Only the Strong Survive

2.3K

S & H get called into a case which exacerbates a conflict they are having.

---

Hutch was clearing the breakfast table in the greenhouse when he discovered the square plastic box stashed under a pile of napkins. Displayed untouched in small compartments were Starsky’s medications for the last four days. Puzzled, he called out to his partner, who was vacuuming the recently expanded bedroom.

“Starsky!”

“Yeah?”

“C’mere for a minute, would you?” came out more forcefully than he’d meant for it to.

Starsky slipped into the room, looking a little like a child expecting to be chastised.

“What the hell is this?’ Hutch asked, holding the offending object under his nose.

“Looks like a pillbox to me.”

Hutch sighed deeply.

“You know damn well it’s a pillbox….yours….and it’s still got the last four days meds in it. Why?”

“’Cause I didn’t take ’em.”

“Starsky, we’ve been through this a million times.” A slight thread of desperation made its way into his voice. “Why aren’t you taking them?”

Since the shooting in May, life had been chaotic. Starsky had been hospitalized for several months and during that time Hutch had taken a leave and used some of his trust fund to expand the Venice apartment, appropriating space which had been sitting empty for years. He’d made the living room bigger and created a large bedroom with a big bathroom able to accommodate his partner’s convalescing needs. Starsky had agreed to let his place go and Hutch had everything moved for him prior to his release. When he’d brought the injured man home, it was with the understanding that Hutch would take care of him, backed by a team consisting of a visiting nurse, along with both physical and occupational therapists. Or ‘terrorists’, as Starsky enjoyed referring to them. All had gone smoothly until a couple weeks ago, when the patient had reached an intolerable level of boredom and started exerting his independence.

“Christ, Hutch, I’m sick of takin’ pills! I’m feeling better and I figure I don’t need ‘em anymore.”

Hutch’s composure slipped another centimeter.

“You figure? You’ve been through hell….your lung still isn’t completely healed. Don’t you think you should trust your doctors to tell you when you’re ready to toss the meds?”

“No!”

“No?” Hutch felt himself begin to overheat, like the Torino on a 98-degree day.

“Damn it, I’m on happy pills….”

“Antidepressants, just to keep your spirits up.” Hutch corrected him.

“I take pills to make me shit, pills to make me piss, pills to knock me out….raise my heart rate, lower my blood pressure, keep me from getting infection, keep my energy up and…. you know what the end result is?”

“You’ve managed to stay alive?”

“Only half….they….they just….well, they mess with my mind.”

Hutch felt a wave of compassion dispel the anger that had been building up. He put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Aw, Starsk….that’s inevitable. Things’ll fall back into place in time.”

“Not this….this is something new….for me, anyway.”

“Sit down….talk to me. We’ve always been able to work things out together before.”

Starsky snorted. “Not this time. This is one even you can’t help me with.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Okay, hotshot. I’ve been looking at my old collection of Playboys lately.”

“Hey, that’s a good sign and…”

“And….nothing. Nothing happens. I can’t get it up.”

“Oh….I get it.” Hutch quickly backpedaled, but the only thing he could come up with was a lame-sounding, “Hey, you’re not giving yourself enough time, man.”

“Am I still? A man, I mean? I think about women I’ve been with and it doesn’t turn me on at all. Hell, I might as well be a fuckin’ eunuch.”

Hutch didn’t want to appear insensitive, but somehow the idea of Starsky as an asexual being didn’t strike him as a problem that could possibly be permanent. He thought maybe if he could get the other man to see the humor in what he was saying, it would take his mind off his situation.

“Starsky, in the first place, that’s a complete contradiction of terms. It’s physically impossible to be a fuckin’ eunuch.” Hutch grinned. “And, really…when you think about it…”

“I tell you I can’t even get a hard on anymore and all you can do is make jokes? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just go back to my housework now.” Starsky turned to go back into the bedroom. “Probably all I’m good for anymore.”

“No….wait.” Hutch grabbed his arm. “I really don’t think it’s a problem. I know it seems scary to you now, but, believe me….once you’re completely healed, everything’ll be working again.”

“One of my lungs only has half the capacity it did before. Even if I can get things workin’ again, how do I know this won’t turn out to be the same kinda problem?”

“I always did say you had a tendency to go off half-cocked.” Catching the sullen expression on the other man’s face, he tried again. “Hey, I’ve seen you with a hard on. Half capacity is as good as the average man.”

“Hutch!”

“I’m sorry….I know it’s not funny, but I’m sure it’s not serious, either. In fact, I guarantee you it’s not.” Hutch pulled him in the direction of the bedroom. “Let me rub your back and relax you a little. You’re getting yourself all worked up and that’s not good for you, especially when you haven’t taken your meds.”

The agitated man allowed himself to be towed along into the next room, where his partner pushed him gently down on the bed. Hutch started unbuttoning his shirt for him and quickly had him stripped down to boxers before he could change his mind about it.

He started to gently knead the tight neck and shoulder muscles, the area which seemed to bear the brunt of Starsky’s pain. One of the bullets had broken through his collarbone and torn its way perilously close to the carotid artery through his chest and shoulder, before becoming embedded in the roof of the Torino. This affected his right arm, causing him a great deal of pain and difficulty of movement. Hutch had learned from the therapists and had put in many hours as his masseur. As Starsky began to relax, his blond partner was able to coax him to lie down on the bed.

Hutch closed his eyes and sighed. It was only when rubbing away the torment from the injured man’s flesh that he was able to let down his guard and dream. At some point during Starsky’s convalescence, the realization had come to him that his love for his best friend had become more than that. It had been a difficult concession to make, but once he found himself able to whisper with wonder, “I’m in love with Starsky,” it had been an especially hard secret to keep. Only his fear of the other mans rejection restrained him from blurting out his feelings.

As he felt the supple, hard-muscled flesh beneath his fingers, he yearned to be free to caress and explore each plane and hollow of the body under his. His fantasies took flight and he lost himself in the smoothness of skin, the scent of sandalwood and the heat of his passion.

Awareness that his patient was becoming restless brought him back from his daydream and he encouraged Starsky to turn over on his back, so he could massage the tense chest muscles, a routine which had caused intense pain when the therapists had begun, but which had proved extremely beneficial in the healing process. His partner obliged him, closing his eyes and soon appeared to have fallen asleep. Hutch was startled when the deep blue eyes sprang open in what seemed to be alarm.

“Starsk, you all right?” Hutch asked anxiously. “It’s not your heart, is it?”

His partner smiled uneasily. “A little bit lower than that.”

His anxious pale blue eyes left the sparkling cerulean of the other man’s and raked the length of the lean body until they rested on the tented front of Starsky’s boxers, which signaled an impressive erection.

He chuckled, his relief evident. “Guess there’s no need to put you out to pasture yet, huh, buddy?”

“Nope. I only wish I had somebody female to celebrate the occasion with.” The dark-haired man complained.

Hutch knew he might be treading on thin ice, but decided to venture out to the middle of the lake anyway. “I could help you out with that if you wanted to close your eyes and pretend I’m whoever you’d rather be with.”

Starsky’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do somethin’ like that. I mean….that’s above and beyond the call a duty.”

“You didn’t ask….I offered and if I don’t have a problem with it, why should you?”

Starsky closed his eyes tightly and after a moment of thought, he nodded his head.

Almost reverently, Hutch first touched the throbbing hardness through the fabric of the underwear, to get his partner used to the feeling of his hands on him. It was definitely not the first time this contact had been made in past months. He’d helped Starsky take care of his every need and that had included a great deal of intimacy, which constantly irritated the dark-haired man with its necessity. But, of course, this was entirely different and the fear that he might be taking advantage of the situation raised every red flag in the Hutch’s guilt-prone mind.

Even that consideration failed to deter him….the man he loved was giving him this gift and whether he knew it or not, it was the opening that Hutch had been looking for, the chance to proclaim his love and make his partner feel so special, so cherished, that Starsky’s only recourse was to fall into his arms and remain there for the next forty or fifty years, if Hutch had any say about it. At least that’s what he hoped would happen

Easing the clingy, soft boxers down, he touched the object of his desire, marveling at the velvety, soft skin stretched over the steely hardness beneath. He knew this was a defining moment, one he wanted to remember for the rest of his life, so he spent time memorizing every detail. The dusky color of the secret flesh he held cupped in his hand, so different from his own, the aroma of Starsky’s arousal….making him drunk with need, the small chuffing sounds he’d never heard the other man make before. He didn’t think of his own cock straining to break free….his only thought was to make this good for his partner.

Rubbing softly at first, he soon increased the pressure and pace, somehow knowing intuitively when the other man needed him to slow down and when he wanted more. In this, as in most things, it seemed as though they fell into perfect sync, Starsky raising his hips to meet the downward thrusts of the compassionate hand. Exhilarated, Hutch wanted his lips where that hand was and, with the symphony of his partner’s crying out his name, he bent and kissed the tip and drew it between his lips gently.

“God….Hutch, no!” Starsky cried out in alarm. But even as he protested, Hutch could feel his hands pulling on the thinning blond hair in an effort to hold him in place. The dark-haired man made a last valiant effort to pull himself away as semen began to flow into the other man’s waiting mouth, but Hutch wouldn’t allow it and swallowed, wincing at the salty, bitter taste. It was palatable only because it was the essence of the man he loved and that’s what he wanted, Starsky in him, now a part of him.

“Jeezus….I’m sorry. I got carried away and couldn’t stop.” Starsky grabbed him and hugged him in apology. “It’s been way too long for me.”

“No, it was my fault. I’m not sorry for what just happened. I won’t apologize for that.” Hutch held the other man to him desperately. “I wanted it, but I feel like I took advantage of you.”

Starsky pulled back to peer into eyes sparkling with the colors of the Caribbean sky. “If anyone took advantage, it was me. ” he said contritely.

“I’ve never cared for anyone more, Starsk. You think I’d do that for someone I didn’t love?”

Starsky squeezed him again. “I love you, too, buddy. Always have.”

“I don’t think you’re really getting the message.” Hutch knew he hadn’t made himself clear. “I’m….in….love with you.”

