On a Hot Summer Night

It’s hot outside, and inside.

Pure sex for now, people.

Hutch tipped his head back and moaned softly. The corded muscles of his neck stood out; his short blond hair was soaked with sweat and plastered against his head. The sheets of Starsky’s bed were tangled around his naked, hard body. He had been here forever, or since three hours ago, he wasn’t sure which. It was dark, and the air conditioner wasn’t working; that was all he knew.

Still such a strange feeling, the best feeling in the world, his cock rubbing up against Starsky’s, so hard but almost velvety smooth to the touch. Each stroke brought more excitement-had he ever done this with a girl? Just rubbed against her for the sensation, for the pleasure of cock against skin? He didn’t think so-he would have felt selfish doing it.

With Starsky he never felt selfish. Everything he wanted, Starsky wanted more. Every bit of pleasure, Starsky urged him to take. Starsky could match him point for point; Hutch always knew that Starsky would take his turn. There was no self-sacrifice here, nor embarrassment, only an almost hedonistic pursuit of physical sensation.

Hutch felt Starsky’s mouth on his neck. His mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Ah, his teeth. Hutch moaned again. “Oh God, yes, Starsky, like that, bite my neck, ravage my neck.”

“Ravage?”

“Yes,” Hutch breathed.

Starsky put on a deep voice. ” ‘On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?’ ”

Hutch smiled, his eyes still closed, and played along. ” ‘Would he offer me his lips?’ ”

“Yes.” Starsky bent and planted tender kisses up and down one side of Hutch’s neck.

” ‘And would he offer me his tongue?’ ”

“Yes,” said Starsky, as he traced curvy wet lines along the front of Hutch’s neck, playfully bobbing over Hutch’s Adam’s apple.

” ‘And would he offer me his teeth?’ ” Hutch drew his breath in sharply as Starsky bit down, not too hard, but not gently either, just to the left of his jugular vein. “Yes,” came the muffled reply.

“And would he offer me his hunger?” Hutch asked, slipping closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” Starsky said, still devouring Hutch’s strong, pale neck, glistening with sweat.

“Again, would he offer me his hunger?”

“Yes,” this time it was a growl, and Hutch grabbed Starsky now by his neck, and tilted his head back for a kiss. Hutch’s kisses were hard, and hungry, and soon he was on Starsky’s neck, sucking at it, mauling it with half-bites, almost tearing the skin, but not quite. Not quite.

In his head, Hutch could hear the guitar solo that followed those words, and he laughed, a full, throaty laugh, that rippled down his chest and abdomen to his cock. He didn’t want to ruin the mood, so he stopped there. There would be plenty of time later to mock Starsky mercilessly for his lowbrow musical tastes.

Now, though, he concentrated on Starsky’s mouth, on his soft lips, on the hard line of his jaw just beginning to feel sandpapery with stubble, on the shadowy darkness of his skin, so different from Hutch’s own, so warm, so inviting. Hutch kissed the small cluster of moles below Starsky’s right eye, the moles that always made Starsky’s eyes look like they were laughing.

His hands stayed with his mouth on Starsky’s face for a bit, then roamed down toward his torso, held the strong shoulders that lined up perfectly with his when they kneeled together like this-it was only in his legs that Hutch was taller. He let his hands roam over Starsky’s chest, palming his pectoral muscles, his ribcage, all the while feeling the furriness of Starsky’s body, so different from his own smooth skin. It was these differences which he found so exciting-people thought two men would be more similar than different, but it wasn’t so. They were equals, it was true-equals in their desires, and in their ability to ask for what they wanted and take it without apology. But Starsky sometimes seemed to be from another planet. He was a force of nature-a whirlwind-dark where Hutch was light, yin to Hutch’s yang. It was wonderful to fuck someone who could match him strength for strength, whom he never had to worry about hurting, but who was still a mystery to be explored, like a cave that went on and on, never ending. Sometimes when they were in bed it was like when they were out on the streets-tough as nails, putting everything they had into every moment, living with nothing to fear and nothing to lose.

Fearless. Perhaps it was Starsky’s fearlessness that Hutch admired most.

Hutch pressed his cock against Starsky’s hairy belly, and rubbed with abandon. “Starsk,” he whispered, “feels so good. Not gonna last much longer-I wanna come like this, up against you like this.”

“Yes,” said Starsky, simply. Hutch only had to ask for something, and his wish was granted. Starsky almost never said no, in bed. Now he rubbed his own cock against Hutch, and moved just slightly to one side, so that their cocks were touching, rubbing against each other on one side and against each other’s bellies on the other.

The sensation of his cock against two different kinds of skin was almost too much for Hutch to bear, and it was only a few moments before he was bucking against his lover’s body, crying, “Oh God, Starsky, I’m coming,” into his neck. Starsky held his body tightly; Hutch dimly felt the calluses of Starsky’s hands against his ribcage. Then it was Starsky’s turn, humping up against him insistently, wringing every drop of pleasure he could from his own cock, coming against Hutch in a delirium of darkness and heat.

They collapsed into each other’s arms and lay there, panting, like hounds. Finally, Starsky pulled away, so they were both on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, the sheets stuck to them with sweat and semen.

Starsky idly stroked Hutch’s arm. “D’you wanna clean up?”

“Not particularly.”

“Me neither.”

Hutch turned to face Starsky and kissed him softly. Then he turned and faced the other way. He wrapped Starsky’s arm around his midsection and held it there. Starsky leaned up closer against Hutch’s back. Hutch closed his eyes, wondering if there could be any moment more perfect than this.

Starsky kissed his neck. “On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”

“Yes,” Hutch answered, trying to remember the next part.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the boys,” said Starsky, doing his best Mae West, and Hutch dissolved into giggles, and Starsky laughed so hard there were tears streaming down his face, and deep in the night, their bed shook with laughter.