the broad back. I’m being seduced…. He would have giggled, but the little breaks for air he was being allowed had to be used for the next kiss. He lost track of everything except for the expert tongue in his mouth.

Hutch wasn’t kissing him any more, he knew that, but he was jolted out of his drifting state by the thought that Hutch must have grown another pair of hands. There seemed to be hands all over him. He dropped his arms from around Hutch to give the man easier access, then felt a solidity settle low across his chest He opened his eyes to a long expanse of spine, Hutch lay athwart him. An elbow on the bed kept most of the physical weight off him, but he felt divided in half. Not that easy in the light of day, is it? He reached out and stroked the smooth side from shoulder to hip. It reminded him of the giant slide at the amusement park and as he chuckled softly, he felt a hand on his belly going along for the ride. Then the hand moved and he didn’t feel like laughing any more.

He had been masturbated before, but never with such authority. Hutch didn’t bother him with coy little questions like ‘does this feel good?’, or ‘do you like it when I touch you here?’, he was kneading, and pulling, and…oh god…. Starsky bent his knees and planted his feet firmly on the mattress. Never one to be still when there was a driving beat going, even in his own ears, he had to move. He matched his hips to Hutch’s tempo, and then on one perfect upstroke he shattered.

As he lay panting, he felt an arm slide under his neck and was pulled into a loose embrace. “Think I disturbed the neighbors?” he managed to gasp.

“Only if they’re on the same block.”

He tried to bury his face in Hutch’s neck. “Argh.”

Hutch rubbed his back slowly. “I was only kidding.”

Even as he felt the heat of embarrassment leaving his face he fell asleep.

~~~

Starsky awoke still chest to chest with Hutch. He shivered. Carefully he disentangled himself from Hutch’s arms and reached down to the foot of the bed for the covers. “Hope this ain’t the start of a trend,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna sleep with you if I’m gonna keep waking up with a cold back.” He arranged the sheet to cover Hutch, then wrapped himself in the blanket. After propping his pillow against the headboard, he leaned back and, looking at his still sleeping partner he tried to think. Now that I’ve got ya, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?

He watched Hutch’s face going through it’s pre-awakening aerobics; eyes moved behind the lids, nose twitched, and the lips compressed and relaxed. Then the eyes were open and looking at his knees.

“Morning, again.”

Hutch’s head tilted back in his direction. “Morning.”

“What’s new?”

Hutch smiled. “Not much. What’s new with you?”

Starsky shook his head. “Wrong answer.”

“Huh?”

“Think about it.”

Hutch levered himself up on an elbow. He pulled the sheet closer around himself. “Having second thoughts?”

Starsky shrugged. “Nope. Just a couple first thoughts.”

“And?”

“And I was just wondering where this is going.”

“Not going anywhere if you stay up there.”

Starsky laughed. It felt good to be able to.

Hutch reached out and grabbed the nearest foot. Starsky didn’t pull away. “Where do you want this to go?”

“My foot?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Hutch chided.

“Don’t be erudite.”

Hutch’s turn to laugh. “All right. What’s this all about?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I mean…suddenly last night I wanted to sleep with my best friend…. Strange, huh?”

“Maybe it’s not so strange….”

Starsky broke in. “Trust me, Hutch. It’s strange.”

Hutch wrestled with his sheet as he sat up. “Look, I’ve always enjoyed touching you….”

Starsky leaned forward and grabbed Hutch’s hand. “I like to touch you, too. But I could touch you like this,” he gave the hand a shake, “from here to Tuesday and it still wouldn’t….

“Would you please let me finish a sentence?”

“Sure. Sorry…carry on.” Starsky gestured his permission. He leaned back against the headboard again and fixed an attentive look on his face. Hutch was going to be pedantic. He was going to try to explain what was happening to them like a page out of a Psych 101 textbook. That wasn’t them. They weren’t statistics. He didn’t want to hear it. They were both having a good time; why did Hutch have to get so serious about it? He was brought out of his inner grumblings by the intent look on Hutch’s face and the hand on his arm.

“…and that’s the way I feel,” Hutch finished.

Starsky’s eyes grew wide. He’d missed the whole thing. And by the way Hutch was looking at him he knew he couldn’t ask the man to repeat himself. Still, he knew an answer was called for–he’d have to gamble.

“Aww…Hutch.” He scooted forward and took his partner in his arms, wishing he had some idea of what was going on. Ya snooze, ya lose. Hutch seemed a little tense, a tiny bit startled in his embrace.

“So you don’t want to stop?” Hutch asked.

Either, Hutch, please say ‘either.’ Give me a hint, damnit. The body he held was relaxing. Thank you. “No…want to do it till I get it right. Get you off good and proper. After this morning….”

“C’mon, Starsk. This morning was incredible.”

“Yeah? No, listen, you don’t have to say that just….”

“Incredible,” Hutch stressed. “Unique, but incredible.”

“Shucks. I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“You knew. Maybe you weren’t sure how….”

“Need more practice. ”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” Hutch helped him free of the restraining blanket. “But if it’s practice you want, c’mere.”

Starsky maneuvered to lie down beside his partner. It had been so much simpler last night. Not that he wanted the closeness with Hutch any less, but he felt more self-conscious with the daylight pouring in from the windows. Then there was a hand in his hair and he was being pulled down towards the waiting lips. His gaze went from mouth to eyes and he stopped short, hypnotized. Hutch was down there, looking up through warm baby-blues. He wanted to stay and catalog the colors, but the hand guiding him was impatient. He surrendered to the pull.

He leaned back when be felt Hutch’s growing hardness nudging at him. He knew he had to be nudging back. Shifting slightly, he matched their expanding cocks centimeter for…well, not really. As he compared sizes he felt his earlier mood change a little, tinged with a bit of ‘healthy’ male jealousy. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. Hutch seemed in no way bothered by the inequity–but then why should he?

He cleared his throat noisily. “Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got a really huge cock?”

Hutch’s short laugh was embarrassed. “Only some of my cruder dates. Never had any complaints before….”

“Oh, I’m not complaining. Wanna trade?”

Hutch seemed to think this was very funny and started to giggle, which was contagious. After a few moments Starsky joined in. When they had quieted, Hutch rolled over so he was partially on top of Starsky. “Won’t trade, but I’ll share.”

Starsky couldn’t help himself. “That’s mighty big of you,” he teased. He was grabbed by a gentle hand.

“C’mon. I know what this can do. Let’s get it going again.”

Starsky’s hand covered the one holding him. “I want us to do it together.” He was released and Hutch moved over. They lay on their sides, face to face. “Wanna watch you get off.” He arched his belly forward and ran the tip of his cock up the underside of Hutch’s. He was rewarded by a shiver, and two large hands clenching his ass to pull him inward, crushed-together close. There was room for nothing, especially not subtlety, between their bodies. They ground against each other frantically, trying to reach the top of the cliff at the same time so they could both fall over it.

Starsky wanted to watch Hutch, but soon his eyes were as tightly closed as his partner’s. In his mind he saw a finish line, and he knew he was racing towards it as fast as his partner. Their labored breathing synchronized and locked as their eyes couldn’t. His last coherent thought was if they didn’t stop pushing against each other at the same time they would end up on the floor. Then he fell, but he didn’t hit the floor.

When he again had the capacity to do more than pant, he was surprised to find himself still on the bed. He even felt as if he had become part of the bed, spread out into a thin suntanned sheet. Hutch evidently had more energy than he did. He felt fingers carding through the hair at his groin.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” was all he could mumble.

Hutch laughed. Starsky liked the sound of that. “No, just checking. Thought we might have started a brush fire.”

“Not a bad idea. We could have a weenie roast.”

Hutch was all laughter and two big feet as he pushed Starsky off the mattress. “Get out of my bed.”

Starsky slowly levered himself off the floor. “I’ll get out of your bed….” Putting on a show of ruffled dignity he walked over to the bathroom. Before he closed the door all the way he stuck his head out from behind it, “…and into my shower.” He already had the door shut before the pillow hit it.

~~~

When Hutch emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair from his own shower, he noticed that Starsky was seated by the window and dressed–except for his shoes.

“I don’t want to leave this room,” Starsky sighed.

Hutch smiled. “We’re going to have to go out sooner or later.”

“No, I don’t want to leave till we check out.”

“C’mon, Starsky, we’ve got to give them a chance to clean up the room.”

“Okay, I’ll go if we can take the sheets with us.”

Hutch thought this was rather kinky, but it was also theft. “We can’t do that….”

“We’ll take them to a Laundromat, then bring them back,” Starsky explained reasonably.

“Oh,” said Hutch, giving the bed a lingering look. He’d seen worse, and was sure their hosts had as well. He shook his head. “Put on your walking shoes. We’re going out for lunch,” he handed Starsky his Adidas, “sans sheets.”

“Hutch, when they come in they’re gonna know.”

“So? The worse that can happen is we’d be thrown out– and I don’t think that’s likely. Now, get your ass in gear. I’m hungry.”

Starsky finished tying his shoes, then regarded his partner. “I have an idea. Why don’t we buy a set of sheets, change the bed when we get back, change them again in the morning, take those sheets to the Laundromat ourselves and bring ’em back, and….”

Hutch gripped Starsky’s arm and levered him out of the chair. “No.”

“No?”

“I’m not ashamed. Are you?” Hutch looked down into Starsky’s eyes.

“I just don’t think it’s anybody else’s business.”

Hutch thought for a moment. By the rather baroque plans for linen exchange he knew Starsky didn’t want to return to celibacy. “I don’t think Keith or Rolf will make it their business. I don’t even think they would care, and if they did they’d probably just throw us a party.” He gave Starsky a push to the door. “Think food, that should give your overactive imagination something to focus on.”

~~~

The lunch at the sidewalk café had featured bland food, a noisy sideshow of pedestrians, and extraordinarily slow service. Waiting for the bill to arrive gave them plenty of time to not talk. They chatted about the drive up the coast, the incline of the streets, the fog, and the chance of rain. Starsky felt as if he were on a first date. For the first time in what seemed like forever he felt as if he couldn’t really share what he was feeling with Hutch. He seemed constrained to the same banalities that his partner was filling up the silences with. Of course, to be able to share his feelings, he’d have to decide what they really were. Perhaps a little chitchat wasn’t such a bad idea.

“What now, Hutch?” Starsky asked as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

Starsky grinned. “Left your itinerary behind?”

Hutch looked startled. “I thought you wanted me to. Thought you wanted a little more spontaneity.”

“Look where spontaneity has gotten us so far,” Starsky said disgustedly.

“What do you mean?” Hutch’s question came out sounding wary.

“Got us a really mediocre lunch, that’s what. I’m on vacation. I could have gotten that kind of meal at the Pits.”

Hutch shook him head. “So, it wasn’t the best. Next time we don’t stop at the first place with a menu out front, how’s that? Think of it as an experience.” Hutch grabbed a sleeve of the other man’s shirt and started then in the direction of the Bayberry, “Nobody says we have to eat there again.”

Starsky noticed where they were heading. “We going back already?”

“Thought I’d pick up the tour guide. You were feeling lost without it.”

Starsky circled around Hutch to face them in the other direction. “Let’s take a longcut. I feel like exploring.” He took the lead with Hutch still holding a handful of his shirt. He looked down at his arm. “You don’t have to rip my clothes off, ya know.”

Hutch dropped his hand as if stung.

Starsky read the look on Hutch’s face and added in a whisper, “At least not in public.”

They ended up on the street backing their bed and breakfast, which turned out to be lined with antique shops. They stopped in a few, playing if-I-had-the-money games with the overpriced pieces. While Starsky was admiring a mahogany table with lions’ heads carved on the legs, Hutch asked the proprietor if he could use the phone for a local call. Starsky thought that a bit odd, but figured it was probably for a reservation of some sort. Sometimes it was better to be surprised.

They finished their circuit of the block and ended up at the Bayberry’s front door. Hutch lead the way up the steps and into the foyer. Starsky shadowed him, and made it a point to look around at the few people in the sitting room. No one pointed at him. No one whispered. No one even noticed him. He focused on two men sitting very close to each other on the couch arguing quietly about something and pointing out passages in a duplicate of Hutch’s tour guide. He snorted a laugh of kinship and followed Hutch up the stairs to their room.

Their cleaned room. A wicker basket filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies sat on the bedside table alongside an ice bucket with what looked to be a bottle of champagne resting amid the slushy water. Starsky realized it must have been sitting there in the room for some time in order for the ice to have melted as much as it had, then he remembered Hutch’s phone call. He knew it had to have been Hutch. No place gave out two complimentary bottles of fermented grape, at least no place he had ever been.

He felt Hutch was watching him, waiting for a reaction, even though the man was standing at the window feigning disinterest. Starsky threw back the covers on the bed, then searched under the pillows. This got the attention of his curious partner.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching.”

“I can see that. Just what do you expect to find?’ Hutch left his station and advanced to the bed.

“I found the cookies and the booze. Just wondering where you hid the box of chocolates and the flowers.”

Hutch edged between the hunter and the bed. “You won’t find any. I didn’t want to spend too much on you right away.” He reached up and undid a button of Starsky’s shirt. “How am I to know if you’ll be worth it?”

Starsky removed the bottle from its resting place and peeled the silver wrapping from its neck. “Sweet-talker.” He aimed the cork he was prying loose at Hutch’s crotch. “Keep that up and you’ll have me in your bed in no time.”

Hutch reached out and pointed the bottle up towards the ceiling. “Hit me with that cork and there won’t be any reason to have you in my bed, turkey.”

The stopper exited with an satisfying pop. Starsky looked around for a few seconds, then at Hutch. “Glasses?”

Hutch stared disbelievingly at the table. He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with two water tumblers, “Guess we’ll have to improvise.” He held them out to be filled.

Starsky claimed his. “Tacky,” he mumbled.

“So are you.” Hutch raised his glass, “To the Labyrinth.”

“Oh.” Starsky felt befuddled. “I thought we’d be staying in tonight.”

Hutch lowered his glass, and gaped at his partner. He seemed to take a second to gather himself together. “That was supposed to be a toast.”

Starsky laughed. “That’s okay, then. To the Labyrinth. That undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns…unchanged. Cheers.” He lifted his glass and took a long swallow.

Hutch watched, fascinated. “Sip. You’re supposed to sip champagne, not gulp it. How do you expect to savor the myriad of complicated flavors….”

“Fine wine, I’ll sip. This is silly ginger ale.”

“But I promised to toast you with champagne….”

“Yes, but you were referring to a night club just now, if I’m not mistaken.”

Hutch sighed and raised his glass again. “To you, Starsk. One of the most aggravating people on earth. If you weren’t so cute I’d murder you.”

“And if I were just a tiny bit more docile I’d let you.” He sipped delicately. “Not bad for seven bucks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“They left the price sticker on the bottle.”

“Tacky.” Hutch retrieved the bottle to top their glasses.

“True. Just can’t get good help these days.”

Hutch set his drink down on the table and sat on the edge of the bed staring at Starsky, who just grinned at him.

“I can hear the wheels turning. Bet you’re wondering how you’re gonna get me out of my clothes, aren’t ya?” He undid three of his shirt buttons and slipped a sleeve down over his raised shoulder. “Yours, sailor,” he leered in invitation.

Hutch got up, unbuttoned the rest of the shirt, and slipped it off the tanned torso. His hands went to Starsky’s bare waist and pulled the shorter man in for a kiss. “I was only a sea-scout,” he confessed.

“Any port in a storm.” Starsky pushed Hutch backwards onto the sheets. It was infinitely easier than asking if he wanted to go to bed. He would have leapt on top of the blond, but he didn’t want to risk collapsing the furniture. After all, it wasn’t his. He climbed over his partner and lay down beside him,

Hutch smiled smugly. “Ready for a roll in the hay?”

Starsky looked thoughtful. “No, not really. I’ve rolled in hay. Isn’t much fun. Too prickly.” He worked his sneakers off with his feet and kicked them over the foot of the bed. “I’m less dressed than you are,” he accused.

“And whose fault is that?” Hutch started unbuttoning his own shirt. Other fingers went for his belt, snap, and zipper.

Starsky concentrated on helping with the undressing process. After he had gotten Hutch down to his tan he stripped himself, with as little jostling of the bed as possible. As he reached out to rub Hutch’s chest his arm crossed with the blond’s who was attempting the same move. Starsky cleared his throat. “I believe I have the right-of-way.”

In answer he was tumbled on to his back, and a heavy body leaned on him. “Nope. This time you’re going to yield.” The wide mouth covered his with deadly accuracy. Starsky thought it might be a better idea to merge, but remained silent.

The feel of large, broad hands moving on his body was something Starsky was finding to his liking. The touches were gentle, but commanding. There was little ambiguity in their demands. They moved down to hold his hardening cock. His hands moved down also, but were impeded by the tangle of arms.

“Hold on a minute.” Starsky sat up.

“I am holding on.”

“I mean let go a minute. This isn’t gonna work. It’s like trying to move in a log jam.” He reversed his position, head to foot, to gain unimpaired accessibility, and gave the head of the shaft presented to him a quick kiss. “That’s better.”

He felt Hutch copy the kiss. Intrigued, he delivered a slow experimental lick up the underside of the swelling organ, and damned if the same didn’t happen to him. Soon they were playing ‘follow the leader’ on a very adult level. Starsky took the now stiff organ into his mouth and every attention he paid to it echoed in his own body. He started to fantasize that he was sucking himself off. Lost in this daydream he did everything with his hands and mouth that he had always wanted done to himself. He was taken by surprise when his mouth was flooded with viscous liquid; he hadn’t been quite ready to come yet. He swallowed by automatic reflex. His mouth and tongue were tired, but still sensation surged and built. He rested his head on the inner side of a long, muscled thigh and exalted in his shattering climax.

Hutch groaned and lay back on the bed, dislodging Starsky from his resting place. “Oh, god. That was fantastic.”

Starsky roused himself from his reverie. “Yeah,” his appreciation was quiet but heartfelt. “Fantastic.” His gaze took in the valley of sheet between them. “Not bad doing it this way. Keeps the sheets respectable.”

Hutch laughed weakly. “Except for the sweat.”

Starsky sniffed noisily. “There is that.” He stretched lazily. “How about we grab a shower then find some solid food. I’m hungry.” He slowly got himself off the bed. “C’mon. You can wash my back.”

Hutch followed him into the bathroom. “You can pick the place for dinner,” he offered.

“Naw, your choice. That way I can blame you if I don’t like it.”