Visibly shocked, Starsky drew back from him. Hutch could clearly identify many of the conflicting emotions in the deep blue eyes. He’d gone through his own share of trauma in dealing with these new feelings.

“Why are you talkin’ like this?”

“I’m just telling you how I feel.” It was obvious that this was a completely new and quite foreign idea to his partner. “I-I thought you might just be interested….or at least keep an open mind.”

“Hutch, I ain’t gay.”

“Did I imply you were?” Hutch replied with some asperity.

“What you’re feeling is just ‘cause of the shooting and you takin’ care of me all this time. We’ve been together almost constantly and you’re startin’ to read more into it than there is.”

“I know how I feel.” Hutch retorted brusquely.

“You know how you think you feel….”

“Okay, I’ll say it once more and try to make it clear to you.” Hutch took a deep breath. “I love you and all I can damn well feel is you.” His index finger hovered in the air inches from Starsky’s nose, accenting each ‘you’ as he spoke the word. “You….in my mind so that half the time I can’t think straight….you….filling up all my senses until I can’t imagine anyone else in my life.” He laughed nervously. “To you I must sound like some hopeless, damned lovesick teenager, but I know now that it’s always been you….from the day I met you.” He looked deeply into the disbelieving eyes. “Is there some part of that so impossible to understand?”

“Hutch….don’t…”

“No, let me finish this.” He paused to catch his breath. “Does that really make me a homosexual or does that just make me someone who maybe fell for the wrong person?”

“Would you quit askin’ me questions and then not lettin’ me answer ‘em?” Starsky growled at him. “Even if you do feel that way, you know it’s not right.”

“Don’t judge me, Starsky.” Hutch bit off each word angrily. “If you can’t or won’t let yourself feel the same way, I understand….but don’t sit there and tell me I’m not allowed to care about you, ‘cause it doesn’t change a fuckin’ thing.”

Hutch grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, slamming it behind him. Starsky, who’d followed him from the bedroom, still shaken by his partner’s revelation, dropped heavily onto the couch, feeling like he’d been cold-cocked by a particularly vicious perp. Guilt for the obvious hurt and rejection he’d just caused crowded into his mind and he attempted to justify his harsh reaction by self-denial, but it wasn’t working. After all, if he didn’t have some kind of erotic feelings for Hutch, why had he allowed the intimacy to continue?

“I really could’ve handled that better,” he muttered to himself. Trying to find some peace with the situation and failing miserably, he eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

The phone rang shortly after one o’clock, rousing him. He grabbed the handset as quickly as possible so it wouldn’t wake Hutch, whom he assumed had come in quietly and gone to bed without waking him.

“H’llo?” He growled, still half asleep himself.

“Starsky?” He had no problem recognizing Huggy’s voice even over the din of the bar behind him. “Your better-half home and tucked up in bed yet?”

“Should have known he’d head over there. Hang on a minute, Hug.”

Starsky rolled off the couch, feeling every one of his still freshly healed-over wounds as he trudged to the bedroom, only to find that Hutch’s bed showed no signs of being touched and he was nowhere in the apartment.

“Huggy, when did he leave and what kinda shape was he in?”

“Damn, I knew I shoulda poured that boy into a cab, but he wouldn’t have any part of it. He put away some serious juice, but didn’t act like he was over the edge, so I let him go. Then I got busy….musta left about an hour ago.”

”An hour? Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Starsky was genuinely worried now.

“Hey, man….I ain’t no baby-sitter and it doesn’t pay to try to tell you white boys a thing, anyway. Like….the way you feel about him, you should know where he is and if he ain’t where he’s supposed to be, you should be on it like white on rice, par-don the pun.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know if you’re gonna want to hear this, but he left with a lady of the evening, if you know what I mean.”

A pang stabbed through the Starsky’s heart, shocking him more than Hutch’s profession of love. His well-ordered world seemed to be hurtling down around his feet and he didn’t have a clue where to find all the puzzle pieces, let alone put them in any semblance of order.

“Do you know who she was?”

“Sure….you know her, too. Sweet Alice, she’s always had a thing for Mr. America.”

“Yeah, well….thanks, Hug.”

“Hey, I always considered you a smart man, but you’re lettin’ your adolescent brain do your thinkin’ for you.”

“You want to spell that out for me?”

“Glad to. Your partner’s the most important thing in your life and you been carryin’ a torch for him for awhile now.” Huggy paused to let the words sink in. “Wise up, Starsky. Someday you’re gonna have to turn and face it.”

“Hutch spill his guts to you tonight?” Starsky asked defiantly.

“Man, he didn’t have to. Nobody else could’ve hurt him that bad.”

“Spare me the Ann Landers routine. Thanks for callin’, anyway.”

“Any time, man….any time.” The phone was hung up with a thud, leaving Starsky feeling dazed, wondering if everyone else had gone crazy or just him.

Rationalizing his actions as wanting to make sure Hutch had made it to his destination in one piece, he wasted no time getting to the car and racing over to the small apartment Alice kept as headquarters for her nefarious career. Hutch’s beater was in the parking lot, which both eased his mind and scared the hell out of him on some level that he couldn’t understand. He spent the rest of the night soul-searching and came up with only one answer….he wasn’t gay and it didn’t matter how many people thought he was.

The next few days were spent cordially enough, but without the usual banter and good-natured joking. If Hutch knew that Starsky was aware of where he spent some of his nights, he didn’t mention anything. They each had trouble maintaining eye contact and seemed off balance, like a team who’d recently been partnered and felt unsure and self-conscious with each other.

They danced around any weighty issues for a little over a week, always just avoiding discussion of anything other than small talk. The atmosphere in the apartment was growing tense and each of them knew they’d have to hash out their differences soon.

Things came to a head when Starsky came out of the bedroom one evening dressed for a night on the town.

“What’s up, buddy?” Hutch asked casually, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest.

“Got a date,” his partner replied, just as indifferently.

“Don’t you think you’re rushing that a little?” Hutch asked, worry about Starsky almost overriding the jealousy he felt.

“I think I have to, Hutch.” Starsky answered, feeling guilty. “You can stop coddling me….the lady’s picking me up and I promise I won’t hit the discos. Just a quiet dinner….nothing too strenuous.”

“Do I know her?” Hutch heard himself ask despite his resolve not to.

“Candi, one of my nurses,” Starsky smiled, recalling how they’d fought over who was going to date her first. “You promised to let me get out of the hospital before you put the moves on her. Remember?”

Hutch certainly did. Blonde, blue-eyed and very curvaceous….definitely Starsky’s type. And his, before his taste had changed and centered on one curly-haired, sexy and very hard-headed male cop. Butterflies the size of turkey buzzards circled in his stomach, taking bites out of his insides as they flew.

“Sure do. Guess you got there first after all.”

“Hey,” Starsky chuckled, “You had your chance.”

Hutch muttered defiantly. “No, I got blindsided by a Mac truck driven by fuckin’ Cupid.” He knew the best thing was to let the other man discover reality by himself.

“What’d you say?” Starsky questioned.

“I said….’short-sighted of me to act so fuckin’ stupid, huh?’” Hutch retorted with a little bit more irritation than he’d intended to display.

“We okay with this?”

“You know how I feel.” Hutch picked up a magazine and started to page through it. “Just go on and do what comes naturally.”

“Thanks, Blondie.” Starsky sighed with relief. “Hey, I’m not tryin’ to hurt ya, just need to find out where my head’s at.”

Hutch beamed benignly. ‘At the end of your dick and that belongs to me.’ He thought mutinously.

“Should I expect you home tonight?” He forced himself to ask, pleasantly.

“We’ll play it by ear, but not if everything goes right.”

“Then maybe I’ll call someone to keep me company.” The blond cop mumbled, more to himself than to his partner.

Starsky was surprised at the jolt of electricity that sped through his body at the words. Sensing that anything he said at this point would only make things worse, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“I told Candi I’d meet her at the restaurant downstairs, so I’m outta here, okay?”

“Think I can function just fine without you,” Hutch answered nonchalantly. Inside he was in turmoil. Jealousy had him tied up in knots….worry that Starsky would never accept what was right in front of him grabbed hold of his mind and refused to let go.

“See ya later, then.” And he was gone, leaving Hutch alone with a load of baggage he’d never asked to be saddled with.

He finally managed to doze off in the early hours of the morning, but was dragged from sleep by a loud crash from the vicinity of the living room. He propelled himself out of bed and warily crept to the door of the bedroom. Switching on the light, he was just in time to see Starsky trip over a footstool and land forcefully on the floor. With alacrity born of years of loving and caring for his partner, he closed the distance and leaped over the couch to kneel beside the other man, hoping he hadn’t hurt his head in the fall.

“Starsk?” he questioned. “You all right?”

It happened so fast that Hutch didn’t have time to catch his breath. Starsky rolled onto his back and enveloped his partner in a crushing embrace. The larger man sucked in the overpowering smell of whiskey just before possessive lips claimed his and seemed to be trying to devour him whole. Instinctively, he pushed away the warm clinging body, which appeared to have as many busy appendages as an octopus.

“No way!” he shouted vehemently, startling himself as well as Starsky. “This just isn’t happening.”

“But, Hutch, I thought ya wanted me.” Starsky protested, slurring his words comically.

“Oh, I do….but not this way; not shit-faced and definitely not fresh from someone else’s bed.” Hutch stared straight into the other man’s eyes. “Truth, Starsk….you slept with her, didn’t you?”

The man’s face was abnormally inscrutable.

”Yes, but, Hutch….I…”

“Then you don’t owe me any more explanation than that.”

Hutch led his wobbly partner into the bedroom and pushed him down on his bed.

“You’re gonna feel like hell in the morning, babe. At least, that gives me some satisfaction.” He pulled off the damp shirt and the dress shoes and then, feeling that it would be tempting fate to go any further….pulled the covers over him. It was seconds before Starsky was snoring softly.

A loud bang next to his head woke him. Once he pried his eyes open, he saw Hutch standing over him. The smell of strong coffee directed his gaze to the nightstand and the heavy, steaming mug which his partner had placed none-too-gently by his side.

