A metaphoric drabble on Hutch’s fencing skills. Originally published in the SHareCon 2014 zine.
Hutch was top of his class in fencing at college. He loved the aggressive challenge of gripping the épée and driving it home.
Teaching Starsky the basics was easy. He took to the game in less time than Hutch could say “en garde.”
They both stripped naked, cocks at salute.
Starsky’s first attack was clumsy, without finesse. Hutch made a feint left, lunging to grab his opponent around the waist. Knocking Starsky’s hand off his own lance, Hutch pushed him onto the bed. He thrust his foil home, encasing it into Starsky’s body.
“You’re the master swordsman,” Starsky decreed passionately.
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