~~~

They woke slowly, eased awake by the soft morning light, and then made leisurely love. Afterwards, when the last cry of passion had faded into silence, they lay side by side, bodies relaxed and sated. Their hands, mirror images of each other, lay nestled between them, fingers loosely intertwined. For a long time they did not speak, feeling no need to break the easy silence.

The blond was the first to stir. Turning his head, he studied the familiar profile and a smile touched his mouth. Starsky, as if sensing the gaze directed his way, turned his head towards his companion.

“Hi.” Hutch greeted his friend with the first word spoken that morning.

“Hi, yourself.”

Turning onto his left side, Hutch leaned up on one elbow so he could see better. “Not a bad way to start the day.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

There was a moment of strained seriousness and then they both grinned at each other. Starsky reached up and slowly stroked Hutch’s bare chest, circling a nipple, then trailing down the sensitive side.

“So, waddya want to do today?” Starsky’s eyes were half-slitted, making him look like a cat, all sleek and dreamy, but filled with an unlimited potential for mischief.

Hutch captured the wandering hand, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss. His voice, strangely at odds with this confident action, was hesitant. “Um, I’m…I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“Dunno,” Starsky echoed. “Wanna stay in again?”

Hutch for once could not read the bedeviling face. “I don’t know….” Suddenly, he realized they were on a merry-go-round, turning round and round and going nowhere. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it is,” Starsky agreed quietly. “What do you really want to do?”

“I’d like to go out. Do you mind?”

Starsky smiled up at him, a teasing twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Huh?”

“Well, aren’t you wiped?”

Hutch started laughing helplessly. “Ah, babe, you sure get to the heart of the matter. If you must know, I don’t think after yesterday’s marathon session of ours I’ll be able to get it up for a week.” He paused, frowning down at the amused face. “If you say you can….”

Starsky let out a sudden whoop. “Wish I could say yes, but I think I could use a break myself. Y’know what they say: ‘man does not live by love alone.'”

“That’s bread, Starsk.”

“Mine sounds better.”

“Asshole,” Hutch said affectionately and planted a kiss on the upturned mouth.

“Birds of a feather…,” Starsky shot back sweetly as soon as his mouth was released. “So what’s on the agenda?”

The change of topic left Hutch with no chance for a comeback. Instead, he flopped across his partner’s chest to get at the nightstand drawer. He heard a small ‘wuff’ as his weight settled on the recumbent form. He smothered a grin. Serves him right, trying to get the last word. It took just a moment for him to retrieve the small notebook and settle back on his side of the bed. Sitting up, he propped his pillow behind his back as he settled comfortably against the carved headboard.

“Let’s see,” Hutch muttered to himself, leafing through the pages to find the appropriate entry. “Today’s Friday….”

Meanwhile, Starsky had forced himself into a sitting position and was now leaning against his partner, peering over his shoulder.

“Here.” There was satisfaction in Hutch’s voice as he pointed at a page.

“Redwoods?” Starsky asked, eyebrows rising. “You mean trees and wild animals and poison oak and….”

“I’m not dragging you off to the jungles of Africa, Starsky. It’s a state park just north of here. They have nice easy trails and even a concession stand if you can’t live without your quota of junk food. Anyway, have you ever been in a redwood forest?”

“No….” The single word sounded distinctly hesitant.

“If you don’t want to, we won’t,” Hutch said softly. “But it’s something I’d like to show you.”

“You really want me to?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so before, Blintz?” Starsky rolled out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. “I get the shower first,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the other room.

Hutch sat staring at the bathroom door, shaking his head. Well, it’s certainly never dull with you around. “Just don’t take all day,” he projected over the sound of running water. “We’ll pick up some food and have a picnic lunch out in the beauties of nature.”

He grinned as a soul-felt moan issued from the bathroom.

~~~

Two men strolled through the hushed silence of the redwood grove, their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet laid down by the forest over the long years. Starsky, his head thrown back so he could peer up into the dim vastness of the trees, was not paying any attention to where he was going and kept bumping into his companion. Hutch, without comment, simply guided him back on course with a touch. A few mote-filled shafts of pale light managed to struggle through the dense upper levels to illuminate small patches of forest floor. Starsky stepped into the heart of one such beam of sunlight, standing very still in front of one forest giant, his wondering gaze marking its dimensions of girth and height. The light became caught in the dark curls and embraced the slender form. Hutch stood quietly beside him, a look of awe and wonder on his face, but whether directed at their surroundings or his partner was not clear. Somewhere nearby a few notes of birdsong, clear and sharp as crystal, were woven into the rich tapestry of silence.

“Jeez, Hutch,” Starsky finally said in hushed tones, turning to stare at his companion. “I didn’t know it’d be like this.”

“I know. Hit me the same way the first time I visited the redwoods. Like being in a cathedral…only more so.”

Starsky nodded his agreement, eyes looking upwards again. “Yeah. It makes you wanna talk in whispers.” He grinned impishly. “Like we’re both doin’ now.”

The blond chuckled softly and punched Starsky’s arm playfully. “C’mon, let’s finish this walk.”

“And then lunch?” There was a distinctly hopeful note in Starsky’s voice.

Hutch shook his head despairingly, but he was smiling. “All this…and you’re thinking about your stomach.”

“Wha’d’ya mean? It’s hard work walkin’ all over these trails.” Starsky stole his arm around Hutch’s waist and gave him a quick squeeze before releasing him. “Anyway, food’s not the only appetite I’m thinking of satisfying right now.”

“Starsky!” Hutch said with mock indignation. “We’re in public. You’ve just got to wait.”

As if to punctuate his words, the sound of human voices and the high laughter of children floated towards them. The dark haired man shook his head. “I’ll try, partner, but I’m not promisin’ a thing.”

It only took another fifteen minutes to finish the last loop of the marked trail and to arrive back at the visitor’s center. They found the Torino in the parking lot and retrieved the brown grocery bag that held the makings of their lunch. Starsky nodded towards the picnic area. “Over there?” He noted the slight frown as Hutch glanced over at the crowded tables and the lack of real scenery.

“How ’bout if we ask someone who works here if there’s a place a little less….”

“Crowded,” Starsky finished for him. I could use a little more privacy with you, myself. “Sounds good to me. So lead on, McDuff.” He waved his friend towards the nearby visitor’s center.

He watched Hutch tighten his hold on the grocery bag and approach a man dressed in a uniform of some sort. Park police? Wonder if they arrest many hardened criminal types…like thievin’ squirrels, assault and battery bears…. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the absurd images this conjured. He forced his wandering attention back to the tail end of the conversation.

“Okay, and thanks,” Hutch was saying to the man. He rejoined Starsky, grinning widely.

“Well?”

“The ranger told me there’s a real nice place about a mile in that direction.” He pointed back into the trees.

“A mile?” Starsky realized a note of dismay had crept into his voice.

The Hutchinson smile turned evil. “A mile.” It was said with finality. “You go down the trail until you hit a place with a water dispenser, then you go to the next waste basket and there’s this small natural trail that heads off deeper into the woods. It takes you right to the river. There’s even some strips of sand down there to lie on. Not many people know about it or want to foot it, so it should be nice and peaceful. Isn’t that great?”

Starsky loved Hutch’s enthusiasm, but when it came to the great outdoors he sometimes carried it to extremes. “Yeah, sounds nice. But if I faint from hunger on the way you’re gonna haveta carry me.”

“If I have to choose between the lunch and you….” Hutch shrugged noncommittally as he headed towards the trees.

Starsky hurried to catch up. He refused to let his partner have the last word on this one.

The almost nonexistent trail threaded its way out of the redwoods and down into a small valley. Hutch, leading the way, was for once as sure-footed as a hunting cat. Starsky suddenly noticed how golden and graceful he seemed. He also realized with a slight shock that he never really noticed how nicely his partner filled out his jeans or, how his legs just seemed to go on forever. It must be a matter of perspective, he decided philosophically. He was seeing a lot of things with different eyes after the last two passion-filled days. A sudden wild urge washed over him and before common sense could take over, he acted.

Hutch let out a surprised yelp and spun around with a shocked expression plastered on his face.

“Whatsa matter, Hutchinson? Never been goosed before?” His face was a study in innocence.

“Goosed? I’ll give you goosed…,” Hutch threatened, taking an ominous step towards his partner.

Starsky threw up his hands as if to ward off the impending attack, but ruined the impression of cowed terror by giggling.

“Here,” Hutch thrust the bag of food into Starsky’s hands. “This will keep those hands of yours out of trouble.”

Starsky juggled the awkward weight until he had it comfortably within his grasp. He called out after the retreating back. “Spoil sport.”

Hutch’s laughter floating back was his only reply.

They picked their way carefully over the uneven terrain. The redwoods had been left behind and the two men were surrounded by broadleaf and fir trees and an increasing amount of scrub brush. To their left the blue, open sky accompanied them. Pushing through one last patch of greenery, they found themselves standing on a steep bank of tumbled rock and brush. Twenty feet below them beckoned the river, cool and inviting after their long, hot walk.

Starsky let out a yelp of relief. “Finally! C’mon, Hutch, let’s eat.” He scrambled down the remaining few feet and scurried across the pebble strewn valley towards the water. He heard his noisy partner making the descent, so he knew he was right behind him. Heading directly for an inviting strip of clean white sand, he dropped the bag onto the soft, yielding surface.

“Hey, this is kinda nice,” Starsky said to himself, looking around appreciatively. Dark trees lined both sides of the river, while above him a long band of deep blue sky followed the open course of water. On the riverbed Starsky could see individual stones through the ripples and eddies of the fast moving stream.

“Told you so,” Hutch said virtuously, then knelt down by the bulging paper bag. “Help me set up.”

It took little prompting for Starsky to help lay out the food. A thin blanket was spread out, then the food was arranged in a haphazard manner on top. Starsky was just spreading a thick layer of mustard on his bologna and cheese sandwich, when Hutch returned from putting a bottle of wine into the water to chill. The two men were both ravenous, and focused their attention on the serious business of eating.

After finishing off their satisfying lunch of cold meats and other deli-delicacies, Hutch retrieved the bottle. They found themselves sipping the chilled wine slowly, enjoying the peace and beauty of their surroundings.

Hutch, leaning on one elbow, looked over the rim of his plastic cup at his partner. “What’s the line… ‘a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou….’?”

“Yeah.” Starsky reached for the bottle. “By that Omar Whatchamacallit.”

“Right, by Omar Whatchamacallit,” Hutch agreed.

Starsky grinned back wickedly. “I noticed you didn’t mention me ‘singing in the wilderness.'”

“I may love you, Starsky, but I’m not crazy.”

After their lunch was put away, Hutch lay back on the blanket watching the white clouds float past. In the distance the sounds of children playing in the water floated upstream. A few hundred feet away a family was obviously enjoying an afternoon together.

Starsky was in no mood to laze and after realizing no amount of prodding was going to stir his recumbent partner, he decided to set off on his own. He removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans, so he could explore the cool river. He decided he liked feeling the bottom with his toes. After exploring the immediate area around their picnic site he slowly waded downstream. After a few minutes he perched on a large dry boulder on the side of the river and settled in to watch the kids he had spied earlier playing an aquatic version of Frisbee. He grinned at the escalating competition going on. His eyes strayed to the bank where the mother and father were enjoying relative peace and quiet. The woman was pretty and had long brown hair. It suddenly reminded him of Rosie. And Terri. That could have been him and Terri and their kids. His eyes went back to the children, becoming slightly unfocused. Someday he’d have it all. The wife, the kids, a home. It was only when the family started packing up to leave that Starsky realized how much time had passed.

He trotted back, feeling a little guilty at having left Hutch for so long, only to find him sprawled out on the blanket fast asleep. The fair skin already looked a little flushed from the sun. He knew he should wake him, but he was held captive by the arresting sight. The pale hair was tousled and soft looking, standing in stark contrast against the dark blue of the blanket. He watched, fascinated, by the even rise and fall of Hutch’s chest and then focused on the slightly parted lips. A sudden need rose in him to press his own lips against the moist, tender flesh. Out of the corner of his eye a splotch of brilliant color caught his attention. He smiled as he reached for one of the yellow flowers.

He had soon settled himself beside his sleeping partner, his head propped up on one hand, while the other held a small wildflower. He took the delicate blossom and trailed it feather light down the length of Hutch’s nose. The feature in question wrinkled and his nostrils twitched. Starsky valiantly restrained his urge to laugh. The flower next made a leisurely circle around the chin. A hand automatically batted at it and then fell back to its original resting place. Determined to see this through, Starsky resumed the sensuous assault, slowly outlining the full lips that suddenly curved upward. The eyes obstinately remained closed.

“Awake?”

“Nope.” The smile grew wider.

Starsky realized it was time to put his first plan into effect. Leaning down, he covered the inviting lips with his own. They parted eagerly and his tongue slid into the wet heat where Hutch’s tongue met his in a slow dance. He shivered with the sensations engendered by one kiss. Then Hutch froze suddenly and pulled away from his embrace.

“We’re not….”

“It’s okay, Hutch,” Starsky soothed, knowing what had triggered the reaction. “We’re alone. That family left us the river all to ourselves.”

The big body relaxed perceptibly, muscles easing beneath his hands. Hutch reached up and dragged the dark head down for another kiss. “Should always finish what you start, Starsky. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

The kiss was long and breath stealing. When they parted they were both breathing in short fast pants.

“I always finish things,” Starsky said smugly, peering down his nose at his partner. “But I don’t think here’s the right place. You ’bout ready to head back?”

Hutch turning his head slightly, stared for a moment at the trees’ lengthening shadows. “Yeah, guess it is getting a little late.” He sighed and looked up at the deep blue eyes which were focused intently on him. As if without conscious volition his hand stole up Starsky’s arm, exploring the textures of muscles and firm flesh.

“You do that anymore and we won’t be going anywhere,” the dark haired man threatened. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from the tantalizing touch and sat up. “Come on, Hutch, let’s pack it up and go home.”

Hutch rose with a protesting groan. “Slave driver,” he muttered under his breath.

It only took a minute to gather up their few belongings and stuff them into the slightly tattered bag. Starsky, after putting his shoes and socks back on, glanced over at his unsuspecting companion, who was just bending over to retrieve the blanket.

A surprised yelp echoed and re-echoed in the narrow valley. Wrath flared like flame from the Nordic features. “You did it again, you little….”

“Well, you asked for it, bending over like that.” Starsky was already backing away from the approaching storm, but laughing so hard it was difficult for him to stand upright.

The avenging angel made a quick lunge, but missed the elusive sprite by a mere inch. Starsky ran for his life with Hutch pounding in hot pursuit. They sprinted along the river bank, their feet tossing up sprays of water. Starsky tried a feint towards the trees but was instantly cut off by his faster partner. He realized he had to do something quickly if he was not going to be caught. Putting a fast reverse into play, he tried to get back to his starting point. A flat boulder lay directly in his path, jutting out into a slight bend of the river. He leapt on top of it, meaning to use it as a short cut to the bank. However, fate took a hand as Hutch finally caught up with him. The extra weight landing at just the right spot made the rock tilt a mere quarter of an inch towards the swiftly coursing river. Arms wildly flailing, Starsky grabbed onto the closest solid object. Unfortunately, the closest solid object was no more firmly planted than he.

Cold water closed around them as they hit the surface with a loud splash. Sputtering, Starsky sat up and shook his head like a dog trying to clear his eyes and hair of water. His first sight was a soaking wet Hutchinson, sitting up to his armpits in river water.

They stared at each other, both momentarily somewhat dazed. Starsky, knowing his volatile friend, was uncertain of the reception to this latest turn of events. He’s going to kill me, was the only thought that echoed in his mind. He was just about to stammer an apology, or else run for his life, when Hutch opened his mouth and a chuckle emerged.

“Damn,” Hutch muttered and then started laughing in earnest. Soon, they were both in hysterics, laughing uproariously at their predicament.

Hutch cupped his hand and splashed a large plume of water at his waterlogged companion. This initiated a full scale battle that only ceased when exhaustion made them call a cease fire. Leaning on each other they managed to struggle to their feet.

“Damn,” Hutch said again, looking down at the state of their dripping clothes. He shook his head. “Starsky, there are days….”

A brilliant smile was flashed in reply. “Yeah, but then there are nights….”

“Speaking of night,” Hutch prompted.

“Yeah. Getting dark. We’d better boogie.” Starsky led the way back to their belongings and took up the easy to carry blanket, leaving the bag for Hutch.

As he followed Hutch through the underbrush an old song kept repeating itself in his head. If you go down in the woods today, you’d better not go alone. It’s lovely down in the woods today, but safer to stay at home. For every bear that ever there was, will gather there for certain because: today’s the day the Teddy Bears have their picnic. He had to consciously keep himself from humming the tune. It wouldn’t do for Hutch to overhear. It just wouldn’t do. He had his image to think about.

After ten minutes of trudging uphill and down in slowly drying clothes and squishy sneakers, Starsky put on the brakes. “Wait a minute,” he called. “I know that tree. We’ve already passed it twice.”

“No, we haven’t. C’mon, it’s getting late.”

“I beg to differ. It is a little difficult to be mistaken about a tree with ‘Mark Loves Lucy’ carved into it at eye level.” He stood with hands on hips as Hutch backtracked to stare at the message with him.

“Yep. Looks familiar, just like the one over there,” Hutch pointed up the path, “and the three or four we passed along the way. Mark must have gotten himself a pocket knife about twenty years ago. Stop worrying, I know where we’re going.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Starsky angled his watch to catch what light there was still sifting through the canopy. Fifteen minutes since they had last stopped, and still no sign of the parking lot. It didn’t seem like it had taken them this long to get to the stream. At least he was getting a bit of enjoyment from watching Mr. Wilderness starting to emit traces of confusion. “You’ve gotten us lost,” he accused conversationally. “I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“The birds would have eaten them.” From the faint echo of defeat he heard in Hutch’s words he knew he was right. They were lost.

“Next time I’ll tie a rope to the car.” He jostled Hutch with his elbow. “I’d knot the other end around your middle and leave it there. We’d never get lost again.”

“It’d be a little messy chasing the bad guys,” Hutch muttered.

“True, but when we caught ’em we could always tie them up.”

Hutch’s amiable snicker changed to a triumphant “Ha!” He pointed ahead. “Always darkest before the dawn! The light at the end of the tunnel!”

“The Charge of the Light Brigade!” Starsky added as they cantered to the demarcation line of the forest and…a freeway. “That may have been the end of the trees, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Where the hell are we?” he panted.

Cars flashed past them; a few of them already had their lights on. Hutch pointed at an exit sign about twenty yards down the road. “We took that turn off, and it was about a five minute drive to the park. If we hurry, we might make it before dark.”

“We’ve hit civilization. We’re safe. What’s the big rush?” Starsky demanded as he broke into a trot beside his partner.

“The park closes at night. They lock the gates,”

“My car! We’ll be stranded here!” He began to sprint, After some consideration he slowed again. There was sure to be a kindly Ranger there who would take pity and let them get his car out. And if there wasn’t, he’d just drive through the barrier. Piece of cake.

When they finally arrived at the parking lot it was deserted. With grim determination, Starsky unlocked the car and leaned on the horn until a rather disturbed looking Ranger came loping down a path in their direction. Since Hutch was still outside the Torino, he was designated diplomat. Starsky watched the animated discussion, which seemed to be a lot of arm waving from the Ranger, and one handed responses from his bag-burdened companion. They came to some sort of agreement, and Hutch headed back to the car. Starsky unlocked the door.

“We are free to leave,” Hutch informed him.

Starsky laughed. “I didn’t really think he’d want to keep us here,” He gunned the engine and headed towards the road, “Now, does my favorite pathfinder have any ideas on getting us back and locating a place of fine eats?”

Hutch was quiet for a few minutes. “You’re taking this all very well. I was expecting… ”

“Expect the unexpected,” Starsky lectured.

“Well, for starters, if we find a restaurant still open after we’ve gotten a chance to shower and change, that will be unexpected.”

“It’s past my feeding time,” Starsky warned. He wanted to get into some fresh clothes, set some food in his stomach, and then a good night’s sleep. Anything else was gravy. He was a tired little Teddy Bear.

Part Three

Wednesday was beach day. Although neither of them had packed bathing suits, it turned out just as well. The water was warm, but full of slimy kelp. The seaweed that had been left behind by the ebbing tide lay dying and perfuming the area at the water’s edge.

Hutch had surprised his partner by actually wearing the garish Hawaiian shirt Starsky had bought for him during their Chinatown junket. He had it on, open, over his t-shirt and shorts. It was a size or two too large and when he stood the breeze caught it and ballooned it out in back, snapping and fluttering it like a spinnaker. He was standing now, surveying their joint project.

His half of the sand castle was medieval, smooth sided with crenelated battlements. Starsky seemed to be trying for a ruined gothic cathedral effect, dripping wet sand into tall needle-tipped spires which inevitably toppled over. It seemed to reflect the rather pensive mood Starsky had been drifting in and out of for the past couple of days. Hutch walked around the boundary of the moat and hunkered down. He placed a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

“We should have talked this out before we started.”

The dribble of sand and water from between Starsky’s fingers stopped for a moment, then continued. “Yeah? So talk.” He didn’t look up.

“You’ve got to have a plan. You can’t start something like this without a plan.”

“We’ve gone into things without one before, Hutch.” Starsky looked up and with a jolt of surprise Hutch read a trace of challenge there.

Hutch stammered a bit, then gestured to the castle. “Well, this time it’s a mess. Look at it. It doesn’t work at all.”

Starsky surveyed the structure. He sighed, stood, and gently prodded his half of their domain with his foot till it crumbled and collapsed. “If it bothers your aesthetics, just remember in a while the tide will come back and wash it away. No one will see it, no harm done. Just us having fun.” He ambled back to the bath towels they had liberated from the Bayberry to sit on, and watched the waves.

The conversation left a bad taste in Hutch’s mouth, or maybe it was just the smell of rotting seaweed. He had been rather proud of his half of the construction, but now it looked as if it had been attacked by Cromwell. He thought of a counter-attack on Starsky, but the man didn’t seem to be in the mood. He went over and plopped down on his own towel. After a few minutes of silence Hutch muttered, “I can hear the gears turning.”

“Oh, just thinking about building on sand.” He let a handful of grains sift through his fingers.

“People do that at the beach,” Hutch replied, quietly.

“That and go swimming.” Starsky looked pointedly at Hutch.

“Just a minute. I didn’t order the seaweed.”

Starsky laughed, then shook his finger at Hutch. “You’ve been known to. Speaking of which, I’m hungry. Ready for some lunch?”

“Sushi?” Hutch looked incredulous, but hopeful.

“Blech. No, I was thinking more of a hot dog and a beer.” Starsky picked up his towel and shoes and led the way back to the Torino.