He squinted up at Hutch and could tell at a glance that he wasn’t happy. Starsky groaned, knowing he could expect a lecture from the other man and hoped that it wouldn’t take too long, because he had a headache that threatened to blow the top of his skull off and he also needed to pee very badly.

“What’s the matter?” Hutch asked in a syrupy pseudo-sympathetic voice. “Your head hurt? Maybe you even have to go to the john? We need to have a little talk first.”

“You hadn’t oughta stand between a man and his bathroom. That’s cruel and unusual…”

“Yeah? Well, live with it. You’re not getting past me until you agree to discuss our problem maturely, honestly and without all this preconceived adolescent bullshit.”

“Hutch….damn it….I gotta piss and I’ll go straight through you, if I have to.”

Hutch smiled wickedly. “I don’t think so. I’ve observed your hangovers for years. Right now you have a helluva headache and you’ll be lucky to fall off the bed and crawl into the john, let alone push me out of the way. But….knock yourself out, if you want a challenge.”

Starsky raised himself to a sitting position, wincing as he did and fell back weakly onto the pillow.

“Okay….okay, just clear outta the way!”

“You’ll talk to me?”

“Yes….I’ll talk to you.”

“Maturely, honestly and…”

“Hutch….I can’t answer for what might happen if you make me wait much longer.”

Hutch moved aside, watching the other mans frantic scramble into the bathroom with amusement. He took the bottle of Aspirin out of his shirt pocket and sat down on the bed to wait.

When he returned a few minutes later, he looked pale and wrung out. Without a word, Hutch piled up the pillows on his side of the bed, covered him up and put three Aspirins in his hand, providing some water to wash them down with. He then handed the cup of coffee over and stretched out on the other side of the bed, head propped on one hand.

He kept quiet, knowing Starsky would initiate the conversation. It wasn’t long before he noticed cobalt eyes regarding him circumspectly through lowered lashes. Soon silence goaded the other man into speech.

“So, talk already.”

“I just want to hear one thing from you.” Hutch began. “Do you love me?”

Starsky focused his full attention on him. “Of course….you know how much I care about you, Hutch.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Hutch repeated the question. “Do you love me?”

The dark-haired man stared defiantly at the other man for a long time. Then his features softened and he let his head fall.

“Yes, god help me….I love you.” He murmured softly

Those three words sent a chill through Hutch’s taut body, relaxing every muscle that he’d held rigid and stiff the last few months.

Starsky’s head snapped back up quickly, as if he felt a need to qualify his confession.

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna do anything about it.”

A bucket of ice water couldn’t have squelched Hutch’s spirits any faster.

“Want to tell me why?” Hutch asked plaintively.

“Maybe I’m just not ready to give up my dream of a family yet.”

“Bull, You haven’t even gotten close to another woman since Rosie…I don’t believe…”

“Maybe I-I’ve got something started with Candi and want to see where it goes.” Starsky searched for words.

“Maybe you’re just scared.” Hutch moved so close that Starsky couldn’t evade his gaze.

“Did you have sex with Candi?”

“I told you I slept with her.”

“That’s what she said.” Hutch stared the other man down. “She said you made it to the bed, but nothing happened.”

Starsky sat up so suddenly that his hands went instinctively to his head to make sure it was still intact. “You checked up on me?”

“No, she called me. You got out of there so fast that you left your jacket.” Hutch backed off. “In passing, she told me that all you did the whole night was talk about me. Said she thinks we should have a talk….that we’d make a great couple.”

Starsky’s jaw clenched and a dull flush stained his features.

“Does everyone in the free world think I’m a fag?”

Hutch’s resolve to be patient was disintegrating. He knew Starsky had been raised in a much different world than he had, but why did it have to be such a horrendous thing for a man to give in to his feelings.

“Where’s your gun?” He asked.

“Why, you plannin’ on shooting me?”

“It’s a thought. Just give it to me.” Hutch ordered through clenched teeth.

Starsky opened the drawer of his nightstand and handed over the weapon.

Hutch hefted the Beretta, much lighter than his own Magnum.

“Is this standard police issue?” He asked casually.

Starsky shifted restlessly, not sure what Hutch had up his sleeve.

“You know it isn’t.” He answered, puzzled.

“Don’t you take some flak for using this instead of a conventional weapon?”

“Sometimes.”

Hutch flopped over and grabbed one of his partner’s shoes off the floor.

“What’s this?” He asked, a slight smile of indulgence on his face.

“One of my shoes, bonehead. Where are you goin’ with this?”

“Do most men have a whole row of identical blue Adidas in their closet and insist on wearing nothing else on their feet?”

Starsky bristled, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t have a whole row of ‘em. I just know what I like. They’re comfortable and I don’t care who likes ‘em and who doesn’t.”

“And that parade float parked outside. Is that a conventional, normal undercover car?”

“Hell, no, but I do what I want and damn anyone who tries to tell me whether it’s right or wrong.”

Feeling he’d made his point, Hutch let the words hang in the air until he saw awareness light a fire in his friend’s beautifully expressive eyes.

He grinned. “It’s a toss up whether your car’s more important to you than I am, but your gun and your shoes? Do they mean more to you than your love for me?”

“God….no, it’s just damn hard for me. All my life….where I came from….gays have been the butt of jokes and downright cruelty. I’ve just never imagined myself…” His voice trailed off, unable to put words to exactly what he was feeling.

“Do you remember kissing me last night?” Hutch asked.

The other man seemed to be considering whether he wanted to lie or admit the truth.

Hutch pushed him. “Truth, buddy.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t that wasted.”

“How did that feel?” Hutch murmured softly.

“Felt like all my fantasies comin’ true.”

“Fantasies, huh? Could I kiss you now?” Hutch asked softly. “Just as an experiment, maybe?”

After a moment of thought, Starsky nodded, optimistic about his ability to stand firm against whatever wiles his best friend tried to use against him.

Hutch cupped his partner’s face in his big hands and very gently touched the soft lips with his own. He was prepared for resistance, but there was none. He went further, exploring the narrow upper lip and then the full lower one with his tongue. A series of short kisses followed, culminating in tender, gentle nipping at the lower lip, then a deeper, longer tasting of Starsky’s mouth in which he tried to convey every bit of his love and soul. Hutch couldn’t help letting his tongue explore the warm, moist cave, fearing that he was in danger of incurring injury, but there had been no response from the other man. He lost himself in the sweetness of the moment….time stood still for him. He had wanted this for so long that it was no longer about proving anything to Starsky and became all about simply making love to him with only his mouth.

Hutch felt the other man shudder and started to pull away; afraid he’d gone too far, but Starsky leaned into the kiss and grabbing him by the back of the head, pulled him back for more, aggressively meeting Hutch’s tongue and mounting his own exploration of the other man’s mouth.

When breathing became labored, they pulled back and Hutch studied his friend’s face anxiously. He looked like a debauched little boy. Wonder, confusion and insecurity all warred for supremacy on his face. Lust smoldered in eyes that seemed almost black, half-hidden by heavy lids and desire-swollen lips marked a well-kissed mouth, hungry for more.

Hutch pulled him back into his arms, gratified that he made no move to pull away. He sensed that now was not the time to go any further. Exhilarated that Starsky had surrendered to his feelings, he knew from experience that he’d need more time to get used to them. He pulled them both back down on the bed, clinging to him as though he’d never let him go.

“You okay, Starsk?”

“My brain hurts, Hutch.”

Hutch chuckled. “It’ll get better. I had to come to terms with this, too, you know?”

“How’d it happen, Hutch?” Starsky shifted, so his curly head was lying on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Fate made us soul-mates.” Hutch shrugged his shoulder, bouncing Starsky’s head and making them both giggle like teenagers. “Maybe we’ve loved each other many times in former lives.”

“I’d say Fate’s got a perverted sense of humor.” There was a long silence, and then Starsky looked up at him. “Say we decide to….uh, steal second or third base, is one of us gonna start actin’ like Sugar?” He shuddered, remembering the cross-dressing entertainer from the Green Parrot.

“You do, I’ll kick your ass,” Hutch laughed. “We’re more likely to end up arm-wrestling to see who gets to be on top.”

“Why the hell are you assuming it’d be me?” A quizzical expression contorted the darker man’s features. “How about if one of us gets the urge to slide home? Hutch, I…”

“Hey, you’re getting way ahead of yourself.” Hutch caressed the stubbly cheek with his palm. “Nobody’s gonna make us do anything that we don’t want to.”

“Maybe I want to, but I don’t know the game plan.” Starsky chuckled nervously. “And I know for a fact you won’t be using a regulation-sized bat.”

“What is it with the Howard Cosell commentary?” Hutch kissed him on the forehead. “You feeling insecure with your masculinity all of a sudden?”

“S’hard to put it into words. All the names for what we might wanna do sound so crude.” Starsky mumbled regretfully, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Aw, lover….the ways I want to make love to you. There’s nothing crude about any of ‘em.” Hutch whispered, rubbing his cheek against the other man’s soft curls.

Starsky snuggled up as close to his partner as he could and draped his arm over the hard stomach muscles.

“Lover….I think I like that.” He said sleepily. As if to reassure himself this was real, Starsky shyly moved his hand down so that it brushed the rebellious cock Hutch was courageously trying to bring under control. Hutch groaned and whispered against his silky hair, “Me, too.”

“Always have to do things the hard way, don’t I?” Starsky muttered, falling asleep with his hand lightly cupping the swollen and willing organ.

Hutch smiled to himself at the innuendo Starsky probably had not intended. He lay awake for a long time, not ready to relinquish to Morpheus the joy he was feeling from just holding the man he loved and looking forward to whatever was in store for them. Finally he, too, dropped off to sleep.

Almost two months later, Hutch’s joy had evaporated like a giant icicle slowly melted away by the first sunny day’s breeze. His normally impulsive best friend had somehow mutated into a solid, immovable rock of self-control. Although Starsky seemed to thrive on cuddling and making out on the couch, he had obviously resolved to abstain from anything more blatant than mutual fondling, once in a while using his hand and friction to bring Hutch pleasure. He had no objection to receiving the occasional blow job, but would not reciprocate.

