Negotiations

Starsky sets his sights on another high-priced, fancy toy, and Hutch knows what’s in store!

Hutch found his partner at the checkout, nose buried in a glossy magazine.

“Uh-oh.” Hutch knew that expression. He’d seen it for the first time at the Ford dealership, when the salesman had pointed out an oversized soda can to his car-crazy partner. The next appearance was at a model railroad display. And then when they ‘just happened’ to stroll by a jewelry store window displaying overly-complex and overly-priced watches. The expression’s most recent appearance was at a seminar on evidence photography when the instructor pulled out a Nikon set up that cost almost as much as the Torino.

Starsky was in love.

The next few days would mean—

Starsky would start his sales pitch.

Hutch would say, “You don’t need that.”

Starsky would rub Hutch’s feet.

Hutch would say some variation of, “No way, Jose.”

Starsky would press gentle kisses up and down his neck.

Hutch would point out their budget.

Starsky would divest Hutch of his pants.

Hutch would try to ‘stay on topic.’

Starsky would run his nails oh so lightly up the back of Hutch’s thighs and smile that smile.

Hutch would come back to earth naked, sticky in some spots, slippery in others, blissfully exhausted and agreeable to anything Starsky was whispering in his ear.

Embarrassed to find himself looking forward to the negotiations, Hutch cleared his throat and asked, “Ready to go, Starsk?”

Starsky, the sneak, skipped right to that smile. “Hey, Blintz, you ever heard of turducken?”