~~~

There had been a strange bittersweet enjoyment to the day’s activities. Everything had been tinged with the knowledge that they would be heading back to LA in the morning. Come Monday, they would be back on the streets, and this vacation would soon seem like an insubstantial dream. Hutch glanced over at his silent companion who was staring pensively out the window of the restaurant, down into the night shrouded waters of the bay. Reflected in the dark glass he could see a sad smile curving Starsky’s expressive mouth.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Hutch said softly. Cobalt eyes, as dark as the night, turned to regard him.

“Not worth it.”

“Sorry to be going?”

Starsky shrugged noncommittally, concentrating on stirring his coffee. “Part of me is. It’s been… real good here. But it’ll be good to get home, too.” He smiled fondly at Hutch. “Admit it, I bet you miss that overgrown jungle of yours.”

“Huggy’s been watering them. They’ll be okay.” He lifted his own cup and sipped at the steaming coffee, then carefully laid it down again in the saucer. “Don’t know…. I feel like…like I’m on a cliff somewhere and I’m about to fall off.”

Starsky reached across the intervening space and lightly brushed his partner’s large hand with his fingers. “Don’t worry, babe, if you do, I’ll catch you.”

He cleared his throat and forced himself to laugh lightly. “Talk about a flat partner….”

The almond shaped eyes widened in puzzlement, then suddenly memory connected, remembering their first night together. He laughed. “Come on, tall, blond, and brooding, let’s go.” Starsky drained the last of his coffee and grabbed the check as he left the table.

Emerging into the brisk, salt laden air, Hutch zipped up his jacket against the evening chill.

Starsky breathed deeply and very noisily, extending and retracting his arms in exaggerated motions. “Expand those alveoli, Hutch. B..r..e..a..t..h..e!”

“I am breathing, Starsky,” Hutch said with practiced patience. “It’s a little hard to live without doing it.”

“I’m only quoting….”

Whatever the dark haired man was about to say was cut off when Hutch grabbed him firmly by one elbow and dragged him towards the car. He released his grinning captive only when they had reached it.

Hutch leaned against the hood of the Torino, arms folded. “So, where do you want to go now, Starsk? Last night. Your choice.”

“My choice…?” Starsky fingered the car keys absently. “Would you mind if we just went back to the Bayberry? Huh?”

“I think that sounds like a very good choice. Last nights should be memorable….” A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Hutch’s spine. Damn! Why does that make me feel so…sad? No, not sad. Scared.

Starsky simply grinned at him and bounded over to the driver’s side. “Let’s see just how fast this baby can get us home.”

~~~

Hutch closed the door to their room silently behind him and watched as Starsky disappeared into the bathroom. With the most extreme care, he studied his surroundings, consigning to memory each piece of furniture, every decoration, even the pattern of the wallpaper. The last week and a half here had been the best in his life, and he wanted to remember even the smallest portion of it.

He heard the john flushing and knew Starsky would be out in another minute. He walked over to the bed and sat down to wait. Last night. End of vacation. And in all this time we never talked about what’s going to happen afterwards. The bathroom door opened and his partner emerged, a sensuous, promise-him-anything smile on his beguiling face. Starsky slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never breaking contact with Hutch. The seated man could feel his breathing quicken as each succeeding button gave way, exposing ever more of the tempting body. He wanted to leap up and tear the shirt away, letting his hands roam where they willed. Yet he found himself unable to move, mesmerized by the slow, tantalizing movements. The shirt slowly slid off the smooth shoulders, landing in a forgotten heap around the man’s feet. Hutch, suddenly freed to move, opened his arms in invitation and the warm body flowed eagerly into his embrace.

For a long time they sat together on the bed, simply holding one another. Hutch rubbed his cheek slowly against soft curls. Then he felt Starsky’s warm lips begin a careful mapping down the side of his neck, a strange, erratic combination of kisses, suckings, and delicate bites. Forcing himself to pull away, the blond held his passionate armful at a small distance. “Let’s make it last a long time tonight.”

Starsky nodded in agreement, eyes already heavy-lidded with passion. “A promise. You’ll be beggin’ me for it.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, lover. I know how to make you do a little begging yourself.”

Hutch watched, fascinated, as Starsky began unbuttoning his shirt, a mirror image of the earlier performance. After each fastening was released in turn, the dark crowned head would lower and Hutch could feel a hot, familiar invader sensuously lave the newly exposed skin. He shivered uncontrollably as the skilled tongue finally circled his navel and then plunged inside the sensitive area.

“God…” he breathed, tangling his fingers into the thick black strands. He lifted the head up and claimed the teasing mouth for his own. They parted only after a thorough investigation, both breathing heavily.

Gently placing his hands against the lightly furred chest, Hutch pushed Starsky on to his back. He deftly unfastened the belt and unzipped the pants. His hand rested lightly on the flat belly, marking its surface with small circles.

“Hutch…” Starsky breathed heavily.

“You want something?” Hutch asked innocently. “Something more like this?” He slid his fingers through the open fly and slowly traced the straining shape outlined by the white cotton.

Starsky clenched his teeth, as if locking the plea behind them.

“Or more like…this?” Deliberately, slowly, Hutch slipped his hand past the waistband and inside the briefs, covering the hot cock with his palm. He smiled as he heard a noisy exhalation of breath whistling past gritted teeth. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

“Damn you,” Starsky hissed.

Their eyes, mirroring desire, locked and held.

Starsky was the first to move. Digging his fingers roughly into the smooth skin of Hutch’s arms, he reversed their positions, rolling the blond on to his back and pinning him with the weight of his body. The gesture was a blatant challenge. Hutch, only momentarily startled, felt a strange, hot excitement rush through his veins. He found it suddenly difficult to breathe. A small warning bell sounded somewhere in the rational portion of his mind, but older and stronger instincts had already taken over. The challenging gleam in the heavy-lidded eyes above him sparked a response in Hutch. A strange feral smile pulled back his lips: challenge accepted.

Starsky lowered his head. Their teeth collided roughly, tongues seeking in a not so subtle play for dominance. Starsky’s fingers, made ungentle with excitement, fumbled at the waistband of his pants, unzipping them, pulling the clinging fabric down over his hips. Launching his own counterattack on Starsky’s clothing proved just as successful, leaving both men naked and tightly wrapped in each other’s arms. They rolled about on the bed, each jostling for ascendancy. Their hands stroked and gripped urgently, while their passionate kisses landed in unplanned disarray on bare flesh. Hutch, fired by the feel of the naked body pressing tightly against him, tested the limits of his partner’s strength. At first it seemed as if he, then Starsky, were winning this age-old game, but the scales kept tipping with quicksilver regularity. Finally, Hutch managed to straddle the heaving body of his lover, pinning the other man’s hands over his head. There was a last straining of muscles and then quiescence. A short, breathless laugh of victory broke from Hutch’s lips as he stared down into the flushed, beautiful face and recognized the flicker of acknowledgment in Starsky’s eyes.

“Okay,” Starsky breathed so softly, that if Hutch had not been watching the panting mouth he would not have understood. The large hands eased their grip around the slender wrists, then slid caressingly down the upraised arms. They ended their slow downward journey by cupping the sweat-sheened face.

Hutch, leaning forward, stole the breath from Starsky’s slightly parted lips. The familiar taste of his lover made him want more. A moan of need echoed between them, caught in their joined mouths. Tonight’s my night, Hutch realized dizzily. And to the victor…. The prize was freely offering himself in a gesture of trust.

It suddenly scared him to death. Then he felt Starsky’s freed arms steal softly around his neck, while his thighs gripped him tightly around the hips. A swift flood of lust coursed along his nerve endings and he knew he had to speak soon before rational thought was beyond him.

“Starsk…?” Whatever Hutch had been planning to say suddenly fled his mind as he saw Starsky transformed with a teasing, come-hither smile. He could no more resist that invitation than the earth could break free from its orbit around the sun. His mouth came down hungrily on that smile, his tongue seeking the subtle, arousing taste and texture. His hips automatically ground against Starsky and he was met by an immediate surging response. Both men’s cocks were almost painfully hard and the sensation of their swollen flesh sliding hotly against each other loosened Hutch’s last remaining restraints.

His large hand sought between their tight-pressed bellies and, finding their overheated flesh, held the two cocks together in a tight grip. Hutch suddenly felt the need to merge them into a single whole, so inseparable that nothing or no one could ever part them. It is not enough, Hutch realized dizzingly, as he pressed and squeezed them rhythmically. Never enough.

He released them, earning a small whimper of protest from Starsky. Rolling off his partner, he ignored the hands clutching at him. He knelt at Starsky’s side, taking the other man’s swollen cock in his hand, feeling it swell even more within his grip. The sight moved him. Starsky–my partner, best friend…lover. It’s only been a little over a week, yet I feel as if I’ve always known you this way, the naturalness of you in my hand. Is it the same for you?

Slowly, he bent over the shadowed groin and his tongue lightly caressed the dark head of Starsky’s cock, delicately outlining its shape. A moan of unalloyed pleasure was his reward, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine, coming to rest in his belly.

“Oh, god, Hutch.” Slender fingers wove into spun gold, tightening spasmodically when Hutch swallowed him whole. Using one hand to assist the rhythm his mouth was setting, the other went to work caressing the soft, vulnerable sacs just below. Your skin feels like velvet, Hutch thought distantly. Warm, living velvet. Instinctively, his hand slid lower, gently seeking forbidden darkness and heat. His middle finger hesitantly probed against the puckered, tight ring of flesh, then entered.

His partner sobbed his name aloud and pressed down against the invader as if trying to drive him deeper. A fiery coil of lust curled around Hutch’s entrails, fueled by the knowledge that Starsky was enjoying what he was doing to him. Continuing to milk his partner’s aroused flesh with his mouth and left hand, his other hand began a new rhythm, his middle finger sliding in and out of the tight opening, pushing in deeper with each repetition, until his palm lay flush against the rounded ass.

Starsky’s legs spread apart even more, hips arcing between the two points of intimate contact. An image, unbelievably erotic, flared suddenly in Hutch’s mind: he and Starsky, locked together, joined flesh to flesh, moving, thrusting…. His eyes, which had somehow closed, flew open with that image still before him.

Hutch found himself staring down at his hand which was still grasping the base of the dark rose cock. His gaze dropped lower. The cessation of movement earned a whimper of complaint from his partner. “Don’t stop….”

“Starsky? I want….” Then words failed him.

Slender fingers reached out and pushed sweat-dampened tendrils of hair off his forehead. “Anything, babe. Anything,” Starsky panted brokenly.

Hutch shook his head, knowing Starsky meant it. Nothing held back, nothing denied. He just wasn’t sure if it was something for which he should ask. He slid his finger out of the hot channel, eyes asking a silent question.

Starsky gulped as understanding hit, but did not break eye contact. His hands cupped Hutch’s face and guided him up so he could kiss him on the lips. “I’m not real sure how we go ’bout it, but I’m game.”

“Are you sure?” Hutch studied the loved features, trying to find an answer there. His own body was quivering with a strange mixture of trepidation and volcanic excitement.

Starsky took a deep breath. “Sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay.” The simple word of agreement that slipped past his lips so easily could change everything, Hutch realized shakily. “I’d better get something….” His mind was suddenly blank. Starsky must’ve realized as much from his expression because he was the one to finish the sentence.

“That stuff you bought for your chapped lips?” Starsky offered matter-of-factly, but Hutch could hear the underlying strain in his voice.

“The Vaseline. Right.” He got to his feet, but before he left he placed a soft kiss on the other man’s mouth. He was rewarded by a smile. “Be right back.”

“Not going anywhere,” Starsky chuckled and half shoved him in the direction of the bathroom.

Hutch returned in a moment clutching the small jar in one hand. Settling back into the bed he covered Starsky’s half-erect column with a large hand. “We seem to be going backward.”

“So what are you going to do about it, big boy?” Starsky smirked, doing an abysmally bad imitation of Mae West.

“Show, not tell.” Hutch leaned down and took Starsky back into his mouth, gently sucking on the hot flesh. He smiled around the thick column when he heard the soft moan of pleasure. You don’t have to be scared, Starsk. I’ll make it good for you. I promise. Never hurt you. Never. He was going to make this the best ever for his lover, something that he could never forget.