The dark-haired man had a variety of excuses why he didn’t want to go any further, but none of them convinced his partner. Hutch had thought he was capable of reading the man like a book, but had evidently been perusing the wrong volumes. Comic books would have given him a more in-depth analysis of the way David Starsky’s mind worked. It was becoming obvious that his antipathy toward homosexuality went much deeper than he’d revealed during the Blaine case.

Hutch had given him the chance to “deflower” him many times, although his desire took him in the other direction, but his hard-headed partner insisted that sex shouldn’t be painful and he had no desire to hurt someone he loved. The offers finally stopped when Hutch was informed abruptly that as much as Starsky enjoyed Texas Chainsaw Massacre, he didn’t want to have to sit through the movie to get him in the mood for sex. The blond detective had reached the point one afternoon where he was shocked to find himself considering pinning his best friend to the floor like a giant bug on an exhibition board and giving him a whole new complaint to add to his list.

Fortuitously, the phone rang at this point, popping the fantasy like a word bubble in a cartoon.

Hutch went to answer it. His frustration was revealed in his one-word greeting.

“What?”

“ Hutchinson ?”

“Cap’n Dobey. Good to hear from you.”

“Could I get you and Starsky to stop by my office sometime this afternoon?”

“Sure, Cap, but what’s this all about?” Hutch asked, puzzled.

“I’ll give you the details when you get here.” Dobey said brusquely and hung up.

Hutch looked at the phone as if it might give him a clue.

“Starsk,” he yelled, not exactly sure what part of the apartment he might be skulking in. Lately avoidance had seemed to be the best answer, as Hutch and his ever-present libido were getting weary of rejection. He knew that his partner was not any happier with the situation than he was, but was just as clueless about how to rectify their difficulties.

Starsky startled him by appearing like a curly-haired genie close behind him and he jumped.

“Yeah?”

“Dobey wants us in his office this afternoon.”

“Doesn’t he know that we’re not workin’ for him anymore?” Starsky asked sarcastically.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s noticed by now. Does that mean you’re not going?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you wanna go?”

“Didn’t say that, either.”

Hutch’s resolution to be patient went up in smoke.

“Okay, Starsky….okay! Let’s just have this out now and be done with it. You blame me for this whole fiasco, don’t you?”

“I gotta say I wish it’d just have been left in the closet where it belonged.” Starsky spat angrily. “I was happier not knowin’ what I was missing.”

“Yeah, me, too. Forgive me for thinking you were mature enough to handle it.”

“Blintz, I love it when your eyes flash like that.” Starsky grabbed him by the biceps, reeled him in and planted a kiss on his mouth.

“You are seriously dangerous!” Hutch backed away, sputtering. “And you’re drivin’ me nuts.”

“Dammit….I’m drivin’ myself nuts. We gotta get some help.”

“What do you suggest we do….go to a couple of Gays Anonymous meetings?” Hutch growled.

“You mean there is such a thing?”

Hutch threw his hands up in resignation. “Let’s go.” he said, shaking his head.

Returning to the squad room was a refreshing homecoming to the world of reality. Dobey greeted them warmly and ushered them into his office. He seemed surprised when they headed for different chairs. He was used to seeing them share the same one. He sensed that being together constantly had been detrimental to their relationship. But he and Hutch had discussed this when the idea of his taking care of Starsky had been broached. The man had been so sure that it wouldn’t harm their friendship.

“We’ve got a real problem with some psycho who’s bumping off young men…. homosexual young men The only common ground we can find is a band….the group plays at a gay bar downtown. One of the victims was the lead singer and the others were men who’ve been acquainted with or related to band members.” Dobey held out his hands in supplication. “Hutch, I hate to ask you to come off of your leave of absence, but you’re the only one I could think of who could pull off an undercover assignment like this.”

“Where do you get off…?” Starsky jumped out of his chair, but was instantly yo-yoed to his partner’s side when an iron vise gripped him by the upper arm and yanked him back forcefully.

“In what context do you mean that, Cap’n?” Hutch asked quickly, before the other man had a chance to recover from his surprise.

“I thought with your musical abilities, you’d have a good chance to audition for the group.” Dobey replied, more than a little puzzled by Starsky’s attack. “What’s wrong with him?” He indicated the still fuming detective.

“Just a little temperamental lately. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over losing his pet rock.” Hutch said with a wry grin. “You want to give me the particulars?”

“Yes….well,” Dobey answered, still looking at Starsky as though he’d sprouted a second head. Then he turned toward Hutch. “There have been three murders, all in or around the same area. They’ve each been found hanged in their rooms….no signs of a struggle.”

“How do you know they didn’t kill themselves?” Starsky asked, looking at Hutch. “Statistics show that depression accounts for a lot of gay deaths.”

“They were beaten and their hands were tied.” Dobey snapped. “Don’t you two read the papers?”

“We’ve been a little distracted lately, Cap’n.” Starsky explained, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Dobey addressed himself to the dark-haired half of the duo. “I don’t suppose I could keep you out of this without locking you up.” He said bluntly. “Would your doctor okay you for limited duty?”

The big man looked confused when he got a different reply from each man at the same time. He looked back and forth between them.

“So….which is it, yes or no?”

“Yes….if Hutch is gonna do this, I want in on it.”

“Starsk, you’re not ready.” Hutch growled in a warning tone.

“If it was up to you, I’d never be ready.” Starsky shot back.

“How much would he have to do, Cap?”

“Grunt work, your research, mostly.” Dobey looked back at Starsky. “How’s your gun hand?”

“No problem, Cap’n. Good as it ever was.”

Hutch tried to interject some sanity. “Cap, I really don’t think…”

“Might be a good idea, if we can get the doctors to okay it, if you showed up at the club, sat in on rehearsals, be there to make sure he’s safe….” He aimed a digit in Hutch’s general direction, which indicated that his say in the matter was over. “It’d be hard to put a new partner with him and pull something like this off. As close as you two are, you can probably make them think you’re a couple without changing your lifestyle to speak of.”

Hutch gave up and stretched his long legs out, sliding down in the chair and closing his eyes against the stingers that were bombarding his brain. ‘This just gets better and better.” he reflected to himself.. ‘Goes way beyond lunacy. He balks at every step I try to take, claims he loves me, but isn’t gay and doesn’t want anyone to think he is. Then the moron is ready to take on an assignment where he spends most of his time in a gay bar and pretends he’s my lover.’

“We borin’ you, partner?” his slightly insane friend said in that harsh nasal inflection that was beginning to make Hutch want to rip his voice box out.

“Not at all,” he answered, rubbing the deep groove above his eyebrows that had become more prominent in the past couple of months. “I find this all very interesting. I just have one question.”

“What’s that, Hutchinson?” Dobey finally turned and seemed to notice that he was still in the room.

“This isn’t the Green Parrot, is it?”

“No, quite a few new gay places have popped up down there.” He checked the folder in front of him and shook his head “Somebody’s got a warped sense of humor. It’s called Means to an End.”

The blond detective had the satisfaction of seeing his partner spew the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken all over his newest and best pair of jeans.

“Very subtle.” Hutch commented disdainfully. Then he rolled his eyes and laid his head wearily on the back of the chair, signaling he was done with the conversation.

The pair was excused from Dobey’s office with a thick file to read and an admonition to have Starsky’s medical team respond in writing as soon as possible. In the squad room, they bumped into Frank Callini. He’s been relatively new when Starsky had been shot and they hadn’t gotten to know him well. A macho cop, known to be rough with the prostitutes, he and Starsky had gone a couple rounds concerning his treatment of them.

“Hey, is it true that you two are coming back?”

“Don’t be spreadin’ it around. It’s not official yet.” Hutch tried to shut him down.

“Word is they may put you on the homo case.” The man blithely rambled on. “Don’t you think the world would be just as well off if they were all exterminated?”

Hutch put a large restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s what Hitler said and look where he is.” Starsky growled. “Put a sock in it, Callini.”

“Never knew you were so sympathetic to the cause, Starsky.” The man was just stupid enough to keep going. “Maybe you got some latent tendencies that oughta be dragged out of the closet and examined.”

Just as Starsky charged like an angry bull, Hutch grabbed him by the collar and muscled him out of the squad room. As they reached the car, Hutch turned on him.

“That’s exactly why you’re not ready for this assignment.” He said quietly. “If you can’t stand the heat, stay outta the kitchen. These people you’re gonna be around can spot a homophobe from a mile away.” The Hutchinson finger was very much in evidence. “You can’t handle this and you get both of us killed. Is that what you want?”

“I can do it.”

“And if I don’t take the case, where does that leave you?”

“Hutch, you gotta. People are gettin’ killed”. Starsky was shocked.

“Hey, they’re only gays.” The blond cop murmured. “Could be Jews being oppressed again.”

He looked at his partner with wide-eyed innocence.

“Or manipulative, back-stabbing Viking warriors. Okay, you made your point.”

Once in the car, Starsky headed straight for the downtown area.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Thought we might stop and look around at this place, maybe set up a time for you to audition, if the band happens to be there.”

“You need to talk to your doctor first.”

“My doctor’s not gonna be a problem.” Starsky stated assertively.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’ll hold a gun on him, if necessary. He’ll sign the papers.” Starsky grinned.

“Ooo-kay, but I want no part of that.” Hutch felt more alive than he had in a long time and the partnership felt right again, but he had misgivings about Starsky’s ability to play this role up to the same standards that he’d always maintained before in their undercover assignments.

They’d each had their share of disbelief about the name of the bar, but there it was in big shiny red neon lights….Means To an End. A small place, it was nevertheless a classy-looking establishment, one which might lure both gays and straights into its doors on a Friday night or weekend. It was early evening on a Wednesday, so it wasn’t crowded.

If Starsky was looking for a Green Parrot-type atmosphere, then he was disappointed in this place. It looked like a normal bar; no female impersonators with a gaudy chorus line, no effeminate-looking waiters and bartenders. Just regulars, enjoying a night out and there were a few heterosexual couples mingled in with the rest of the patrons.

The group, which was called, Dead Reckless, was playing and Hutch was happy to observe that they weren’t bad at all. They seemed to favor a mixture of ballads and soft to medium rock….no acid or the hard stuff. He and Starsky found a table, sat down and ordered a beer.

