Mr. Bubbles

A double-drabble related to THE SPECIALIST.

Thanks To: EH, who gave it a quick scrub.

Hutch

“Hey, Starsk . . . ?”

He didn’t answer. He was almost entirely underwater, only the tip of his nose and a damp mop of curly hair showing above the surface. His eyes were closed and though I couldn’t see it, I’m sure he had a disgustingly contented smile hidden under the bubbles.

I kicked his leg and after a moment he reluctantly emerged, dripping water and foam.

“What?” he snapped. “I’m relaxin’!”

“What do you think’s taking her so long?”

“She said she had a surprise for us . . .” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Move over,” I said. I pulled my leg out from where it was trapped beneath his thigh and then used the top of his head to steady myself as I climbed out of the bath.

“She ditched us!”

I was seriously pissed. And cold.

Starsky stayed in the water where it was warm, looking around the bathroom.

I could understand the first time – Sally wanted to prove that she was as tough as any other cop by throwing us around her living room.

But this time she was just being a tease.

“Hey, Hutch . . .?”

“What?” I snapped. This was all his fault. Him and his threesome fantasies . . .

“Where are our clothes?”