~~~

Hutch lay sprawled in bed, sheet pulled up to his waist, staring bleakly up at the shadow haunted ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw up one arm to shield them. A breeze from the partially opened window moved over his bared chest. He shivered with a spreading cold that had nothing to do with the chill air. “Starsk…” he whispered, voice raw with pain, “…sorry….” Pulling his arm down, he turned his gaze to the tightly closed bathroom door. Starsky had disappeared into this sanctuary ten minutes earlier and not a sound had issued from it since. Hutch had almost reached the end of his resolve to allow his partner some privacy when a flushing sound broke the stillness.

The door opened and Starsky quietly padded back to bed. He slid under the covers, turning on his side with his back to his companion. “Nite, Hutch.” The voice was unnaturally subdued.

“Are you all right?” the blond whispered. He wanted to reach out and comfort with the touch of his hand, but he was afraid. The space between them was left un-breached.

“I’m fine.”

“I hurt you….”

“Hutch, you didn’t hurt me. I told you, I’m fine.” The words sounded brittle, as if the smallest response would shatter them.

Hutch could not leave it alone. “Then why won’t you even look at me?” To his shame his voice cracked on the last word.

The obvious distress caught the dark haired man’s attention and he slowly turned to stare at his partner, “Hey, I’m okay I told you, It’s just late and we have to get an early start tomorrow for LA.”

“Starsky, I just fucked you and all you can talk about is our schedule?” He could see the slight flinch his harsh words caused. He softened his voice. “I…. Look, I know it hurt you at first, but you enjoyed it, too. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

A brief flash of pain flickered over Starsky’s face, but then was covered by a stubborn resolution that frightened Hutch. “What can I say?” he whispered into the darkness. “I liked it, sure. But what we did tonight made me realize something. You think this is real.”

“You didn’t think what we’ve been doing to each other for the last week was real?” Hutch stuttered, the first spark of anger stirring to life.

Starsky reached out with one hand, but halted the gesture before it could bridge the gap between them. “No. It was real, but this vacation wasn’t. Not like when we get back home. It’s hitting me, what this might mean, and I’ve gotta have some time to think. Huh?” There was a long pause before he continued. “Please?”

“Time to think? After a week and a half?” Hutch echoed disbelievingly. “I asked you about that after our first time together. You said you felt the same way I did, that we could have it all. It’d just be another way of showing what we feel.” He could sense the tension radiating from Starsky, as if one more word would send him fleeing the bed and the room and him. Everything else was suddenly submerged by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. “Okay, Starsky, if that’s what you need. See you in the morning.” He turned on to his side, facing away from the anguished blue-eyed stare.

Neither man slept much that night.

~~~

They rose with the first pale light of dawn, doing their morning ablutions separately and finishing up last-minute packing in strained silence. Neither man felt like having breakfast so they said a hasty goodbye to their hosts and were on the road by eight. The Saturday morning traffic was still light so they made good time getting out of the city and onto Interstate 101. The rest of the long trip seemed like a bad dream to Hutch, interminable miles of flat sameness interspersed with an occasional sentence or two of non-communication.

When they finally pulled up in front of Venice Place around midnight, Hutch felt emotionally and physically drained, wanting nothing more than to escape into his apartment. Away from Starsky. Away from himself, if he could have managed it. But he felt he needed to make one last effort to salvage some normality from the situation.

“Hey, Starsk,” he said casually, as he reached into the trunk for a couple pieces of his luggage. Then he realized that his partner, having already grabbed the rest of his stuff, was climbing the stairs to the second floor.

Muffling a curse, he hurried after the retreating form. A dark, silent shadow waited for him at the top of the darkened stairs. A chill shivered down his spine. It was a stranger standing there. He clutched desperately to his resolution. Fumbling for the key over the door, he managed to get the lock open without dropping the elusive bit of metal and making a complete fool of himself. “Want to come in for a beer?”

“No, thanks. I just wanna get home and get a lotta z’s.”

“Yeah, it was a long haul for one day,” Hutch heard himself say, like some stranger mouthing meaningless phrases. Oh, god, babe, what are we doing to ourselves? seemed to repeat like a broken record in his brain. He was glad he had not turned on the light. The last thing he wanted was for Starsky to see his face.

“‘Night, Hutch,” he heard the shadow mutter as it turned to leave.

The words were out of his mouth before he could reconsider. “Want to come over tomorrow? I’ll make dinner.” We can talk. Please, Starsk.

“Sounds great, but I’ve got a million things to do tomorrow before we go back to work Monday morning. Gotta wash my car….”

“Sure.” Hutch couldn’t stand any more. “I’ll see you Monday then.” He turned his back quickly, bending to pick up his luggage. He could hear a muttered, “Yeah, see you Monday,” and then the sound of footsteps fading into the night. Leaving the luggage where it lay, he straightened. “Ah, Starsk,” he whispered painfully, leaning his forehead against the cold wood of the doorjamb. ”What the hell are we gonna do?”

~~~

Starsky sat at his desk ignoring the short stack of manila folders placed there, he was sure, by someone who thought he just might be interested in getting to work. He wasn’t. He was faintly annoyed by Dobey’s reaction to the pudgy plaster figurine he had presented–the captain had actually thanked him, called it by its real name, and said one could never have enough luck in their line of work. To make matters worse, Hutch was late. He hadn’t even called to ask for a ride to the station, and Starsky was beginning to wonder whether he was going to show up at all.

Just as he decided his reputation wouldn’t be ruined if he perused some of the folders, the door swung open and an unusually scruffy looking Hawaiian-shirted Hutchinson made for the coffee machine. Starsky sighed. Another of his gifts gone bad. He had the horrible thought that either Hutch liked the shirt, or that the man was trying to tell him something by wearing it. Better not to think about it.

Hutch finally seated himself and reached across his desk for a few of the folders. “Well, what have we got?”

Starsky cleared his throat. “Not much.”

Hutch’s head jerked up from the file he was reading.

“Looks like either nothing’s happened for two weeks, or Dobey decided not to wait and had the other guys clean up the city without us.” Starsky gestured to the folders. “Parolees. Bad guys who’ve paid their debts to society and are now on their way to leading wholesome and productive lives. Let’s go out and see how many of them are holding smoking guns.” He stood, scraping his chair back, and bowed towards the door. “Shall we?”

Hutch seemed to ponder this for a moment, then stood and led the way out.

They managed to maintain an uneasy silence all the way down to the car, and continue it through the first half hour of their patrol. At the end of that time, Starsky felt as if someone were very gently caressing his nerves with a nail file. As the Torino pulled up to a red light he realized that his partner had won whatever game they had been playing. Starsky tapped on the steering wheel impatiently, while waiting for the light to change. He looked over at his partner. Keep it light, whatever you do. “You’re awfully quiet for a guy wearing such a loud shirt.” How’re you playing this, Hutch? I don’t understand.

Hutch made a noncommittal sound.

Starsky sighed and accelerated with the flow of traffic. “Lose your razor as well as your voice?” he asked conversationally.

Hutch shook his head. “Nope. Just my will to shave.”

C’mon, Hutch. Loosen up. “Sounds serious. Well, I’m just going to go on being a cop. You can be the fuzz if you want to.” With the sound of Hutch’s chuckle, the muscles in his neck and shoulders began to unclench. Starsky reached up and covered a yawn, wishing he had been able to get a little more sleep the last couple nights.

~~~

“We’ve got to talk.” His own words reverberated in his head as he steered the Torino on its way to the Pits to meet up with Hutch. It had been a typical Monday after a vacation. Too long. The two of them had gradually reshuffled themselves into their version of teamwork by noon, and nothing had happened all day to put it to any kind of a test. As a matter of fact it would have been totally boring if he hadn’t spent the whole eight hours waiting, dreading the time he would have to proclaim the obvious. He had put it off all weekend, but it was something he could no longer postpone. It was only as they were out the station doors at the end of the day when he had gotten up enough courage to say, “We’ve got to talk.”

He counted himself lucky to be able to snatch the last unoccupied parking space in the alley backing the Bear’s establishment. Although Huggy maintained that ‘not just anybody’ could park there, it always seemed to be full. As he ambled over to the back door he noticed Hutch’s car already parked, radiating its questionable virtues by the dumpster. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

The atmosphere inside was noisy, smoky, crowded, and utterly familiar. Neutral territory. He noticed that Hutch had been able to grab a booth even though there were a number of people standing and waiting for tables. Feeding time at the Pits was usually busy, but today it was exceptionally so for a Monday. He made his way to the booth and slid in across from his partner.

Hutch looked at him intently. “We have a problem.”

Starsky’s eyes grew large. Not wasting any time, are you?

Hutch waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, then elaborated. “Huggy’s celebrating the anniversary of the opening of the Pits, and we didn’t bring him anything.”

Starsky thought about that for a second. “We could always pay our bill. That ought to surprise him.”

Hutch laughed. “Or we could settle up our back tab….”

Starsky interrupted, tapping on the table in front of him. “Let’s not go overboard. We don’t get paid again till Friday.”

Hutch conceded the point as a slightly frantic Huggy rushed by, dropping two menus on the table as he passed. “I see we’re getting the treatment reserved for regular customers.”

Starsky studied the laminated Xeroxes. “I will not, I repeat– will not, order a Huggyburger,” he declared.

Hutch was reading intently. “He’s got a new menu.”

“I think it’s the same old stuff with different names.” He finally succeeded in catching the attention of the harassed entrepreneur.

Huggy finally made it to their table and spared them the time for a blinding smile. “Welcome to the House of the Missing Waitress. With which of my delicious specialties can I tempt your discerning palates?”

“Steak, baked, and a beer,” Starsky ordered succinctly.

Hutch nodded. “I’ll have the same.”

“After all the time it took to come up with these mouthwatering delicacies you just want the same old things?” Huggy grumbled.

“The menu’s cute, Hug. Just remember, we know the cook.”

“Point taken. So, how’d you find it, up north?”

“Just followed Route 1.” Starsky shrugged.

Huggy and Hutch exchanged glances and the blond shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

Huggy’s attention was caught by a wildly waving diner, and he excused himself, threatening violence upon the person of his waitress if she ever arrived.

Starsky directed his gaze from the retreating back of their host to his partner. He tried not to fidget. He had tried all day to come up with the right opening line. Starsky was starting to feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. He felt like he always did when he was about to lower the boom on one of his girlfriends. Except he’d already done that to Hutch. Now he was in the even stickier situation of having to explain why, to say ‘we can still be friends,’ and hope to God they could. Here was something to fight for. He let the silence stretch a little further, then played his high card. The truth. “I need you like breathing.”

Hutch was obviously taken aback. He started to stammer something.

“What I mean, Hutch, is that it’s natural. You’re my partner, my best friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

Hutch seemed to regain his composure. “Neither do I.”

“It’s just that what we had, the last couple weeks, was like smoking dope in back of the high school. It was fun, hell, even a little naughty, but I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life. You of all people know what it is I want.”

“Wife, kids, and that house with the picket fence,” Hutch recited tonelessly.

“Yeah. I don’t want to always be a cop twenty-four hours a day. I want to come home to somebody who has dinner ready to make up for a bill from the dress shop. I wanna find out why my kid has been sent to the principal’s office. I want to go out and repaint that picket fence. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Hutch sighed, “it’s not wrong. Just remember life isn’t made up of castles in the air. You’ve got to come down to earth sometime.”

There was a look in Hutch’s pale blue eyes that made Starsky want to turn away. Like something inside was slowly dying. He knew he was the cause and it made him defensive. His next words came out harsher than he intended. “That’s not the castle in the air, Hutch. That was San Francisco.”

Hutch reached out suddenly, hand tightly gripping Starsky’s across the width of the table. “That was no dream. It was real.” There was taut anger in Hutch’s voice. “You were the one who started all this. And now you just want to call it quits?”

Something clutched at Starsky’s throat, forcing words out of his mouth. “That’s right. I started it, and I’m finishing it.”

Hutch let go of his hand deliberately. “Fine.”

Starsky let out a long breath. This was turning out nothing like he had hoped. When he felt he had gotten himself under control he tried to defuse the situation. “Now you’re pissed off. I’m sorry.”

“Pissed off? Why should I be pissed off? Look, the next time you want to play games,” the blond hissed, “be sure to let me in on the rules.”

Starsky was genuinely confused. “I never made any rules,” he said quietly. Hutch’s look of injured disbelief startled him, and he felt himself on the defensive again. “Okay. You want a rule, I’ll make one. San Francisco never happened. We went camping for two weeks and you had a wonderful time. Now we’re back, and everything is the same as before. How’s that?”

“You’re crazy.” There was no smile to soften the words. Hutch leaned back against the bench, staring with half lowered lids. He folded his hand on the table. “All right. I’ll play. For a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Starsky demanded.

“Nothing. I just don’t think I’m as good an actor as you are.” Hutch slid out from behind the table. “See you at work, buddy.”

Starsky gaped as he watched Hutch head for the bar and start up a conversation with an unescorted young woman. He realized he would be left with two dinners, and the check. He began to wonder if the lonesome looking blonde, seated by the door, might like a steak.

~~~

“Intimidation. Controlling People for Love and Money,” Hutch read disbelievingly. Try it on me, and you’ll be eating this book for lunch. He heard his partner’s voice in the hall, and he quickly slid the book back to its original position on its owner’s desk. Starsky was just outside the squad room door, talking to someone, trying out his intense unblinking gaze on some other poor soul. The door pushed open and the dark, curly head was drooping.

“It’s a conspiracy,” Starsky growled, glaring at his partner under lowering brows. He grabbed the book and flipped to a marked place. “It says right here….”

“Starsky, I keep telling you….”

“I don’t want to hear it. I already bought some mints.”

“Good thinking,” Hutch mumbled.

The dark blue stare observed him ominously. Starsky leaned on the desk top, inclining towards him. “If I thought for one minute that you were behind this….”

“Now, is that the way a ‘master of every possible situation’ would think?”

“Forget it. Just forget it.” Starsky plunked down into his chair, hiding his face behind the open book. It was obvious Hutch was going to be ignored.