“Looks good so far, huh, Blintz?” Starsky tried to talk over the music. “We gonna use our own names or akas? Our names are kinda well known since the Gunther thing.”

“I’ll name you and you name me….how about that?” Hutch grinned at him. This felt good, back on the force again, working together, having more on their minds than their current problems.

“Got somethin’ to write with?” They both searched and finally Starsky found the stub of a pencil in his back pocket. He wrote something on the back of his coaster and passed the pencil to Hutch. He wrote his own message and gave the pencil back. Then they each handed over the coasters.

“Josh Winters?” Hutch asked in surprise. “Where’d you come up with that one?”

“Just always liked the name Josh. Was going to name my son Joshua if I ever had one. Doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen, so you might as well use it.”

“I like it.” Hutch whispered so softly that Starsky could hardly hear him over the music. “What do you think of yours?”

“Vince Stellino? Ma wouldn’t like it. What’s wrong with a good Jewish name?”

“There’s nothing wrong with ‘em, but I think we’re gonna have enough prejudicial thinking to deal with without clouding the issue.” Hutch said apologetically. “You grew up with enough Italians that you should know their culture. You don’t have to be first or even second generation.”

“Okay, Vince it is.” He noticed that the band was taking a break. “Whadda ya say we see if we can beard the band members in their den?”

“Good a time as any, I guess.” Hutch reluctantly rose from his chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

One of the bartenders told them where the band took their breaks and reiterated that the group was badly in need of a singer and would be glad to give him an audition. They headed backstage to find them.

It was easy….they followed the strong smell of pot and found the four men sharing a joint. They made no effort to hide it. Obviously they didn’t suspect the two men of causing them any trouble.

The detectives didn’t recognize any of the four, either, so assumed they were from out-of-town.

They looked like they were all in their late twenties, wore their hair longer than Hutch did and looked emaciated, like food came in very low on their list of daily necessities. The drummer wore John Lennon glasses and a bandana on his head.

After the initial greetings, Hutch introduced himself and Starsky by their new names. The interim leader told them his name was Andy Taylor. He laughed at the look on their faces.

“I get that from a lot of people, but that is my real name. Mom always wanted to live in Mayberry, I guess.” He indicated the others. “This is Ratch, Bobby and Michael.”

Hutch nodded at the other three.

“I heard you need some talent. Wondered if I could sing for you sometime.”

“You play any instruments?”

“Guitar and piano or keyboard.” Hutch answered quickly.

“Cool. How about right now?” Andy asked him.

“You mean now….in front of an audience?” Hutch’s always just below the surface stage fright began to manipulate his stomach.

“Sure, then we can see how they like you.”

“Anything in particular you want me to sing.”

“Anything you feel comfortable with, man.”

Starsky, who’d been largely ignored except for scrutiny from the group, felt he needed to assert himself.

“He’s a great singer. If you hire him, you’ll be packin’ ‘em in.”

An uneasy silence followed, and then they all broke out laughing.

“Let’s go make history, then, Josh Winters,” Andy threw an arm around Hutch’s shoulders and headed for the stage.

“See you in a minute, Vince,” he called to Starsky.

“I’ll be out front, babe.”

“So….Vince, he a roadie, a groupie, your agent?” The other man asked, hopefully.

“None of the above, he’s something real personal,” Hutch answered truthfully.

“A pity. I was hoping it wasn’t like that, he’s delicious. Bet you have to keep that one on a short leash.”

Hutch smiled at the picture that brought to mind. ‘Better yet, a muzzle.’ He thought.

He nodded. Aloud, he said, “You have no idea.”

Michael grinned, “You gotta remember that he’s gonna be sitting out there all alone while you’re onstage. Believe me, he’s gonna get hit on, mate.”

A twinge of pain hit Hutch dead-on. He didn’t think Starsky would be tempted by any other man, but the idea that he might lose him because he wouldn’t accept the reality of their love was a constant source of worry and stress. He sometimes wished they had their old relationship back, at least he knew they’d be friends forever.

“What’s it going to be, Josh?”

Hutch snapped back to the present.

“Oh….to sing.” Starsky loved Joe Cocker and he wanted to send the other man a message. He settled on a lesser-known song, which had an intricate guitar bridge and would let Starsky know what he was feeling at the same time.

“How about ‘The Jealous Kind’ by Joe Cocker?”

Somebody stuck an electric guitar in his hand and started to announce him. Then he was on his own. He fixed his dark-haired lover with an ‘I love you, but you’re driving me nuts’ stare and began to play the intro.

Don’t be angry if I seem rude
Each time we meet
Someone that you once knew
That you say used to be
So close to you
It’s just that I’m so afraid
Someone might steal you away,
I lose my mind.
And I can’t help myself,
The way I feel sometimes
Guess I’m the jealous kind.
It was all right
When I first met you,
I didn’t mind.
But now things have changed,
I’m just not the same,
And now I find
I want you all to myself,
Don’t want to share you with
Nobody else.
You must forgive me for
The way I act sometimes.
Guess I’m the jealous kind.

He executed the bridge flawlessly and started into the last part. The band joined in behind him softly. He focused on Starsky, knowing that this would cement their relationship in the minds of all present, as well as let his partner know how much he cared.

If you only
Knew how much it hurts
To hear you say
How you can’t forget
That before we met
Those were the
Good old days.
Why must you hurt me so?
I can’t dig it no more
And I really find
I can’t help myself,
The way I act sometimes.
Guess I’m the jealous kind.
I just can’t help myself
The way I act sometimes.
Guess I’m the jealous kind…

The last notes of the guitar faded away and Starsky was on his feet, applauding. Soon Hutch had a standing ovation going, embarrassing him into taking a bow and exiting stage left as soon as he had the chance. Andy followed him and clapped him on the back.

“Guess we got us a new lead singer, man. Wanna start tomorrow night or wait till the weekend?”

“Tomorrow night’s fine. You have a list of the songs you normally sing, so I can bone up on the lyrics?”

Andy brought him a list and a stack of sheet music. “We jam in the early afternoons. You can get to know the guys better then. Bring Vince with you, if you like. It inspires me to have somethin’ sexy to look at.”

“Long as looking’s as far as you get,” Hutch barked.

Starsky was quiet on the way home, which surprised his partner.

“You okay, Starsk?”

“Seein’ you up there, with the lights on you….lookin’ like an angel. God, Hutch, I’m so lucky to have you.” Starsky laid his hand on Hutch’s thigh, raising goose bumps and sending waves of need through his body. “I’m scared of losing you, too.”

As soon as they got the door to the apartment open, Hutch found himself pinned to the wall, Starsky’s lips and hands all over him.

“What’s goin’ on?” he managed to mumble between kisses. “You get turned on by gay bars?”

“Babe….I get turned on by you.” Starsky murmured softly.

Shocked, Hutch let himself be hustled into the bedroom. It was as if the man couldn’t get there fast enough. He was incapable of resisting at this point. He could hardly wait to see what was going to happen next. Starsky let him flop down on the bed and stunned him by pulling his shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere. Then he was covering him, kissing and licking Hutch’s ears, his neck, and chest….every inch of skin that he could reach. Totally dazed, Hutch lay there, unable to respond. Starsky was like a man possessed and far be it from Hutch to deter him in any way.

When his lover began to tire of the areas he could reach, he lost no time in attacking Hutch’s jeans and boxers, trying to get them off without taking his shoes off. Hutch desperately used each foot to push the other shoe off and ease the way for Starsky to strip him naked. Wanting to feel the other man’s body against his, he reached up to attempt unbuttoning his partner’s shirt, only to have his hands pushed impatiently away.

His cock became rock hard as the dark head traveled lower and Starsky grabbed it and sucked it powerfully into his mouth. Hutch threaded his fingers through the soft curls and made very appreciative noises, but he doubted that the other man could hear them. A few minutes and Hutch had ascended and was floating free, sated and happy as he hadn’t been in weeks.

Starsky crawled back up his body and covered his mouth, letting him taste himself….putting all his love into the kisses, eager to please. But Hutch had been passive long enough. It was his turn. He rolled over, trapping the other man under him. Reversing the roles, he tore open Starsky’s shirt and started on his neck, biting down on the tender spot where neck and shoulder met. He loved the look on his lover’s face….the one that screamed ‘I’ve lost control here, take care of me!’

Taking the exact same path, he came to the barrier of jeans and disposed of them quickly, taking the now familiar rod of steel and sucking it into his mouth. He then made use of all the talent god had given him to make it happy. By the time Starsky erupted, he was screaming Hutch’s name so loud that the Hutch hoped they didn’t hear police sirens soon.

It took all the strength he had left to make his way to the head of the bed and lie beside the man he loved, gazing at him tenderly.

“Hey, what brought that on?”

“Just thinkin’ what my life would be without you in it and I didn’t like it.” Starsky rolled over and kissed his partner. “You’re my world, you know.”

“And you’re mine.”

“Guess I felt alive tonight….useful. Haven’t felt that way in a long time.” he tried to explain. “Haven’t been too fond of Starsky, the gimp.”

“I know, luv, and I’m really glad you’re back.” Hutch kissed him long and hard.

“Think I’m gonna enjoy having you sing to me every night.” Starsky asked curiously. “You really the jealous kind?”

“Try me and see.” Hutch grinned wickedly. “By the way, Andy’s really got the hots for you….probably Michael, too. You might play that up a little, but be careful, in more ways than one. I don’t intend to share.”

“Speakin’ a that, what was your fascination with Sweet Alice? There somethin’ there I need to worry about?”

Hutch’s cheeks flushed. “You knew about that?”

“Huggy told me that first night.”

“Nothin’ happened, Starsk. I just spent the nights pouring my heart out about you.” Hutch’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “She said, knowing you, I’d have to be very patient.”