Hit a nerve, didn’t I? Hutch turned his attention to the file on the deceased girl, Gloria Parkins. Young, Beautiful. And very, very dead. Obviously she had not read Starsky’s book. Maybe the killer had. He tried to concentrate on the print, but he couldn’t focus his attention. He glanced up, studying the reader across from him. A small spark of anger flared briefly, but was almost immediately replaced by a dull bitterness. You can start trying to control everything that happens to you, partner, but that just ain’t the way life is. If it was, I’d…. He cut off the thought before it had a chance to begin. That way lay danger. Something he no longer had permission to think about. Screw you, Starsk. His mouth quirked slightly as he buried himself in the facts and figures of their latest case.

~~~

The music blasted with an incessant, nerve-deadening beat. The couples on the dance floor, writhing and twisting in the multicolored strobe lights, created an almost Dantesque scene. Fever was aptly named, Hutch decided as he gazed around at the frantically moving people. The memory of another disco teased at his mind, refusing to be banished. It figured that their only real lead in Gloria Parkin’s murder, their first major case after San Francisco, had to be here. Obviously somebody up there hated one Kenneth Hutchinson.

He glanced at his partner, and with a sense of deja vu noted the sensuous body movements and glittering eyes. Not five minutes here and already Starsky was panting over the scantily clad ladies and eager to get out on the dance floor. Don’t bother to ask me, Starsk. Not here. Hutch was beginning to get at least a minimal amount of amusement from his acerbic flights of fancy. They were starting to become second nature, but at the last moment he could not resist getting in a verbal dig. “Starsky, if you’re going to jerk around like that, why don’t you go do it in a dark corner.”

“It’s all body language, pally,” the swaying man responded. “If you take a look at that lady over there, you’d see the effect it has.”

Hutch knew the effect it was having on him. He glanced at the beautiful blonde Starsky was zeroing in on and felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. “She’s probably got some weird kind of fetish for left handed people,” he shot back cattily.

“I think I’m gonna dance with her,” Starsky responded smugly, not taking his eyes off the smiling woman.

“Starsky, this is not a pleasure cruise. We’re here to nail a killer.”

When Starsky used the weak excuse that the lady in question might have had some contact with the killer, Hutch realized he had a way of spoiling his partner’s plans. A small voice whispered he was acting vindictively, but he didn’t care. “Hey, that’s good thinking,” he complimented warmly, then slipped quietly away, leaving a disgruntled Starsky to pay for the drinks.

The woman was beautiful, danced like a dream, and was a cop. A married, Sergeant third class cop. It was perfect. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing the expression on his partner’s face when he introduced her as Sgt. Liz Thorpe. His satisfaction was short lived when Starsky immediately latched on to a brunette in red hot pants and started doing what could only loosely be called dancing. He had to keep reminding himself that they were on a case and that they had to mingle, and what the hell did it matter, anyway?

Standing there, in the midst of a crowd of noisy, pleasure-loving people, Hutch had never felt more alone. It was a moment before he noticed the hopeful face looking up at him. He turned away briefly, not really wanting to talk, before his basic good manners stepped in. This woman, who introduced herself as Judith, although not the type he would normally have approached, still might prove to know something of value about the case. He bought her a drink, then they stood leaning up against the dance floor railing, observing the people.

Hutch’s eyes rarely left the figure of a certain dark haired man as he talked to the woman at his side. The moves his partner was executing soon made it imperative that he keep the railing safely in front of him. He tore his gaze away and concentrated on Judith. “Why do you come here?” he asked, suddenly wanting to know a thing about the person with him.

She shrugged expressively, about to go into another set speech, then changed mind. Her smile slipped a bit. “You mean why do I keep coming here when I obviously don’t get much out of it?”

“Well…,” Hutch stammered, trying to find words that would not wound. He’d asked a surface question, but Judith seemed driven to get at its heart.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Her pale eyes stared into him. “I’m not that fragile. And to answer your question, it’s at least a place where I have a chance of meeting someone. Let me tell you, I work at a library and the men there are either gay, married, or someone I wouldn’t be caught dead with. Anyway,” she added defensively, “I love to dance. That answer your question?”

Feeling unaccountably embarrassed, Hutch nodded slowly. And the only people I seem to meet at work are crooks, their victims, and other cops. His eyes unwillingly sought a familiar figure on the dance floor. And an asshole.

Hutch managed to swing the talk around to safer, less intimate topics and was surprised at the amount of personal information she had picked up about the people who regularly frequented Fever. Then he noticed Starsky tangoing off center stage with his curvaceous brunette. Extricating himself gracefully from Judith, he worked his way over towards his partner. Readying himself to pry the two of them apart, he was taken slightly aback when he discovered his dark haired gypsy ensconced at a table. Alone.

Starsky waved him to a seat at his side, grinning broadly. “Man, we were really cookin’.”

“I see you didn’t win,” Hutch commented snidely. He couldn’t help looking around, trying to see where Starsky’s dancing cohort had gone.

“Nope. The DJ was just jealous of my moves, that’s all,”

“Just be grateful that you weren’t arrested for those moves. We’ve pulled people in for less than that.” He finally couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “So, where’s your…?” Hutch choked on using the word ‘partner.’ He and Starsky were partners. Nobody else. For better or for worse.

A mournful expression settled over Starsky’s features. “She got waylaid by a boyfriend.” He shot the blond a decidedly dirty look when a chuckle escaped Hutch’s lips.

“Come on, Romeo,” Hutch reminded him, “time to talk case.” He felt remarkably good again. ”I’ve just been talking to someone who knows quite a bit.”

During the next few minutes they compared notes and tried to get a better handle on likely suspects. Without personal matters intruding, Hutch felt the old rapport click into place.

“Uh, Starsky…,” Hutch interrupted a comment of his partner’s. He smiled at Judith who had just sidled up to him. “I’d like you to meet….”

“Hi, Dave,” Judith beamed.

“Oh, I see you two have already met.” Hutch could not keep an amused smile off his face.

“Yeah,” Starsky confirmed, turning on the charm, “I’ve already had the pleasure.”

“We talked about art,” the small woman responded, smiling tightly.

Hutch could swear that his friend blushed. Wondering what that was all about, he started up a polite patter of conversation. They both had a few more questions about the patrons of Fever and tried to get the information out of Judith without being too obvious. When Starsky finally asked who one of the two men sitting next to Liz was, Hutch almost choked over the answer. The words “If you’re so interested in guys, you’re in the wrong club,” echoed in his head. Was she psychic? He turned disbelieving eyes to Starsky and his own reactions were forgotten as he heroically restrained an overwhelming urge to laugh at his companion’s expression.

Judith mercifully decided it was time to fade into the crowd, leaving both men staring at each other, momentarily speechless. “Think she’s a mind reader?” Hutch whispered conspiratorially. The smile which teased at his mouth slowly faded when he realized that Starsky, a deep flush staining his cheeks, was staring at the table top with downcast eyes. Refusing to look at him. Damn you, Starsky, can’t you even take a joke? He turned away and stared at the dancers. You’ve called the shots. You’ve made the rules. And I’ve agreed to play by them. You’re probably right; it was a temporary thing. But don’t be ashamed of what we had. When you told me you’d pretend it never happened…. “Starsky…” he began hesitantly. Dark blue eyes stared up at him. Shutters had slammed down, shielding what was behind them from view.

Opening his mouth, Hutch closed it again. He realized they were treading on thin ice, but could not see any alternative. Then, something across the expanse of dance floor caught his attention and what was between them was momentarily put on hold. “Starsky I think Liz is taking an unauthorized walk with someone.” He was already on his feet, moving towards the disappearing couple. His dark shadow was pacing him. At least they still had this, Hutch thought fleetingly.

~~~

Starsky lounged back on his sofa and tried to concentrate on not feeling lonely. While waiting in the hall for news of Hutch’s surgery, while waiting for the coin to come up heads one more time, he had met someone there. Someone who reminded him very much of his grandmother. “Pat me on the hand, tell me it’s gonna be all right, and I’m yours forever,” he muttered darkly. He had wanted her to take him home, fix him some nice soup, and make him believe his partner was going to be just fine. But she wasn’t going home.

Anyway that was Hutch’s job. And Hutch hadn’t been there. He had been inconveniently having a bullet removed at the time. Sonovabitch. Hutch was a good cop, and a good shot. Why the hell had he let some little punk get the drop on him? How dare he put his life on the line like…like they did every day.

Life without Hutch? Unthinkable. Preposterous. Hutch was as much a part of him as his cock, and sometimes just as irritating. Heat flamed in his face. Not cock, no…feet. Hutch was as much a part of him as….

He was just tired. The short nap he had taken at the hospital hadn’t been enough, he needed some sleep. After levering himself up from the couch, he meandered into the bedroom on automatic. Hutch was going to be all right. They had told him so. Only a hole an inch or two from the heart. He wondered if he would ever tell Hutch how close it was to his own.

~~~

“I ain’t after it, honey.” She had said that to him earlier. Said she wasn’t after his body, and he hadn’t particularly been after hers. So why had they ended up in bed? Meredith came waltzing in and demanded his TV. Step one, get the lady into the bedroom. Step two, don’t mention the set Huggy had gotten for them resting safely in the trunk of the Torino. Step three, drop the bathrobe. No, that would have been crude. And truthfully, he hadn’t had to go to step three. She had been way ahead of him.

He shifted and lay diagonally across the bed. No one to squash. Pleasure anywhere you can get it, and sleep at home. Not a bad motto, but personally he would have enjoyed a little cuddle time.

Well, anyway, he’d done it. Fucked his partner. Hopefully she just enjoyed herself and would never know how true that statement was. In his mind huge brown eyes had shifted to blue, and hair grew longer and paler. The overlay had been less than perfect, there were some things that didn’t change. His hand had strayed more than once to her lower belly, but she seemed to have liked that. He had only had the odd sensation that something was missing.

She had liked it, made all the appropriate noises at all the right times, writhed in ecstasy when she was supposed to, kissed him on the nose when it was over, dressed, and then vacated the premises. He should be elated. Instead, all he could think of was a double bed in San Francisco.

Being inside Meredith had been easy. Entry was easy, movement was easy…acceptance was easy. Man and woman, wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? Yet, something was indeed missing. Something he had felt with Hutch in that little upstairs room several months ago. He hadn’t felt it before, and was beginning to wonder if he would ever feel such completeness again.

Except there had been that last time. The time when Hutch had fucked his partner. Starsky rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. All he would have to do was to raise his hips just a little, slip his hand underneath himself and let the memory of that night get him off like he had done several times before. He should have told Hutch how he had felt that last night. How towards the end he had felt like flying, and singing, and screaming, and taking Hutch with him to that faraway place. But it was wrong. He had known as soon as he felt it that it was wrong, yet at night he couldn’t stop…. How do you like your blue-eyed boy now, Mrs. Starsky?

~~~

The Pits was crowded, the usual evening crowd filling the various tables and booths, the air thick with smoke and talk and laughter. That is, everywhere except one corner booth where a solitary man kept the world at bay. Hutch stared intently into the whiskey, watching it catch the light as he turned the shot glass round and round in his hand. A twisted smile pulled at his mouth, as he held the glass up in salute. “Here’s to heroes.” He tossed the whiskey down his throat; the glass was carefully and methodically placed back in its original position. He stared dully at the half full bottle before carefully reaching out for it. The glass felt cool against his overheated flesh. Carefully, as only the drunk are careful, he poured himself another shot.

He heard his name being called and he looked up from his close inspection of the full glass. A concerned dark face looked down at him.

“Huggy, ol’ frien’. Whaddya doin’ here?”

“Like you happened to have forgotten, I am the proprietor of this thriving establishment.” The black man shook his head and slid into the seat across from Hutch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothin’ to talk over.” His large hands tightened their grip around the whiskey, knuckles whitening. He refused to meet Huggy’s eyes.

“Hutch, you never touch this stuff. For you 101 proof is an anesthetic. So why are you hurtin’?”

A bitter twist of the lips was his only answer.

“I heard your case didn’t go down too well….”

“You musta heard wrong. We made the bust. Got the bad guy. Fitch’ll take a hard fall when Marianne testifies. Hero, that’s what I am.” The whiskey felt good, singing in his blood, as Hutch took another healthy swallow. “So what if her brother turns up dead. Or that I use a woman that needs help. Yeah, real heroic.”

Huggy shook his head. “Man, from what I’ve heard about Fitch you probably saved the lady’s life. He would’ve taken care of her sooner or later. He wasn’t exactly fond of people who knew too much.”

“Still used her. She was hurtin’….”

“Couldn’t be hurting any more than you are right now.” The black man let out a large sigh. “But you haven’t heard one word I’ve said.” He changed the subject abruptly. “You have a way of getting home?”

“Same way as I got here. By myself.”

“Where’s that partner of yours?”

“Home.”

The word came out so mournfully, Huggy stared at him. “Starsky would never forgive me if I let you outta here without making sure you got home okay,” the Bear finally said softly.

Hutch pushed the obvious sympathy away and shook his head in a negative. “Told Marianne a lotta things. Made me do some thinking. Serious thinking. And you know what?” He took the brief silence as an affirmative. “I’ve really screwed things up. My life. You do that when you lie to yourself.”

The proprietor of the Pits sat quietly across from him, as if hoping his presence would help. Hutch’s next glass was quickly disposed of and glum silence replaced the vocal outpouring.

“Hutch, I know this is none of my business,” Huggy finally offered, “but does this have anything to do with what’s been going down between you and Starsky lately?”

Hutch did not even lift his head. “Fuck off.”

Huggy shook his head, obviously not taking any offense. He looked up and saw his bartender motioning him over to arbitrate a dispute between two aggressive customers. “Listen, I gotta go. Don’t go nowhere, you hear?” There was no answer.

Hutch did not even notice when Huggy left. The same set of thoughts kept dancing around in his head like possessed Mephistophelian marionettes. What has been going on between us lately, Starsky? I know damn well what I’ve been doing. Just wouldn’t admit it. Well, Marianne, you sure made me admit a few things. Just friends. Just partners. Hah. He tossed back the last of his drink and poured another.

Existence slipped by and he felt as if he had been sitting there since the beginning of time. After all, nothing could change in limbo. Then a white shape settled into the space in front of him. He blinked and the figure coalesced into familiar lines.

“Hutch, come on, it’s time to go home.” Starsky’s voice was very gentle. Hutch shook his head carefully. Somehow he wasn’t even surprised that his partner was here. “Can’t. Bottle’s not finished.”

“Yeah, but you are.”

The pale blue eyes filled with unshed tears. “Have been for some time. You just never noticed.” He stared at the man sitting across from him like someone dying of thirst would look at a glass of life-giving water. Thick, dark curls crowning a beautiful, slender face. A white, oversized sweatshirt gave Starsky the look of a lost child, yet the eyes belied that impression. Like his own, they had seen too much. His heart felt like bursting. Starsky got up and moved over to his side of the booth.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Hutch. Sometimes a case ends badly. It wasn’t your fault.”

He could feel a bitter laugh building near his heart, travel upward and escape like a bad dream from his lips. “Ah, there are none so blind as they who cannot see. Or something to that effect.” His trembling hand was caught and restrained as it tried reaching for some more liquid solace. “Not the damn case. It’s us. It’s always been us. Ever since San Francisco.” The hand covering his was snatched away like it had touched a live coal.

There was a long pause before the distancing words were spoken. “Come on, partner. Time to go home.”

He tried to put up an argument, but realized that in his present condition Starsky was going to win. Like always. Why should tonight be different? A feeling of loss filled his empty soul to the brim. Strong arms pulled him up and circled him as he lost his balance. He let himself be led and more than half supported out of the place. The cool outside air hitting his face made things a bit clearer. He watched, fascinated, as his partner leaned over to get the passenger side of the Torino open. He reached out but Starsky turned too quickly. He fell into a supporting embrace. “Love you,” he whispered into a warm neck. He felt the arms about him momentarily tighten and dreamed a ghost kiss whisper against his cheek. Then his failing body was lowered into the car seat, while his unattached legs were manhandled into position. The Torino’s engine purred into life and the even vibration of the moving car soon lulled him into sleep.

“Come on, ya big lug,” pulled Hutch back to awareness. “You’re too big for me to get you up those stairs. You’ve got to help me a little.” He cracked open one eye and peered blearily into Starsky’s face.