“I’ll have to thank her the next time I see her.” Starsky grinned. “I know I’ve been a shit. When I wasn’t with you, all I could do was think about you, but whenever I tried to get close….I’d freeze up. Not to say I don’t still have some things to work out, but I think the worst is over. “

“Hope so. Tonight was great.” Hutch reached down to pull the covers up over them and cuddled up against his lover. Starsky turned on his side and Hutch spooned against him, long arms wrapping him up in their embrace. Starsky sighed and fell asleep almost immediately. Hutch followed very soon afterward…

“How’d I get myself into this?” Hutch pulled the tight-fitting black tee-shirt over his head and tucked it into black leather pants. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look gorgeous, but personally, I think the skull and crossbones are a bit overdone.” Starsky came into the room to see how he was doing. “You’d look like you were goin’ trick-or-treatin’ if it wasn’t for those britches.”

“Ever since the Grateful Dead, every group seems to have ‘dead’ in their name.” Hutch sat down on the bed to pull his boots on. It was made much harder than it should have been by his partner pushing him over onto his back and landing on him. An extremely talented tongue took possession of him and traced a fiery path across his mouth before possessively demanding entrance; firm lips closing around his.

When he was allowed to talk again, Hutch sputtered, “C’mon, Starsk, these pants are tight enough as it is. There’s no room for me to be expanding any in here.”

Starsky chuckled. “Too late to worry about that now, babe.”

“Hey, I need to go over those lyrics one more time.”

“Hutch, you know ‘em backwards and forwards.” Starsky took time for one more kiss and started to get up. “Guess the honeymoon’s over.” He pouted.

“I’ve created a Frankensteinian nymphomaniac.” His blond partner groaned, but he couldn’t resist rubbing his hands over that spectacular rear as soon as the other man pulled himself away. Starsky looked great, too and he knew it.

Eschewing leathers, he wore tight black jeans and had actually invested in a silk shirt in a gray-and-blue abstract pattern. He’d regained most of the weight lost during his convalescence and through the strenuous physical therapy, he’d attained a lean, trim look that was very attractive. Hutch had lost the extra weight he’d gained and although not as thin as his partner, he looked great. Starsky had convinced him to shave the moustache and with his hair cut somewhat shorter and shaped, he resembled the man he had been a couple of years earlier.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you tonight,” Hutch warned.

“I sure hope so,” Starsky held out a hand to help his lover off the bed and grinned as he watched him try to tuck everything back in again. “I’m gonna be as much of a target as you are….maybe more.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Hutch argued.

“What….you think just because I’ve accepted that I’m in love with you, I’ve embraced the philosophy of homosexuality and will be tryin’ to get laid by every man I see?”

“I didn’t mean that, either.”

“What…then, dammit?” Starsky exploded.

“I’m petrified that you’re gonna sing and mess me up like you did at the Saddle Bar Club.” Hutch burst out laughing at Starsky’s stunned expression.

“And you claim to love me.” He said sadly.

“Oh, c’mere, you big baby.“ Hutch held him tightly, letting his hands slide down and squeeze his butt.

“You keep doin’ that and you’re not going anywhere.” Starsky warned. “We’d better get going. You nervous?”

“What do you think?” Hutch asked

“That’s what I thought.”

The bar was packed for a weeknight, with a line outside. The band was well-liked and everyone wanted to see the new lead singer.

They were met at the door by Karl, who was the bouncer. The man was huge, well over six feet and certainly capable of handling himself in any situation. They’d met him earlier that day when Hutch had come in to jam with the group. He was belligerent and appeared to dislike just about everyone and everything, which made warning bells go off in each detective’s mind. He let them through and gestured toward backstage, without a word of greeting.

The band members made up for his lack of warmth. Hutch had begun to develop a rapport with them during the long afternoon sessions and was beginning to feel more comfortable, although the butterflies were still there.

They were soon joined by a curvaceous redhead in her mid thirties. Flawlessly poured into a low-cut dress, she was a very classy-looking lady. Her big emerald-green eyes and creamy white skin had both the partners looking guiltily at each other. She was only a couple of inches shorter than Starsky and had legs that seemed to go on forever.

Other than his appreciation for a beautiful woman, Hutch wasn’t interested, but he had a sinking feeling that Starsky was cataloguing her attributes much more closely than he was.

“Josh, this is Isabelle Hammond. She owns the club.” Andy introduced her. “Isabelle, this is Vince, a really close friend of Josh’s.” He said, grinning broadly and making a point of placing a hand on Starsky’s waist, supposedly to push him forward and present him. Hutch frowned at the maneuver, which was obviously a ruse to create an opportunity to touch his partner.

They exchanged pleasantries with the woman, who actually batted her eyelashes and fawned on Hutch, flirting outrageously, while virtually ignoring Starsky. This forced a grimace from the dark-haired man which mirrored Hutch’s earlier reaction. Starsky felt compelled to stake his claim, so he swaggered over to Hutch and with his hand splayed firmly across his lover’s ass, planted a kiss on his lips, complete with plenty of tongue action. Dipping him slightly, he smiled into the glazed-over blue eyes and whispered, “Break a leg, babe.”

There were catcalls and applause from the band, but Ms. Hammond stalked angrily away, her face flushed.

“His mind ain’t gonna be on singin’ now, man.” Ratch, the drummer, razzed Starsky, chuckling at Hutch’s still dazed expression.

“Long as he’s singing just to me, it will.” Starsky smiled mysteriously, before leaving to find himself a seat out front.

The long night went well and Hutch was a big success with the crowd. He watched several men make forays to his lovers table, but they were all met with a smile and a firm shake of his head

Hutch spent some of his breaks with Starsky out front and met a few of the regulars. The heavy cloying smell of pot gave him a headache and an excuse to escape the confines of backstage. He only flubbed his lines once and was glad to see the night come to an end. The band played until midnight on weekdays, while on weekends, he would be performing until two o’clock.

Once in the parking lot, Hutch tossed his keys to the other man.

“I’m beat….you mind drivin’?”

“This car….yes….but I’ll do it, just for you.” Starsky grinned.

They were using the LTD over Starsky’s objections, because Hutch was afraid the Torino would be recognized and he was supposed to be a starving musician, after all, so it just felt right.

Hutch turned to confront his partner.

“By the way, can I expect to be embarrassed by more public displays of lust, or do you think you’ve pissed in enough corners to mark your territory now?”

“You didn’t enjoy that? Kept me warm all evening.” Starsky teased him.

“And what was the deal with licking your fingers one at a time and then running your tongue all the way around your mouth? You made me screw up my lines.”

“I had some onion rings. You know how messy they are.”

Hutch scowled. “I think I liked you better as a homophobe.” He took the sting out of the words by scooting closer to Starsky and laying his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Michael told me I should keep you on a short leash. You know where I can get one?”

“Watch it, Hutchinson ….you’re liable to find yourself handcuffed to my bed if you try something like that.”

“Sounds kinda interesting.” Hutch chuckled. “Not tonight, though….I have a headache.”

They pulled up to Venice Place and climbed the stairs tiredly.

“How are you doing? Hutch asked, concerned. “You’re not used to so much activity. You look tired.”

“Kinda, but I’m okay. All I had to do was sit there and listen. You know I could listen to you sing forever.”

“Just remember, the doctors weren’t really enthusiastic about this whole idea. The only reason they let it go down was because I was gonna be with you most of the time.”

“I’m fine. Want me to fix you a sandwich or something?” Starsky asked.

“No, but I’ll take a beer and then I just feel like lying down and talking about the case.”

Starsky got them both a Coors and then, grabbing Hutch by the hand, he pulled him over to the couch, where he sat down and put a pillow on his lap. “Your wish is my command.”

Hutch sank down with a grateful sigh. They each took a swallow and were quiet for a little while.

Starsky looked down at Hutch’s closed eyes and asked, “So what do we know so far?”

“None of the band members could have done it. The murders all happened when they were performing.” Hutch opened his eyes. “Mark, the lead singer was killed on a night when he didn’t feel well and stayed home. Did you get any vibes from the patrons?”

“Yeah, three-fourths of ‘em wanted to take me home and fuck me.”

“I noticed.” Hutch smiled, reaching up and caressing his cheek. “Give out any phone numbers?”

“You know better than that.” Starsky caught his hand, turned it over and kissed the palm. “There was one guy who acted kinda weird, relatively speaking. His name was Bruce and he definitely wasn’t friendly, but he did want to buy my services. Was a real jerk.”

“So, what do you think of Karl?”

“Not much. But I can’t tell if he’s homophobic or just acts that way with everyone.” Starsky set his beer on the end table and began to gently rub Hutch’s temples.

“M-m-m-m-m. I hope nobody else gets killed while we’re tryin’ to figure it out.”

“I hope the bodacious Ms. Hammond doesn’t get her hooks into you before we figure it out.” Starsky stressed. “She’s definitely got herself in a dither over you.

Hutch looked up at him. “Bodacious? You been reading the dictionary again.”

“I pick things up here and there.” The dark-haired man said defensively.

“Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow’ll be a big day, the start of the weekend. Maybe we’ll learn a lot more about the workings of Means to an End by Monday.”

Friday night and the line was much longer, the crowd was more unruly and Karl had a helper….a smaller, but dangerous-looking man named Mack. He was friendly, introduced himself and waved them through the swarm of humanity.

The night passed uneventfully enough. Starsky was startled when Isabelle Hammond joined him at his table midway through the band’s fourth set. She ordered them drinks and proceeded to pepper him with questions about his relationship with Hutch.

“So….how long have you two been together, Vince?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time, but just really ‘discovered’ each other.” He explained.

“So it could be just a fling?” Isabelle asked wistfully.

Starsky grinned. “Time will tell, but I really don’t think so. Josh is pretty special and I’ll do everything in my power to make him happy.”

“So what do you do for a living….manage him?”

Starsky chuckled. “I learned long ago that the man is unmanageable.” He turned toward Isabelle. “I’m between jobs right now, but I’ve done a little bit of everything.”

“Well, I hope you know how lucky you are.”

“Oh, I think I do, ma’am.”

She flounced away from the table and Hutch, who’d been curiously watching the by-play from the stage, was surprised when Starsky got up and went outside a few minutes later.

Mack was still on the door, although there were few customers coming in now.

“How’s it going,” Starsky asked the weathered-looking man.

“This is the part of the evening I like best.” He answered with a smirk. “You can just kick back and get paid for it.”

“Worked here long?” Starsky pushed him.

“Only a few weeks.”