“Hummumph,” was the only thing that managed to escape his numb lips, but he was able to get his body moving enough so that his escort could get him on his feet. He heard strained pantings and groanings, and realized they were not coming from him. The last thing he really remembered was his body hitting a soft surface and warmth settling over his spread-eagled body. He wasn’t sure, but he also thought he remembered something cool and soothing stroking lightly over his forehead and hair. That last comforting sensation followed him down into the darkness.

~~~

As consciousness slowly returned, Hutch was only aware of a great fragility. His skull was made of eggshells, very thin eggshells, while his bones were woven from spun sugar and his flesh was tautly stretched parchment. It was also a certainty that whatever was trying to pound its way from behind his eyes would soon break free from its fragile prison. A whisper of protest escaped from his lips when he cracked open one eye. His palm slid protectively between the hurtful light and his eyes. It didn’t dampen the impact. He would gratefully have slipped back into merciful sleep but a certain call of nature was making itself felt rather insistently. Waiting as long as possible, he finally struggled up to a sitting position. He wished instantly that he hadn’t. The room swam into focus. It was obviously his bedroom, so he knew that somehow he had made it home. There was movement in the direction of the living room.

“I see you’re alive,” Starsky said conversationally, folding in half the newspaper he had been reading.

“Don’t breathe so loudly,” Hutch pleaded, cradling his pounding head in his hands.

“Good thing you woke up when you did. I gotta leave soon.”

“Ohmagod,” Hutch moaned. “What time is it? I’m due in….”

“Relax,” the dark haired man said softly. “I called you in sick. I didn’t think you’d be in any condition this morning to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.”

“I think I must’ve been drinking kryptonite.” Hutch carefully eased his legs off the edge of the bed and tried a tentative balance on his feet. He wobbled for a moment before his knees gave way and he tipped back onto the mattress. He clutched desperately at his head, trying to keep it attached.

“Nope, just some of Huggy’s jungle juice.”

Suddenly, the room did some very interesting maneuvers and Hutch realized that if he did not make it to the bathroom very quickly he was going to have one very disgusting mess to clean up. Or what would be worse, Starsky would. He made it to the john just in time. After a brief time of trying to see if he could live without his stomach, the nausea subsided and he found he felt marginally better. He stared at the closed door and some of the night before started filtering back into his conscious mind. He took his time doing what needed to be done in the privacy of the bathroom, trying to keep his head together. Trying to figure what he was going to say to Starsky. He finished rinsing his mouth from the toothpaste, staring at the haggard face that peered out at him from the mirror.

Now or never, he thought glumly. Although most of him would have chosen never, he opened the bathroom door. “Starsky….”

“Wondered if you were ever comin’ out.” The dark haired man grinned at him, and zipped up his jacket. “I made some coffee. When you’re feeling up to it, it’s on the a stove.”

“You’re leaving?” Hutch asked softly.

“Yeah, I told you. I gotta get to work or Dobey’ll skin me.” He started for the door.

“Starsky….” The blond took a step towards the retreating figure.

Starsky paused in the open doorway, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Why did you stay over?”

A shadow flickered in the hooded eyes, but was quickly submerged. “Just thought in case you needed me….” He cleared his throat. “Take care of that head, partner. I’ll call later to see how you’re doing.”

The front door closed with an abnormally loud snick. Hutch stood as if rooted in place, staring blankly at the football poster that covered its length. He tried to arrange his thoughts in some coherent manner through the incessant pounding, but found it impossible. He made it over to the couch and sank gratefully onto it. Starsky, you slept here last night. His hand automatically smoothed over the rough fabric. Why did you stay when all you wanted to do this morning was get the hell out? Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes. A lot of what he said and thought the night before was coming back to him, giving him the unwanted answers to both his questions. His partner could never leave him when he was hurt, but what he brought up last night made it necessary for Starsky to run, not walk, to the nearest exit as soon as he was awake. After all, awake he might have wanted to talk about forbidden things.

Standing, he walked carefully into the kitchen and poured himself some of Starsky’s coffee. As usual, it was strong enough to melt the enamel off the pot, but it was just what the doctor ordered. He popped four aspirin down his throat and waited for the coffee and the pain killers to resurrect the dead. It was probably too much to hope for that it would also take care of the dull throb in his heart.

Finishing off the coffee, he lay back down on the couch, hoping to escape into sleep. He closed his eyes, trying to blank his mind. Almost immediately the sounds and images and feelings of the last few days started bubbling to the surface of his mind, clamoring for attention. Marianne, Starsky, Fitch, Harry, Stanton, himself. The supporting cast and characters, a part of his mind quipped sarcastically, with Marianne in the starring role. He remembered all the ways he had seen her: singing her beautiful blues in the club, smiling at him over a drink, passion-flushed after making love, staring at him challengingly in the alley…. His mind suddenly shied away from that memory and for a moment he was going to let it. But somewhere deep inside him he knew why. Damn it, for once don’t be a coward. Started it in the bar last night, so finish it now. Marianne was looking at him and he could hear his voice say the words again. Yet even as he spoke, he knew he was a fine one to spout them. The blind leading the blind. You’re worth it. For once in your life you gotta own that. Pretty words, true words, but had he ever really believed it about himself? This is what I want and I’ve gotta take it. Painfully, he held the thought. Probed it. Hutch finally admitted that all these months he had been lying to himself, convincing himself that he could live with, and even agree with, Starsky’s decision. That it was right for the two of them. Last night’s drunken confession to Starsky had exploded that myth. He forced himself to examine the path his life had taken since he had gone along with his partner’s choice. To be honest, he didn’t much like where it was going, or who he was becoming. You gotta make that choice. It always came down to choices in the end. It was time to make one now.

Part Four

Cops walking through the corridors, talking, laughing, sunk deep in themselves; a young punk being dragged cursing and yelling down the halls by some bored blue suit; a gray-haired woman sitting quietly in the corner, crying– it was a normal evening at the Police Department. There seemed to be a rightness to all the activity about him, something that keyed in with a renewed peace within himself. It felt good.

Hutch felt a smile building on his mouth. The squad room was almost empty, except for a couple of cops sitting behind desks typing. Starsky was one of those, hunched over his antiquated typewriter, brow furrowed, totally lost in this hated chore. “Dobey got you slaving away over a hot set of keys, Starsk?”

Starsky jumped, obviously startled by the silent approach. “Jeez, give a man a heart attack.” He yanked out the offending paper and scowled at it and then at the tall blond. “Made me mess it up. Again.”

Hutch plopped gracelessly into his own chair and grinned. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but.

A wary look shaded the other man’s eyes as he wadded up the paper and tossed it into the wastepaper basket. “Thought you’d be taking the whole day off.”

“Didn’t need it.” Hutch yanked open his drawer, pulled out a clean sheet of paper, and stuck it into his own machine. “After the aspirin and a few homegrown remedies hit my system, I thought I’d come down and finish my report.” He noticed the questioning stare. “Anyway, I needed to talk to Marianne.”

“Did you get your absolution?”

A small part of him flinched under the too acute question. “You could say that.” He sighed and sat back in his chair, stretching out his legs. A light throbbing still pulsed in his head. He ignored it. “We talked about a lot of things.” About ships and shoes and sealing wax and commitments and taking hold of your own life…. You helped me see a lot of things clearly again. What I really want. Who….

“And…?” Starsky sounded like he begrudged asking the question.

“And I think she’s going to be okay with Fitch out of her life. She’s turning state’s evidence. What she knows will put him away for good. Murder One for starters.”

“That should make Stanton happy.” Another piece of paper was slid into the carriage of Starsky’s typewriter.

Hutch rubbed his fingers over his temple, trying to ease out the remaining tension. “Not really. He wanted to put Marianne up on accessory charges. I talked to the D.A. this afternoon and we came to an understanding. That helped him change his mind.”

A low whistle slipped past Starsky’s lips. “You’re really on Stanton’s shit list now.”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” He stared intently at the man sitting across from him as if seeing him for the first time.

Starsky was the one who broke eye contact, shifting his attention back to the report. “You care for her, don’t you,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Yeah, but not enough. Or the way she needed.” Everything I have to invest in a relationship is already taken up by one curly haired, blue eyed idiot. Not much left for anyone else. What would you say to that, Starsky?

“I’m sorry, partner.” Starsky’s intense gaze bored into him. “The right one’ll come along someday.”

Hutch stared at him, sending a silent reply. He noted with surprise the sudden blush stain his partner’s cheeks. Starsky turned away abruptly and buried himself in a sudden flurry of clattering keys. I can still get to you, Starsky, can’t I? A small flicker of hope glowed into life, warming him. He had faced some truths in the morning’s early light. His self-examination had hurt, but it gave him the first sense of peace since their aborted affair had ended. He would live his life as best he could, continue to wine and dine and bed the ladies, but he knew who it was he loved. If Starsky could never honestly face his own feelings, then at least he would be true to himself. I won’t push it, lover. I’ve finally admitted I still love you, want you. I’d lose you if I pushed it, so I guess it’s in your court now. He sighed and turned his attention to the unpleasant task of putting life and death, love and hate, trust and betrayal down in the tense lifeless sentences of a police report.

~~~

The rhythmic flashing of the neon signs across the street was hypnotic, Starsky admitted as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He stretched in his chair, trying unsuccessfully to get the kinks out of his back. Glancing at his watch, he grimaced when he saw it was only a few minutes after 3 a.m. He still had another hour before Hutch took over and he could lay down and get a little sleep. It was just their bad luck to draw the night shift on this stakeout. It was yet another one of the drawbacks of being single, nobody thought they’d mind all-night stints. He wondered for the hundredth time if their snitch was on the up-and-up when he said a major drug trade was going to come down some time this week at Ye Olde Sex Shoppe across the street. Normally, they would not have been brought in for a drug bust, except one of the delivery men was reported to be a murder suspect they had been looking for. He suddenly realized the brilliantly lit words SEX, ADULT MOVIES, and XXX, flashing their advertisements against his eyeballs were starting to get on his nerves. He turned and grabbed his coffee cup. Why the deal had to go down in a porno shop was beyond him. Couldn’t crooks show a little more class? At least there had been a fourth-rate hotel right across the street so the stake-out could be done in relative comfort. He couldn’t vouch for the cleanliness as he studied the grime coated window. He gulped down the last swallow of his lukewarm coffee and replaced the cup on the table in front of him.