“What do you think about the murders? Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Nah, I ain’t no queer. Don’t even like ‘em much.”

Starsky looked at the man oddly. “Why do you work around ‘em, then?”

“I enjoy getting’ to throw ‘em out if they get rowdy. Most fags are just pansies, anyway, so I don’t have to work very hard at it.”

Starsky gritted his teeth and turned to go back inside, but saw something out of the corner of his eye that startled him. A dark green Chevy cruising slowly by….a dark green Chevy that he recognized from Parker Center . To be sure, he looked for the bumper sticker as it went by….’Gun Control Means Using Both Hands’. It was there. Frank Callini….what the hell was he doing here? It was nowhere near his regular beat and he wasn’t in his cruiser anyway, so he must be off duty.

He went back in to find that he’d lost his table, so he took a seat at the bar. Hutch was singing Time in a Bottle and he knew it was meant for him. One of his favorite Jim Croce songs, it had come to mean a lot to them both through the years, especially during this last attempt on his life. Hutch had often crooned it during physical therapy and it had soothed him and spurred him on to do bigger and better things.

It was difficult to concentrate on even the beautiful, melodious voice, though. There was something about this case that was troubling him. The names of the men he’d earmarked as suspects flowed through his mind. There were just too many of them. How were they going to narrow it down to one?

He jumped when Hutch tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, where were you?’ The blond detective questioned.

“We ever have a case like this with way too many suspects before?” Starsky asked him.

“That’s how it’s shaping up, huh?”

“Yep….you done for the night?”

“About half an hour ago.” Hutch smiled.

“What’ve you been doin’?” Starsky turned his full attention to his partner.

“Watchin’ you. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

Starsky chuckled. “I’ve gotta make an effort to get you out more.”

“Just get me home. This is harder than police work.” Hutch sighed.

It was raining and they were soaked by the time they reached the car. They were cold, wet and there was just enough traffic from the bars in the area closing that they failed to notice the dark car that stayed just far enough behind to be unobtrusive.

Filled to capacity on a Saturday night, the bar was a madhouse. Halfway through the evening, Starsky caught a glimpse of Frank Callini on the fringe of the crowd. He tried to get to him, but couldn’t get through the mass of humanity in time to catch the man.

Around one o’clock, Hutch was just picking his guitar up for the next set, when he saw Mack approach Starsky and ask him something. The detective nodded his head and got up to follow Mack. He flashed an okay signal to Hutch before he left. He didn’t come back.

Starsky still hadn’t returned by two o’clock and Hutch was troubled. He called home, but there was no answer. He searched the club from top to bottom and found no sign of his partner. He talked to everyone who worked there and all he got was the same thing he’d seen for himself. Mack had come and gotten Starsky and no one had seen him since. Mack himself was nowhere to be found, either. He sat down at the table Starsky frequented and tried to think what he should do.

One of the younger busboy, who’d been struck with hero worship and had actually asked Hutch for his autograph, approached him.

“Mr. Winters, I don’t know if it means anything, but your friend left this on the table. I figured it was for you and was going to give it back to him….but since he’s gone, you should probably have it.”

In spite of his anxiety, Hutch had to smile at the scrap of paper. Starsky had drawn a reasonably accurate picture of a cross-eyed frog-like creature, complete with warts and a hollyhock upside-down on its head… Underneath the creature, he’d printed ‘I’m toad-ally in love with you!’ Beneath that was written in big letters, ‘Hey slugger! When you gonna try for that home run?’

Hutch was about to put it in his pocket when he realized there was something very familiar about the paper itself. He turned it over and recognized the yellow duplicate copy of a fingerprint form. Printed neatly on the form was a list.

KS-6058912-A

MT-6058913-B

BB-6058914-C

IH-6058915-D

Frank Callini?

Evidently Starsky had been buying his suspects drinks and had taken the glasses out to the car, calling a cruiser to come and take them to headquarters. Now he would have to see if one of the nameless people on the list had his lover and was quite possibly determined to kill him.

Hutch felt the panic taking over and forced himself to think rationally. He’d only been in this position once before. He and Starsky had been through a lot together. His partner had been injured several times, but, with the exception of the Simon Marcus case, Hutch had always known where he was….always been by his side.

Starsky, on the other hand, had been forced to search for his partner on several occasions and had succeeded in his quests, just in time to save Hutch from certain death

How had his excitable partner remained calm and had the presence of mind to keep going when the odds were stacked against him and time was running out? Right now Hutch felt helpless, without strength and unable to process the thoughts that were jamming his brain.

‘Just do the job.’ Starsky had said that from time to time when things were looking grim. ‘Just do the job and I’m here for whatever you need.” His partner was still with him….he felt sure he would know if he was dead. He had to try and forget that this was the man he loved more than life itself who was in danger and go ahead and do what he needed to do.

Galvanized by the thought, he sprinted to the car. The murdered men had all been found in their own homes, so that had to be the first place to go. Grabbing the handset, he brusquely demanded a patch-through to Captain Dobey.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning. This had better be good.” Dobey answered the phone.

“Cap’n, Starsky’s missing.”

Hutch could sense that the captain was fully awake now, sitting up in bed, concerned.

“ Hutchinson ?”

“He’s gone, disappeared from the club.” Hutch explained the situation briefly. “Would you put an APB out on him?”

“I’ll do it right away….then I’ll meet you at Metro.”

“I’ll be there, but I have to stop at home first. That’s where the bodies were found, in their own homes..” Hutch faltered. “Cap’n, I…”

“Let me send a squad car to your place and you come on in. If there’s anything there to find, it shouldn’t be you.”

“No,” Hutch exploded vehemently. “It should be me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He pulled up in front of Venice Place and bolted from the car and up the stairs. He hesitated at the door. The thought of Starsky hanging from a rope, his face discolored and contorted, pained him beyond anything he’d yet experienced. Instinctively, he reached above the door for the key, forgetting that Starsky had outlawed that practice when he’d moved in. He dug out the keys and tried to extricate the right one with hands that were shaking like Monday morning after a weekend binge. Finding the right one, he discovered that the door was already unlocked.

Drawing his gun, Hutch pushed it open from the relative safety of the doorjamb. Ducking around the corner, he listened and could sense no sound or movement in the still, dark apartment. He turned and froze. By the light coming through the greenhouse windows, he could see a shadowy figure swaying from the ceiling. His heart in his throat, he hit the light switch. The room remained obstinately dark. Heart thudding against his chest, he ran toward the indistinguishable form. As he reached it, he could see that it was a body and dressed in Starsky’s clothes. He grabbed it around the knees and lifted it to take the pressure off. As he grasped it, he realized that it was too hard to be a human body, even in rigor. What he was holding was a store mannequin, dressed in jeans and a shirt of his partner’s, but not the ones he’d worn that night. He let go of the thing and pushed himself back, hitting the wall. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he slid down to a sitting position, breathing in deep gasps of air, ears ringing and heart painfully throbbing as though it was slamming back and forth against his chest wall.

After a minute, he staggered into the living room and called for a crime scene team, his legs still shaky.

Dobey arrived with the team and they found Hutch still on the floor, trying to control his trembling limbs. The fuse box was dusted for fingerprints and then they were able to get the lights on.

By the time the team was through in the greenhouse, Hutch’s strength had returned. He and Dobey stood in front of the still swaying figure dangling from a length of clothesline rope. Two panes of glass had been broken out and the rope attached to the frame of the structure.

Hutch’s silver letter opener was jammed into the chest of the mannequin to hold a note securely to the front of Starsky’s favorite red shirt. In big letters were scrawled the words, ‘DON’T LOOK FOR HIM. HE’S ALREADY DEAD!’

“Cap’n….this guy is one sick fuck.” Hutch growled angrily. Remembering Dobey’s aversion to his officers using bad language, he added, “Sorry, sir.”

“Hutchinson, don’t be sorry….just get the son-of-a-bitch.”

Forcing himself to concentrate on his next move, Hutch remembered the scrap of paper still in his pocket. Grabbing the phone and a notebook, he called the station and demanded to be connected to the fingerprint lab.

When he got an answer, he lost no time explaining his needs.

“Who is this?” He barked shortly.

“Nathan Rossman, sir.”

“Nathan, this is Detective Ken Hutchinson. Did my partner, Dave Starsky, send some glasses over to you?”

“Yep, he sure did. Told us to put a rush on ‘em.”

“And do you have the info on all of them yet?”

“Had a little trouble with the last one on the list, but finally got the results just a few minutes ago.” The young voice held a touch of pride.

“Frank Callini? You had trouble with that one?”

“No, sir.” Hutch heard him shuffling papers. “It was an Isabelle Hammond. We couldn’t find any information on her before two years ago. We had to go through her social security number and birth records to find a fingerprint that matched and that was no easy job. Hers was the weirdest case we’ve ever had…”

“What was so weird about her?”

“That’s just it, sir. She….he was born Thomas Hardison, a healthy, normal male. He evidently changed his name after he got a complete sex change….about a year-and-a-half ago, according to the records we dug up.”

“No one suspected her. She probably got Starsky outside to change a tire or look at her car engine…damn…address?”

“Sir?”

“What’s her address? I need to get there right away.”

“ Brighton Canyon Road ….18804, sir….Detective?”

Hutch hung up, dug his address book out of his pocket and looked up Andy Taylor.

The man sounded like he was stoned, but Hutch got him to listen by telling him it could be a life or death situation.

“Listen, did Mark ever have a lover by the name of Tom Hardison?”

“Tommy, yeah, he was a regular fixture with the group for about two years, but he started getting really possessive of Mark and he got fed up and called off the relationship. But why…?”

“Would Tom have had the kind of money to get a sex change?”

“Nah, he grew up in foster homes….wait a minute….Mark came in one day with a rumor that Tommy had married some rich old broad. He was a good-looking guy.” Andy sounded puzzled. “You gonna tell me what this is all about?”

“Later, can’t take the time now. I’ll be in touch.” Hutch slammed down the phone.

“Cap’n, looks like Starsk solved the case.” Hutch grabbed the keys to the Torino. “I gotta make sure he’s still alive to take the credit.” He pointed to the address. Get me some squad cars to this address, would you?”