A soft snore, issuing from the area of the bed behind him, made him turn. Hutch lay sprawled like a giant starfish across the turned down sheets, mouth slightly parted, dead to the world. You don’t look very tough now, partner. In fact, by the light of the dim street lamps, he looked like the old Hutch. Vulnerable. Not like the Hutch of the last year. He shook his head, still confused over the number of abrupt changes his partner had thrown at him. He knew something was different ever since Marianne, but he was almost afraid to try and analyze it. Thankfully, it seemed as if Hutch were more at peace with himself, yet all the while he seemed to be waiting for something. Sometimes it made him damned nervous. Hutch stirred, muttered a few unintelligible words, then settled back into sleep. Starsky absently noted how the light shimmered in his partner’s hair as it moved against the pillow. He never could get over how gold the other man’s hair was, how soft to the touch. He felt a tightness constrict his chest as he wanted to reach out and…. What the hell! He jerked back the hand he had unconsciously extended, as if it had been burned. Seems I can’t stop playing with fire. He swung back to the window, staring fixedly down into the street. Every time I think I’ve got this out of my system I…. Think, damnit, think about something else. Someone else. He thought about a new policewoman he had just met at the station. She really was something in the looks department – great legs, a fantastic body, soft, golden hair. His heart started slowing from its frantic beat of a moment before as he lovingly built the image. He’d even managed to obtain the promise of a date with this luscious morsel. What was her name? Kira, that was it. She was special, he could sense it already.

~~~

The echoes of the explosion still rang in his ears. The acrid smell of smoke drifted in the confines of the room. Starsky pushed himself up on one elbow, marginally grateful that his encounter with the grenade had left him in one piece. Kira was already moving. It did not really surprise him that she was crawling towards Joey, ignoring him. The day-old pain flared into renewed life. Then he found himself making eye contact with Hutch and a terrible relief poured through him. His partner was all right.

“Starsky, are you okay?”

He nodded wordlessly. Struggling slowly to his feet, Starsky surveyed the wreckage. “I’ll call for backup and some medics.” He stared for a moment at Kira who was still comforting the suspect, then staggered to the phone. Madam Bouvet, the owner of this classy establishment, was already fluttering her hands, gesturing at the damage. He ignored her. The voice on the other end of the connection was cool and detached, taking down the information with a competency that was somehow infuriating. Within minutes cops were crawling all over the place. Then the ambulance arrived, appropriating Joey from Kira’s comforting arms. He controlled the urge to smash something.

The rest of the evening passed in a confusing blur, Joey had been taken to the security section of the hospital, and the three of them returned to the station to write reports on the successful completion of their case. He tried to block out feelings, concentrating on the repetitive, mind-dulling task of typing. The image of Hutch, emerging from Kira’s bedroom, tucking in his shirt, kept intruding. The look on his face–guilt. The look on her face–anticipation. His fingers stopped on the keyboard. She set us up! And they had let her. The ensuing fight had appeared to be repugnant to her, but what the hell had she expected? What had she wanted? He hoped she had gotten it, ’cause he wasn’t going back for more. Not this time.

Kira left without a word; he didn’t care. That told him more about his feelings than anything else had to up to now: he didn’t love her. His anger was not directed at her. He felt a familiar gaze fixed on him. Hutch was standing at his desk as if wanting to say something. He couldn’t talk to him now, not to the source of his anger. After all, it was Hutch’s fault. It had to be. He pretended not to notice and continued typing. The figure finally turned and quietly left the room.

The clock said 2:10 a.m. when he scrawled his signature on the finished report. He was bone tired, but felt incapable of sleeping. Was it really less than twenty-four hours since his picket-fenced fantasies had collapsed? He laid the sheets of paper on Dobey’s desk and wearily made his way to the parking lot. The cool air felt good on his skin as he left the overheated building. The stars seemed very bright tonight, one of the few times the L.A. sky was clear enough to really show them. Hutch would have been pleased that he had noticed. The thought was painful and he thrust it away. He made his way slowly towards the place he had parked his car when a familiar shimmer of gold ahead of him drew his attention A cold knot of dread clenched his stomach. The tall figure leaned comfortably against the Torino, straightening as he approached.

“What are you doing here? I thought you finished twenty minutes ago.” Hutch, go away. I can’t handle you right now.

“My car’s dead. It won’t turn over.”

Starsky squelched the urge to make a crack. That was from the before time. “So?”

“So, I need a lift.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

The calm Nordic features did not register the least surprise. “It’s too late to argue. Are you going to give me a lift or not?”

Starsky felt as if someone had pole-axed him. A loud crash from the direction of the building as a late night janitor emptied some trash into a dumpster brought him out of it. A dull flush of anger stained his cheeks. “All right, dammit. Get in.”

“Can’t, the doors are locked.”

Starsky cursed under his breath. Fumbling with his keys, he finally got his door open. He slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door closed viciously. Hutch got in as soon as the other door was unlocked, to the accompaniment of an angrily growling engine. The Torino took off to the musical sound of squealing tires.

The driver waited for the expected words. Minutes passed and Starsky stole a look over at his passenger. Hutch was comfortably seated, long legs stretched out before him, calmly looking out the window. With no reactions to goad him on, he reluctantly brought the car down to a closer approximation of the speed limit, praying this ride would end soon. He had no idea what Hutch’s game was, and he was sure he didn’t want to find out. The silence was getting to him when he pulled up in front of Venice Place.

“Okay, here you are,” Starsky said over the high-idling engine. The door opened and Hutch placed one foot in the gutter. Then he paused and stared at his partner. Starsky could feel the penetrating gaze, forcing him to turn and meet it. He was being manipulated and he didn’t like it.

“We’ve got to talk, Starsky.” The words hung dead between them.

“We don’t have anything to talk about, pal.”

A long sigh echoed in the enclosed darkness. “It’ll never be resolved if we don’t.”

“Get out.”

“No.” The word was soft, but filled with steely determination.

“Get the hell out of my car. ” Starsky could hear the slight quiver in his voice and hated showing that weakness.

“You’re coming upstairs with me and we’re going to talk. Even if I have to drag you there.”

“Right now all I want to do with you is beat your face in.” His voice was edged with ice, wanting the outlet violence would bring.

“If that’s what you think will make you happy, you can try. But I’m not going to let you use me as a punching bag. Remember, I can give as good as I get.” Hutch’s eyes were chunks of blue ice in the dim streetlight. “But whatever it is you decide, we’ll do it in my place.” The ensuing silence was filled with worlds of possibilities.

Starsky was the first to move. He snarled an obscenity as he propelled himself out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. “You want to talk. All right, I’ll talk. But you may not want to hear what I have to say,” he yelled over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time. He found the key over the door and let himself into the darkened apartment. He could hear Hutch’s even tread ascending the stairs behind him. Flipping on a light, he waited, standing like some wild animal backed into a corner.

The tall blond halted in the doorway for a moment, obviously realizing they were balancing on a thin line. He closed the door gently, leaning for a moment against its solid support. “If you want to punch me, I’m here. But it won’t solve a bloody thing.” He took a few steps into the room.

A dangerous pressure began building inside him, demanding violent release. Starsky turned suddenly and slammed his fist against the wall, the pain focusing his anger and hurt. Dark eyes flashing, he swung back to face his partner. “Damn you. I’ve trusted you with my life, with everything there is, and you do this to me.”

“I know,” Hutch said evenly, a deep sadness shadowing his face. There was a long pause before he continued. “But haven’t you wondered why? You haven’t asked me that one, very important question.” He took another step closer. “Can it be you’re afraid of the answer?”

“Don’t play mind games with me, Hutch, I’m not in the mood for it.”

The blond jabbed an accusing finger at his partner. “Don’t give me that, Starsky. That’s all you’ve been doing, ever since you met Kira.” Taking a deep breath he plunged ahead. “I’m not going to excuse what I did. It was wrong. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is why you told me you loved Kira when it was a lie.”

“Are you crazy? If this is some sort of justification….”

“Shut up, Starsky. Let me get this out, then you can have your say.” He took advantage of the resulting silence and continued. “I thought I had my life under control these last couple of months, but then you laid this whole thing with Kira on me. Telling me you loved her. I couldn’t take it.” He turned his back to Starsky, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I was so jealous I didn’t know what to do.”

Starsky felt the anger drain from him and a lost sensation gradually took its place. His voice sounded unsteady in his own ears. “You can’t be saying you loved her.” A shiver crawled up his spine at the hollow laugh that issued from the other man. Hutch slowly turned towards him with a haunted expression on the fair face.

“It wasn’t Kira I was jealous about, you damned fool.”

Starsky was sure that someone had just cut off the gravity, eliminating every safe, familiar tie with terra firma. His legs lost their strength and he sat back heavily on the sofa behind him. Listening to the continuing torrent of words, he distantly wondered how Hutch had managed to turn the tables and was now the injured party. The truth always was the sharpest weapon of all.

“Not something you wanted to hear, was it?” Hutch continued remorselessly. “After San Francisco you laid down the rules. Unilateral decision on your part. You never once asked me what I wanted. Never wanted to know what I felt.” He paced forward, looming over Starsky like an avenging angel. “Well, now you’re going to hear. I’m in love with you, Starsky. Have been ever since last summer.” Declaration made, it was as if the energy that had powered him had been exhausted with this last outpouring. He sat down carefully next to his paralyzed partner. “I wanted you to know where I’m coming from so this fiasco won’t be repeated.”

“I thought you’d gotten over that,” Starsky finally whispered.

“Did you?”

The accusation cut razor sharp, drawing blood. The events of the last few days rearranged themselves in Starsky’s mind. Then the last few months shuffled into a new pattern. Oh, shit. The interior of Starsky’s mind was chaos. Within the space of a few minutes his whole carefully constructed universe was showing huge, gaping gaps in its surface. He sought desperately to latch onto the anger that had fueled him for the last few hours, but it had traitorously deserted him. He had nothing left to hide behind. Hutch had been honest with him. How could he be anything but to him? His mind, giving him no choice, relentlessly took him back to the time he had bedded Meredith, all the while fantasizing she was the man next to him. All the other times he had gotten off with a phantom Hutch, only to confront the flesh and blood version the next day, pretending it had never happened. Liar.

Hutch closed his eyes. “I also realize that you have a right to have second thoughts after what I did. After that last night in San….”

“You know shit about that last night.” Starsky muttered.

“You hated it….”

“I loved it.”

Hutch leapt to his feet. Slowly, red splotches started to stain the skin across his cheekbones. “You sonovabitch. You mean to tell me that this last year has been nothing but one big perverted game for you?”

Starsky got up from the couch. “The sex, Hutch. I loved the sex. You knew that. It was all the other stuff that scared the hell out of me.” He took an instinctive step away from the blond. “Up there we could have it all. We could be together, and if anyone saw, who were they gonna tell? We were in a…microcosm. Don’t you see, nothing we did there affected us.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I meant, we could come home and be what we always were, with no one the wiser.”

“I’m beginning to think that we never were ‘what we always were.'” He moved towards Starsky. “And I think all that other stuff is a crock.”

“It was important.” Starsky paused for a long moment and stared at his partner. “At least I thought it was.”

“You tried to fool yourself, but you never really did, did you? So you tried to fool me.”

Starsky smiled tightly. “Did I?”

Hutch folded his arms across his chest “You’d be Oscar material, if I thought you had been acting. But after many years of close association, I believe your idiocy comes naturally. I just think you’re an asshole.”

“I was just trying….”

“We’ve been through that already. Do you realize you caused hair to grow on my upper lip? That I wore that crummy Hawaiian shirt because you bought it for me? That every time I saw you I had to pretend you hadn’t ripped out my heart, thrown it away and left me bleeding?” He flung his arms wide. “And all in the name of ‘friendship.’ You can be a real bastard sometimes.”

Starsky waved his hands in front of his irate partner. “Wait a minute. I thought you wanted us to make up.”

Hutch gave a curt nod. “I do. If only for self-preservation. I couldn’t handle another year like this last one.”

“Just checking.” He took a step towards Hutch. “Okay, how about if I tell you I’ve jerked off thinking about you, about us. That being with you was something I wanted more than anything, but I couldn’t tell you that? Because if I did I knew sooner or later we’d end up in that brass bed of yours and then what…?” He looked down at the floor. “Then I’d have to admit that I’ve fucked up.”

Hutch reached out with one hand as if to close the small gap between them, but stopped halfway to his goal. His arms slowly returned to his side. “You mean to tell me that you’ve put us, me, through all of this because you couldn’t admit to being wrong? You egotistical, self-centered…prick.”

“Hey, wait a minute! What I’m trying to say….”

“Well, you’re going to have to do a damn sight better than you are now, buddy,” Hutch thundered.

Starsky grabbed his partner by the shoulders and delivered a hard, deliberate kiss on the compressed lips. Hutch got his hands up between their bodies to push at the chest pressed tightly against him.

“Let go!” He managed to pull himself free. “God, I feel like I’m in the middle of a Gothic novel,” he muttered. “You’re changing your mind awful fast here. Just a few minutes ago the only thing you were contemplating was a right cross. Now you’re…. Don’t rush into this without your eyes being wide open. Because I’ll kill you if you change your mind. Again.”

Starsky understood Hutch’s reservations about his abrupt change. Hell, he didn’t quite understand it, either. But he did know that for the first time in a year he felt like there had been a truce called between himself and his partner. Now, he just had to arrange a permanent cease-fire. Hutch was right, he had been an asshole of the first degree. And he was damned tired of it. “I think my eyes are open wide enough. Finally. They’ve been closed for almost a year.” Starsky tentatively slid his hand up his friend’s arm, gratified with the catch of breath his touch engendered. “It’s time I finally saw clearly again.”

“You were right about one thing, though. There are problems we would have to face, compromises we’d have to live with. We could never be open about us being lovers while we’re cops. ”

No shit. But I want you anyway. “Thought you said you wanted me?”

Hutch ran his fingers distractedly though his hair. “You don’t know…. I just want to make sure that you’ve thought out all the contingencies.”

“You sound as if you want me to be a damn computer.” He stopped suddenly, inspiration flooding his mind. His voice was suddenly toned with great seriousness. “You’re right, of course. There’d be a lot of garbage we’d have to deal with, and a lot of that still bothers me. But there’d be a lot of good things, too. Sort of evenly balanced, don’t you think?” He reached behind, sliding his hand into his pants’ left rear pocket. His fingers made contact with a coin. “How ’bout if we toss for it? Leave it up to Lady Luck.”

“You’re going to do what?” Hutch stammered. “You’re going to leave our lives up to a random coin toss?” As Starsky drew out the coin, he fell silent, a strange, almost amused expression settling on his face.

The coin spun in the air. Before he could catch it, a large-boned hand darted out and captured it. Hutch covered the coin that now rested on the back of his hand. “You choose,” Starsky ordered, before Hutch could lay claim to the choice himself. He knew it was the double-headed one, and from the way Hutch was looking at him, he probably knew, too. But did Hutch know that he knew that Hutch knew? It was making him dizzy. Of course, there was only one answer.

Hutch pocketed the memento without checking it. “Heads.”

“How long have you known?”

“About this?” Hutch patted his pocket. “I noticed that whenever we flipped for something you took a quarter out of your left rear pocket. Not where you keep your change, Starsk. And the odds of you winning ninety-two times in a row….”

“I have not.”

“… if you weren’t cheating are astronomical.” Hutch paused for a moment. “What would you have done if I had called ‘tails’?”

Starsky shrugged. “I would have just had to throw you to the ground and offer you mine.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? ”

A ruddy flush was starting at his collarbone. “I was going to get around to it eventually.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course I would have liked to have been a bit more subtle. Kept you guessing for a little while….”

“Kept me guessing for a year. Isn’t that long enough?”

Starsky took a deep breath, and let it out in an extended sigh. “Would it make you feel better if I told you, again, that I love you?” The look he got in response was not ecstatic. “That didn’t come out right, did it?”

“Don’t force yourself, Starsk. You already said it was the sex you loved.” Hutch’s voice was, strangely, only slightly bitter.

“You don’t get it, do you? I loved you long before the sex. I loved you without the sex. Then we had sex, and now you think we have to change the meaning of the word somehow. I still love you. I don’t like it when we fight. I’d do anything for you….”

“Even fuck?”

“Yeah, Mr. Eloquence, even fuck.” He punctuated the last word with a one-handed shove against the taller man’s shoulder. “Getting off is one of my favorite pastimes. And you do it so well.”

Hutch crowded in on Starsky, getting right in his face. “If you loved the sex, and you love me, why the hell did you want to break it off?”

“Because I wasn’t fuckin’ ready, you great hulking oaf.” Starsky cut his tirade short and contritely raised his hand to gently wipe Hutch’s moustache with one finger. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spit in your face.”

Hutch gave a bark of a laugh and stepped back. “So, where does that leave us?”

Starsky shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m tired of being unhappy. I’m tired of feeling alone. I’m tired of making the wrong choices.” He reached out and took his partner’s hand. “At this point, I’m more than willing to try it your way. Mine sure as hell didn’t work.” The fantasies of a house with a white picket fence didn’t quite shatter, they just rearranged themselves. Someone to be with, someone to be there. And love. And be loved. Hutch. Well, why the hell not?

“You’re ready, now?”

“I’d rather be with you than without you, and I’d rather be with you than anyone else. I love you, and you’re a great screw. Let’s get married.”

True to form, Hutch was still hesitant. “But what do you want…?”

Starsky cut him off. “Look, why don’t we just jump in and see if we can swim? If we want it to work out, it will. Now, give me a hug, ’cause I feel like I’ve just made some kind of commitment to you and you’re just standing there arguing with me.”

Hutch’s arms circled him, and Starsky found he was being crushed against his partner. Groin to groin, he felt what the pressure was causing to stir. Breath was warm against his ear as Hutch whispered, “You really think we can make a go of this?”

“Trust me, Hutch.”

“Please, don’t say that. I never believe you when you say that.” He rotated his pelvis enticingly against the shorter man’s. “Promise me the moon and the stars. I’m a sucker for that sort of talk.”

“Okay, let’s go in to the bedroom and I’ll make you see stars. Them, and those nasty little squiggly things that crawl behind your eyelids when you shut ’em too tight,” Starsky promised.

“You’re patently weird, Starsk. How could I resist?” He reluctantly loosened his hold. “How about if I grab a couple cans of cold beer and meet you in bed.”

“What? No champagne?”

Hutch gave him an even look. “I haven’t had much cause for stocking any, lately.”

“Next time I’ll bring over a magnum…but you already have one, don’t you?”

Hutch laughed, and it was wonderful to hear. “God, I hate to admit this, but I think I’ve missed your warped sense of humor most of all.”

Been a long time since I felt this good. Starsky shoved his partner in the direction of the kitchen. “Go get the beers; after all of this I want to get to the important part of making-up.”

When Hutch joined him, Starsky was looking down at himself, his pants at half-mast. Then he looked up at Hutch rather sheepishly. “Sorry. I know it’s not polite to point.”

Hutch reached out and cupped the extended member in his palm, then tilted it back and pressed it up to Starsky’s belly. “That’s okay. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold it against you for long.”

“I think that’s about long enough; and don’t touch me with those cold cans. Sex. That’s what I want. Outta those clothes and join me in bed.”

“Join you? I hadn’t noticed you were coming apart.” Hutch chuckled at his own attempt at humor.

“Get naked, Hutchinson.” Starsky followed his own advice and got out of his pants before he tripped over them. Other articles fell to the floor in rapid succession. Once settled in the big bed he watched with fascination as Hutch fumbled out of his clothing, then strolled over and got in with him. He popped the top of the beer, took a gulp, and raised his free hand to his forehead, touching his temples with thumb and ring finger. “The amazing Starsky is reading your mind, and the answer is ‘No’.”

Hutch laughed, reaching out and caressing a shoulder. “That could get you into a lot of trouble. How do you know what I was going to say?”

“We’re partners, right?”

“Yeah….” Hutch clinked his drink to Starsky’s.

“Partners share. Keep the relationship equal, right?”

“Right.”

“So you were gonna say, ‘That last time in San Francisco I made love to you, Starsky. Now, I am offering you my lily white body to do with as you please.’ Right?”

Hutch snorted. “Perhaps, in essence.”

“Well, what I’m saying to you is, no. Not this time. Later. Maybe tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and there’re a few things I’d like to try. Tonight, okay?”

“You think I’d say no?” Hutch shifted a little closer. “So, what’s the game plan?”

“We can neck for a little bit, get that out of the way, then I’m gonna put my legs over your shoulders and you can fuck me senseless. How’s that sound?” He took a long swig of his brew, then reached over and placed the can on the floor.

“Spoken like the true poet you are, Starsk.” He captured the expectant lips with a deep kiss. Rolling over on top of the smaller man, Hutch pinned him to the bed and leaned to set his drink next to his lover’s. He then kissed him until Starsky signaled a stop by trying to inhale his tongue. “Get serious,” Hutch demanded of the gasping man.

“Right, serious.” While Starsky regained a modicum of composure, he stared up at Hutch’s flushed face. If I hadn’t been so damn eager, maybe we could have been a little better prepared. “I hate to ask, especially at this point, but you got any stuff?”

“Stuff?” Hutch echoed, his mind obviously still on more important matters.

“Slippery stuff.”

Hutch blinked. “Oh. You don’t think beer would work, huh?”

Starsky guffawed. “Not unless I drank a case of it.”

Hutch sighed as he levered himself off the bed. “I’m sure I can come up with something. Necessity being the mother of invention, and all that.” When he returned to bed he was clutching a bottle, his large hand obscuring the label.

“What is that?”

“Never you mind. It’ll do just fine.”

A brief scuffle ensued and Starsky triumphantly gained control of the container. “Purple Passion Love Oil,” he read. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

“It was a gift,” Hutch explained. He opened the bottle and poured a generous amount of the oil into the palm of his slightly shaking hand and started to coat his erection with it.

“Let me help.” Starsky added his hands to the one already busily at work. “I promise, Hutch. Hearts and flowers and romance after.” He stared deeply into the light blue eyes. “Right now, I just want you inside me again.”

Hutch stared at him open-mouthed. “Boy, when the walls finally come down, they really shatter. You’re giving me stage-fright.”

Abruptly, Starsky lay back and transferred his hands to his own cock, stroking and pulling to an inner tempo. He spread his legs wide, bending his knees and planting his feet on the mattress, inviting Hutch to kneel inside the open space.

Hutch bent over him, balancing on one arm, his free hand reaching down and under. Starsky felt the rhythmic squeezing and responded by canting his hips forward, offering better access. The corn silk framed face was about six inches from his own. He felt Hutch’s hand slide under his buttocks, angling its way between them, fingers spreading to allow room for the play of one particular, questing digit. The reality of its entry into him caused a contraction in his abdominals, and a quiet grunt of pleasure escaped his lips. The addition of another finger, and more movement of the large hand felt better than he had recalled, or imagined. He moved with it, appreciatively.

“That’s nice….” Before he could say any more, his mouth was captured and a slick invader was claiming its territory, while the probing fingers below were working their own magic. He raised his arms to encircle the broad torso. Go ahead. Try it, lover. Make your fingers touch your tongue. Hutch drew back, breaking away from the enclosure of his arms and freeing his encased fingers, to sit on his heels.

He stared down the length of his own body to his partner’s blood engorged column rising out of the tangle of golden curls. Yep. It’s still huge. Smiling in a way he hoped was reassuring, he extended a leg so Hutch could get it over his shoulder. Not rushing you, am I? Because I can’t wait. Hutch grasped his calf and together they managed to position him. The other leg followed quickly enough. Now, as he supported himself on his upper back and shoulders, he was confronted by his own hard cock pointing at him. Wonder if I can shoot myself between the eyes…. If these absurd contortions hadn’t been necessary for him to get what he wanted, he would have laughed. Hands stroked his flanks and ass, leaving flame in their wake.

Hutch seemed slightly hesitant. “You sure you want to get this acrobatic tonight? You’ve only done it once before.”

“Only in reality. C’mon, the blood is rushing to my head,” he hissed.

Hutch’s caresses traveled to his penis. “Still? If this gets any fuller it’s liable to burst.” Hutch smiled, inviting him to share the jest.

Starsky’s eyes narrowed. “Prick tease.”

“Moi?” Even in the heat of the moment Hutch could still speak French. “I’ve had a hard-on for about a year. I’m used to it.”

“Then for god’s sake, put it to some use for once. Fuck me, damnit.” The last word came out as a squeak. As he had been talking, Hutch had positioned himself over his target and entered. “Holy shit!”

Hutch seemed to be having a little difficulty balancing his rigid body. “Will you relax?!?” he pleaded.

“I’m trying!” Panting and gasping, he tried to convince his spincter that it wasn’t trying to surround an elephant. “Christ. Wait a minute. Don’t move.” He imagined things in sequentially smaller sizes; water buffalo, kangaroo, armadillo, till he found something he could accept. Hutch’s cock. That wasn’t so bad, The pain started to recede with his acceptance. Relaxing with a hiss of expelled breath, he looked up at his partner, who was as obviously relieved at this newfound composure as he was. Maybe more so. “Whew. You alright?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He looked down at Starsky’s semi-deflated organ. “Probably better off than you are.” A little rubbing from the both of them brought the flagging cock back to life. “Ready now?”

Starsky nodded. “As I’ll ever be.” Hutch moved slowly inside him. To his disgust, after being responsible for this position, Starsky found that he couldn’t really do much more than lie there and take it. His own counter-movements were constricted by the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, standing on his head. He reached past his legs and grabbed Hutch by the biceps. He was now balancing on the middle of his back. The need to move with his partner made him try a few rocking motions, but the strain of keeping his head and shoulders lifted was too much. He dug his nails into the straining arm muscles for a moment before letting go and dropping back. Soon each thrust was driving his back into the mattress as Hutch exultantly nailed him to the bed. Their voices mingled expletives. One particularly exquisite thrust sent thrills of electricity through his body and he moaned. Hutch, gentleman that he was, repeated the movement. He distantly heard his toes crack as they clenched down towards the balls of his feet. Tiny little firecrackers. They heralded a complete Fourth of July display as he found that elusive pinnacle and fell over it. He did not shoot himself between the eyes. He missed. Hutch was panting his name, over and over. He waited, sated and completely relaxed, for the big blond to climax.

It must have been good for Hutch, because after a prolonged hoarse shout, Starsky was supporting a dead weight. After what seemed like eternity, Hutch must have realized that he was bending his partner almost double, because he rolled off. Starsky shifted slowly to his side to face him. “Thank you,” he whispered into damp blond hair.

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

Intertwined, they drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Starsky slathered soap all over his body, letting the effect of the strong, hot water dispel the last traces of sleep. A loud succession of off-tune lyrics poured from his mouth. He grinned as Hutch’s protests could be heard all the way from the bedroom through the door and over the sound of the shower. He sang louder. Wiping away the condensation on the mirror with the edge of a towel, he peered into the moisture-clouded surface. A familiar face smiled back. A small portion of him wondered if this idiot grin might be a permanent condition, but shuffled it aside as being totally unimportant. He was halfway through shaving when Hutch appeared in the reflecting surface, peering over his shoulder. It was totally appropriate that the blond had a matching expression plastered on his face. “Think it’s permanent?”

“I want it to be.”

“Not that, dummy.” Starsky turned and flicked some shaving cream at the suddenly serious man. “These smiles that don’t seem to go away.”

The matching smile was back. “Well, if it is, we’ll look awful strange trying to be tough with some street punk.”

Turning back to the mirror, he finished the last touches on his shave. “Then we can be known as the laughing lawmen. Confuse the hell out of ’em.” A pair of warm arms snaked around him and Hutch briefly nuzzled his neck. He was released and a large hand impacted with his bare bottom.

“Shift your ass into gear, partner. I need to use my bathroom.”

A little later, Starsky lay on the couch, arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear Hutch fumbling around in the bedroom, trying to get dressed quickly. It was a simple exercise in futility. Even if they had been ready fifteen minutes ago, he still needed to stop off at his place and pick up a clean change of clothing. His things still smelled vaguely of explosives and the bottom of a dance floor. He drew the line at wearing anything of Hutch’s. He’d be swimming in it, and the only thing of his still here was one torn pair of jeans. They were going to be late anyway you looked at it, but after the events of last night, who cared? It was worth a hell of a lot more than a measly chewing out by Dobey….

There had been silence for a couple of minutes, and he was just beginning to doze when a pair of demanding lips covered his own. Their kiss was a long one and they only parted when Starsky had to pull back, gasping for air.

“Ready?” Hutch asked conversationally.

“What are you, half-fish? You’re not even breathing hard.”

“I can’t help it if I have more stamina than…” The rest of his words were cut off when the smaller man pulled him back down for a rematch.

Starsky was so involved he hardly registered the insistent ringing of the phone. He clung tenaciously to the body which was perversely trying to get out of his embrace.

“Starsky, the phone. I gotta get the phone,” finally penetrated the erotic fog shrouding his mind. He grinned sheepishly at Hutch and relaxed the clinging circle of his arms. He felt hot and bothered and with about as much control as if he were fifteen again. It was wonderful. The not so inconsiderable weight pressed down on him as his partner reached, fumbling for the receiver. Grabbing him around the waist, he pulled the other man’s shirt out of his jeans. Hutch was simultaneously trying to bat his hands away and reach for the phone. Just as the latter had been accomplished, Starsky’s teeth closed lightly on vulnerable flesh. The resulting ‘hello’ into the phone was so disguised by an explosive giggle that it was completely unintelligible. Starsky was about to try another attack on his ticklish armful when the other’s body stiffened, telegraphing distress. He pulled back and was arrested by the forbidding expression on the closed-in face.

“Yes, this is Hutch.” A long pause. “Yeah, I hear you. After work?” Hutch sat up, running his fingers distractedly through his mussed hair. There was a deep frown on his face. “I don’t know…. All right, all right. How about The Pits?”

There was another brief silence. “Yeah, see you then.” He carefully replaced the receiver and got up without looking at his partner.

“Who was it?” Starsky asked gently. Troubled eyes turned to meet his own probing gaze.

“Kira.”

He must have shown something in reaction, because the next thing he knew, Hutch was beside him again, hands tightly gripping his arms. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, hoping to god it was true.

Hutch sighed and tried a weak smile. “She wants to meet me and talk. I thought it might be a good idea. You know, get it over with as quickly as possible, and The Pits is good neutral territory.”

The memory of his own talk at Huggy’s made him feel very small.

“If you don’t want me to go, I’ll call her back and cancel.” Hutch looked very unsure of himself.

“To be perfectly honest,” Starsky paused dramatically, then leaned in and stole a quick kiss, “I don’t want you to get within fifty miles of the lady. And it has nothing to do with not trusting you,” he added hastily, seeing his partner opening his mouth for a lengthy explanation. “It’s just after everything that’s gone down, my primeval instincts are at high idle. I think you’re right, you should meet with her. ”

Hutch got up, hastily tucking in his shirt, trying to make himself presentable again. “I won’t screw it up this time,” he promised solemnly.

“Good, because you wouldn’t want a really jealous Starsky on your hands, lover.”

“Jeeze,” the blond chuckled weakly. “You mean yesterday’s performance didn’t qualify?”

“Nope.” He waggled his eyebrows. “This individual is a one-person man, and when I put my brand on someone….” There was a blinding display of teeth.

“No more complications. Promise.” Hutch shrugged into his black leather jacket. “Come on, Othello, we’ve got to go earn an honest living.”

“All right,” Starsky grumbled, retrieving his own from the kitchen chair. “But I want some quality time for the two of us. Alone. No distractions.”

“You better believe it,” Hutch agreed, holding open the front door. “I want that romance and candlelight you promised. I’m not the kinda boy who’s satisfied with a quick tumble between the covers.”

“Gripe, gripe, gripe.” He sauntered enticingly over to the tall blond, giving him his million dollar smile. “How about I take you out to dinner tonight. Someplace with candles, soft music, and fine wine.”

Hutch’s eyes narrowed as he studied the other’s innocent expression. “Never let it be said that I look a gift Starsky in the mouth. It’s a date.” He waved Starsky out the door, locking it behind him.

“Great, then we’ll come back here or to my place and practice making a short, blunt human pyramid.”

The blond turned around slowly and stared, watching as Starsky brushed past him, heading down the stairs. The words, “And you still remind me of Guildenstern,” floated back up to him. Hutch grinned, as he took a quick look behind him. Damn, but life was wonderful sometimes. He started whistling as he emerged into the sunlight .