“You wait until they get there, Hutchinson !” Dobey boomed as Hutch ran out the door. “No private parties, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah….” Hutch hoped they’d get there first, because there was absolutely no way in hell he was about to sit in the car and wait, when Starsky could be dying a few hundred yards away from him.

The house, built into the canyon wall, was very modern in appearance, all glass and metal. Brightly lit, the structure gave Hutch the feeling that he was expected.

He crept around the side of the building, looking into each window, until he came to the front door. A glass-embossed affair, it gave him an unobstructed view of the foyer inside. What he saw there froze his blood.

Starsky was standing on a stool; his hands tied behind him and duct tape covering his mouth. Around his neck was a rope, fashioned into a hangman’s noose. Hutch followed it up to the point where it was securely tied around one of the posts of the stair rail, which curved around behind his partner. There was blood on his shirt and in his hair and his face was badly bruised, but he seemed to be conscious and alert.

The door was unlocked as Hutch had expected and as he could see clear evidence of a crime committed, he didn’t feel that he was compelled to announce his presence. He opened the door as quietly as he could and stepped into the room.

His eyes locked with his partner’s, questioning. Starsky wiggled his eyebrows, Groucho-style to indicate that he was all right. The next question was whether he knew where the woman was and it was interpreted correctly and answered with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

Hutch crept closer, hoping he could get Starsky loose before being discovered. He was within fifteen feet of his goal when a shrill, female voice startled him.

“Drop the gun and get away from him!”

“Isabelle, where are you?”

She came slowly down the ornate staircase dressed in a revealing gown and carrying a gun. She pointed it directly at Starsky’s heart.

“I know how to use this and I’m serious. Lose the gun or he’s a dead man….right now.”

Hutch had no choice. He very carefully dropped the gun on the floor.

“Kick it to the right.” She ordered, behind him, now.

He booted it in the direction she’d told him to.

“Why couldn’t you have loved me?” Isabelle asked plaintively. “Mark loved me, then his groupies got in the way and I had to start getting rid of them. Why couldn’t you love me instead of him?” She indicated Starsky.

“Isabelle, you didn’t even give me a chance.” Hutch protested. “I hardly got to know you.”

“No….you’re all alike. Mark found out who I was and what I’d done and he was trying to blackmail me.” Her tone of voice was getting more hostile. “He didn’t love me, either. Nobody ever has.”

“Please, just talk to me.” Hutch pleaded. “Let me get to know you. I want to understand what you’re feeling.”

“Liar,” she screamed. “I found these at your place.” There was a thud and Hutch looked down to see two police badges land on the floor. There was dead silence for a minute afterwards.

She pointed at Starsky. “It’s because of him and men like him that you wouldn’t try.”

Even though he was still facing his partner, Hutch knew the gun was now pointing straight at him.

“I’m gonna kill you first….so he can watch, and then it’ll be his turn.”

As soon as he heard the sound of the gun being cocked, he raised his eyes, making sure that the last thing he was ever going to see was his partner’s face. The instant their eyes met, he knew what Starsky was about to do, but there was no way of stopping it.

Time speeded up and slowed down at the same time. Starsky kicked the stool out from under him and at the same time, Hutch dodged to the side and, taking advantage of the distraction, raised both arms to knock the gun out of Isabelle’s hand.

He hadn’t counted on her strength and there was a violent struggle. Hutch tried not to think of Starsky fighting for his life, because he knew that would distract him and give her the advantage, but he couldn’t help it. She squirmed out of his arms and went for the gun. He grabbed her hands and they fought for what seemed to him like hours to gain control. His finger found the trigger and he moved it, not even absolutely sure if it was pointed at her or not. He only knew that it was his only chance and he had to get to Starsky. The gun went off and they stared at each other for a second before she slumped over onto the floor. A quick check to make sure she wouldn’t be killing again and he ran to his partner, now hanging quiet and way too still.

Lifting him up in the same way he’d already handled the mannequin that night, he pushed the stool over and climbed on it. Reaching up with his pocketknife, a present from Starsky, he cut the rope and supported the weight of his partner’s body all the way to the floor, freeing his hands at the same time…

He felt for a pulse, but there was none. Hutch ripped off the tape and quickly blew two puffs of air into his mouth and began chest compressions. Woodenly, he continued, while disconnected thoughts whirled through his mind. ‘Died on me twice now.’ ‘How many chances?’ ‘I love him so much.’ ‘He’s not going to make it.’ ‘My fault.’

He suddenly gave up on the CPR and screamed “STARSKY!” in abject desolation.

The sound of coughing and wheezing brought him back to the present. “Jeezus, Hutch.” Starsky said in a pained whisper.

“Damn, I thought you were dead!” Hutch wondered if he was hallucinating.

“If I was, you just woke all us stiffs up!” Starsky rubbed his neck. “Why can’t I talk?” He asked as loudly as he could.

“Keep still, don’t try to talk, I’ll explain later.” Hutch heard the sound of sirens. “I hope they brought an ambulance with them. If not, I’ll get you to the hospital.”

“I’m not….”

Hutch held up his index finger. “Don’t get me riled. If I say you’re goin’ to the hospital, you’re goin’!”

Starsky grinned. Grabbing Hutch weakly by the shirt, he pulled him down close.

“Gee, Sergeant, I love it when you go all Gestapo on me.”

Hutch collapsed next to him on the floor, chuckling a little hysterically.

“You haven’t seen Gestapo yet, buddy-boy.”

Cuddled in Hutch’s arms a few days later, Starsky was the picture of contentment. Hutch had been spoiling him outrageously ever since he’d come home and he was soaking it all up.

After he’d been examined in the Emergency Room, they’d held him for a couple days for observation because he’d stopped breathing and because there could be more swelling of the tissue around the trachea, cutting off his air supply.

The bruises were fading and the cuts were healing, but he showed no interest in rejoining life again.

He looked up at Hutch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of nursin’ me back to health?”

“Nah, I just live to make you happy.”

“Wanna make me happy right now?” Starsky winked at him.

Hutch knew he’d fallen into a trap. Saying ‘no’ was not an option and he was scared to death what ‘yes’ would involve. So he just stayed quiet.

“Are you up for a game of ball?”

“I’d say being ‘up’ would be one of the requirements, if it’s the kind of ball I think you’re interested in.” Hutch kissed him on the nose. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“C’mon, Hutch, I want a home run.”

“Why now, Starsk?” Hutch looked deep into the sparkling eyes. “What’s changed for you?”

“All I could think of when I was standin’ on that stool, sure I was about to die, was that we’d never really made love. I’d never felt you inside me, making us one, even for just awhile.” Starsky nibbled at the part of Hutch that was closest to him, which happened to be a small brown nipple. Smiling at the sharp intake of breath from his partner, Starsky knew his case was at least half won.

“How come I never knew you were so damned manipulative before?” Hutch muttered crossly.

“Hey, you taught me all you know.” Starsky shot back. “Come on….don’t make me beg.”

“I just have one question.”

“What?”

“We don’t have to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre, do we, ‘cause I hate that movie!”

“I think I can get you into the mood without it.”

“No, you lie still and I’ll get you in the mood.” Hutch ordered.

With a growl, he rolled over and literally attacked Starsky’s vulnerable neck. He spent a long time there, sucking and kissing and licking, biting the other man’s earlobes. Then he licked his way down to the brown nubs of flesh on Starsky’s chest. Nuzzling there, he soon had his lover panting and knew that he’d be happy with anything Hutch did as long as he did it soon. But that’s not what he’d asked for.

He rimmed the shallow belly button and ignoring the ready and willing cock in his path, he ran his hand under Starsky’s buttocks where he found his target and pushed his finger into it. A gasp from his partner let him know that he was feeling it. He came back to Starsky’s mouth and took control of it, still pushing his finger in and out of the quivering opening.

Urging his partner to lie on his side, Starsky balked. “Ya mean I don’t get to look at you?”

“I think that’s for when we get a little more athletic. You want this or not?”

Starsky cast a last dubious look at Hutch’s fully erect cock and dutifully turned on his side, muttering “Oughta be declared a lethal weapon.”

Hutch rolled over and opened his nightstand drawer, where the small tube which held the fulfillment of his fantasy had been kept for longer than he cared to admit to Starsky.

Feeling the cool gel being spread over his anus, Starsky quipped, “Boy Scout, huh?” That was his last coherent phrase.

“Sea Scout, remember. Now shut up.”

Hutch went back to using his mouth on as many parts of Starsky as he could reach and still work on stretching out the tight, tense muscle that was his ultimate goal. His other hand was busy rubbing, pinching, stimulating as much flesh as possible.

When he felt that his partner was as ready as he could possibly make him, judging by the volume of noise Starsky was making, he gently bent the man’s leg for better access and used the lubrication on himself.

He started slowly, listening closely to his partner’s erotic song, wanting to make it so good for him. He stopped a couple of times, feeling the man tense up, but a few moments of special attention relaxed him and they were able to continue. When he felt himself completely seated against Starsky’s flesh, he stopped and whispered, “You okay?”

Starsky nodded, panting with exertion and need. His body was hot, like a blast furnace and Hutch knew that neither of them had much time. Just the stimulation of being together….sharing the same space was going to be enough to push them over. He pulled out and pushed back in a couple of times, biting down on his partner’s neck over the carotid artery and Starsky exploded, screaming his name so loud, Hutch remembered thinking he was glad they had no neighbors. That pushed him over the edge and he lost it, his body pulsing….twisting….his eyes brimming with tears.

They lay quietly together for a few minutes, each lost in a well of emotion.

This time, it was Hutch who broke the silence first.

“I love you so much, Starsk.”

“No more than I love you, babe.” Starsky answered. “Never knew baseball could be so much fun.”

Hutch grinned. “Was it a home run?”

Starsky chuckled. “World Series winner.”

Hutch sobered. “Don’t die on me again, Starsk.”

“Hey, you remember that old saying?” He turned over to face his lover.

“’Only the good die young?’ Does that mean I don’t have to worry?”

“No, dummy….I meant the one that goes; ‘Only the strong survive.’ We’ll be around for a long time.”

 

Never the end