~~~

Hutch peered around the corner of the squad room door. It was all clear; no Dobey in sight. They had been due in an hour ago, and considering their captain’s obvious displeasure with their recent behavior this was not an intelligent move on their part. He gave his partner the all clear sign. Starsky sidled past him, moving quickly for his desk. Following quickly on his heels, Hutch almost made it to his own safe haven when the melodious tones of his superior officer froze him as his hand closed on the back of his chair.

“Hutchinson,” Dobey bellowed from his office. Unfortunately the open door gave a clear view of their desks.

His eyes locked with Starsky’s, and the other man just gave a fatalistic shrug. Hutch straightened and turned around with a false smile painted on his face. “Yeah, Cap? Anything wrong?”

“Get in here,” Dobey said, standing in his open doorway. “I want to talk to you.”

Hutch waited for Starsky to be given an identical command, but none was obviously forthcoming.

“If you’re waiting for an engraved invitation….”

He moved. Dobey closed the door behind them and sat behind his desk. He threaded his fingers together, staring over his hands with a stern expression. “Sit down, Hutch. This is a friendly talk, so relax.”

“Listen, Captain, if it’s because I was a little late….”

Dobey dismissed the words with a wave of his hand. “No. What I wanted to talk to you about is what I saw yesterday between you and Starsky. You’re partners, but it didn’t seem to me you realized it. You weren’t working together and that could be fatal on the streets.”

Hutch realized this needed to be cut off before they were both embarrassed. “Captain, uh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s okay. Starsky and I had some, shall we say, misunderstandings. We…” he cleared his throat, “cleared them up last night.” His smile died at the forbidding look that appeared on the black man’s face. Storm clouds at night, a distant part of his mind registered.

“Then why are you two hours late….”

“One hour.”

“…this morning. This is a police department, and we need our officers in here on time.”

“I realize that, Captain. But you see, Starsky and I had a lot of things to talk over last night. It was really late when we got to bed.” He hoped the flush he felt staining his face was not obvious.

“Well…,” Dobey began, his face already less forbidding.

Hutch thought it as good a time as any to bring up a request for a few days off. He hoped he wouldn’t have to grovel too much.

A pair of anxious blue eyes met his return to the squad room. “My turn?” Starsky asked.

“Nope, he was mostly worried about us.” Hutch lowered his voice as he continued, coming around to sit on the corner of his partner’s desk. “I told him that we made up and that all is wonderful in policeland. And since we talked long into the night resolving our differences, he didn’t even mind us coming in late this morning. In fact, I convinced him that we needed a couple days off to ourselves, to make sure that this wouldn’t happen again. It’s no honeymoon, but it’s the best I could arrange on such short notice.”

Starsky just shook his head, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes. “Well, it’ll just have to do. And the next time we get called on the carpet, I’ll let you do the talking. We’ll probably end up lieutenants.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you acknowledged my greater intellect and….”

“…cock,” Starsky interjected in a stage-whisper.

Hutch shut up. He looked around quickly, but no one was close enough to have heard. “What am I going to do with you?”

Starsky got up and headed for the door, Hutch trailing along behind. “I have a few ideas along that line, but I’d prefer to discuss them later. Right now our beat awaits.” He held the door open for his partner.

“I’ll drive,” Hutch announced firmly. “I had enough of your driving last night.”

“But I thought your car was….”

Grinning, Hutch pushed past the human doorstop. “Don’t you know by now you shouldn’t believe everything you hear?”

~~~

They had busted a small time pusher, broken up a knock-down drag-out between two teenage boys, and hauled in a drunk and disorderly. A perfectly ordinary day on the Metro beat. And he had enjoyed every minute of it, Starsky realized, stealing a look at his partner. They exchanged a smile, and the desire he had put on hold for most of the day started demanding some attention. The next couple of days were something to be anticipated. They walked down the hall towards their squad room, squeezing past a scaffold and a few dozen paint containers.

“Guess we’re taking off just in time,” Hutch looked back at the mess.

“It’ll save your allergies, that’s for sure,” Starsky agreed. “I don’t want you in any less than perfect health. It could really screw up some plans I’ve made.”

“An apt choice of words, if I say so myself,” Hutch replied, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Tsk, tsk, Hutchinson,” he admonished sweetly, pushing his way into the squad room. “And you had the gall to….” What he had been about to say died in his throat as he got a good look at his desk. He approached it slowly, taking in the sight of a huge spray of yellow, long stemmed roses. Propped against the crystal vase was a small white card. He turned around, speechless, to find Hutch staring at him expectantly.

“Hey, Starsky,” Bill Page, a plainclothesman, called from across the room. “Didn’t know your girlfriends sent you flowers.”

“When you’ve got it, you’ve got it,” Starsky shot back. He was rewarded by a round of laughter from the men in the room. He ignored them and carefully opened the envelope and read: I promised you yellow roses, and I never forget a promise. Starsky could feel his eyes filling. He coughed once, trying to clear his throat. He looked and caught the expectant gaze directed his way. “Damn you,” he whispered, “how’d you know how to get to me?”

“Need you ask?”

Starsky shook his head. He reached out and lightly touched one of the gold petals. “They’re beautiful. But then, so are you,” he whispered. He noted with pleasure the pink flush his words engendered.

~~~

It was almost quitting time when Hutch had to make a last minute trip down the hall to R&I for a file. Normally he would have bitched and complained about the necessity of the leg work, but on this day nothing was bothering him. He was glad he had given into his lunchtime impulse and phoned in his order for the roses. Starsky’s expression would be something he’d remember for the rest of his life. It seemed as if every time he looked up, Starsky was stealing sidelong glances at the yellow blossoms, or reaching out to touch them. The fact that his lover obviously had a wide romantic streak, as well as an earthier side, gave him a number of interesting ideas for the future.

His high spirits plummeted as soon as he returned to the squad room. There was a tense set to Starsky’s shoulders and a tightness to the lips that signaled trouble. He sat down, putting the file to one side, willing the other man to return his glance. What could possibly have happened in the few minutes he had been gone? Finally, the angry eyes made contact with his. “Okay, what happened?” he asked gently.

“I think we’re both being played the fool,” Starsky observed caustically.

“What are you talking about?”

“Got a call a few minutes ago. From Kira. She wants to meet me after work at The Pits to talk about the ‘situation.’ She absent-mindedly neglected to tell me you’d be there, too.”

“Damn. A nice confrontational situation ready-made.” Hutch leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He spread his hands helplessly. “On the one hand, most of what happened between us was self-inflicted. She was just sorta the catalyst.”

“And on the other?”

“I think this stinks.”

“Yeah, on both counts,” Hutch conceded. “But she was right about one thing, she never told either of us that she loved us with a capital ‘L’.”

Starsky unconsciously rubbed at his forehead with one hand. He sighed. “I dunno. Maybe the whole thing was my fault.”

“No, that’s not right either. I think all three of us can take a bow. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s over, that’s what’s really important.”

The first small smile curved the corner of Starsky’s mouth. “Yeah, you’re right, but I still don’t want to let this go.” He gave Hutch a conspiratorial wink. “Not without us getting a little of our own back.

Hutch considered a minute. “And how do we go about doing that?”

“Let’s make the lady an offer she can’t refuse.”

Hutch shook his head. “No. I’m not about to help you put a dead horse in her bed.”

Starsky laughed as he headed for the door. “I had something a little more lively in mind.”

Hutch caught up with his partner outside the squad room. “That’s a dangerous game. Suppose she accepts,” he hissed.

Starsky’s shrug was eloquent. “Who says we couldn’t refuse? After all, we’ve only got two days off, I’d hate to waste any of that.”

“Don’t think of it as just two days, you’ve been off for most of your life.”

“More Hutchinson humor?” Starsky accompanied the shake of his head with a dirty look. Abruptly his expression became startled. “Hold that elevator!” he called as he turned and sprinted back down the hallway. “I forgot my flowers.”

He watched the retreating form, his amusement tinged with affection. There was a year to be made up for. They’d never be able to do that in just two nights, but it was a damn good start.

~~~

The breeze off the ocean was chill and a full moon, almost obscured by the overcast sky, occasionally highlighted the white peaks of cresting waves. The two men walking along the hard packed sand of the shoreline seemed oblivious to the sinister atmosphere. As a matter of fact, they couldn’t have cared less. They were happy just to be there.

The dark haired man took a sharp turn and headed up to drier sand, his blond shadow by his side. He turned and stared off over the crashing water, then made to seat himself, his motions arrested by a hand on his elbow.

“Don’t sit there, the sand is too cold. Let’s go up to the benches.”

Starsky glanced dubiously up the beach. “I think I’d like to rest here for a while.”

Hutch was unzipping his jacket. “At least sit on my….”

Starsky slapped Hutch’s hands aside and zipped him up again. “Keep it on. You go catching pneumonia and who will I have to mother-hen me?” He lowered himself down carefully and patted a space next to him. “Sit.”

“You just want my ass to get cold, too,” Hutch accused.

Starsky laughed. “No, actually I wanted to use you as a windbreak.”

“Oh.” The tall man sank down beside his companion.

Starsky played hourglass, letting the dry grains sift though his lightly closed fist. “It was nice of Keith and Rolf to let us have our old room again.”

Hutch stretched long legs out in front of himself. “It’s off season. They’d’ve probably let us have their room if we wanted it.”

Starsky snorted. “Chintz? No thanks.”

“What makes you say that? For all you know it could be mahogany paneled.”

“With a statue of David on the dresser.”

“Only if you had been posing while I wasn’t looking.”

Starsky brushed off the grit that was sticking to his hands. He sighed. “Don’t think anybody’d want to sculpt me now.” He received a glare from Hutch, so he wagged a finger at him to stave off the impending lecture. “Beware of men with that lean and hungry look,” he warned.

“Yeah, I’ll remember that. Think you can make it up to those benches now? I’m freezing my butt off.” Hutch stood, offering his hand. Starsky pulled himself up and they brushed each other off. Making their slow way up the beach, Hutch kept a secure hand gripping Starsky’s upper arm, steadying him so he wouldn’t stumble. “You know, I’ve been thinking, and I can’t say that I have anything personal against chintz….”

“Don’t do that to me, Hutch.”

“You can’t judge a man by his bedroom, you know.”

Starsky stopped walking. “Bedroom? Chintz goes in kitchens. Didn’t your mother teach you anything? Velvet drapes in the bedroom. Ain’tcha got no class?”

Hutch started them walking again. “Well, we’ll decorate that house when we come to it.”

~~~

Up in their second floor bedroom at one-eleven Elm it was a lot warmer. Starsky sat on the edge of the bed, munching one of the ever-present chocolate chip cookies. Hutch sat behind him, massaging his shoulders and neck. “I think he was too polite to say anything, but Keith gave me a really weird look when we checked in this afternoon.”

“Oh, he was probably just trying to recall if he’d seen you before.”

“Yeah. I look different than that other guy you brought up here. You remember, the cute one?”

Hutch paused. “No, I never brought any cute guy here. Just you.” The shoulders he was kneading slumped. “C’mon, Starsk, I was joking. You’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m….”

“He was probably just surprised you lost so much weight. You know how many people would love to lose twenty pounds? I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t ask you what your secret was.”

Starsky leaned back into accepting arms. “Think I should tell him?”

“Nope.” Hutch nuzzled the sweep of neck so close to his mouth. “Don’t think he’d go for it. A little too expensive.”

Starsky laughed. “Tell me about it.” He caught Hutch’s roving hands and wrapped himself in the strong arms. “So, what’s on the schedule, oh Keeper of the Sacred List.”

“There isn’t one,” Hutch confided. “Figured you’d have just about had it with schedules after the last couple months.”

“Really.” The minutes stretched out in companionable silence. “Any ideas for tomorrow?”

“Well, we could go back to the Labyrinth.”

Starsky turned slightly in his lover’s arms. “I don’t want to go back. Took us a year to find our way out the first time.”

Hutch leaned forward and placed a kiss on the waiting mouth. “Yeah, but we know more now. I’ll bring a ball of string.”

The End