Pearls Beyond Price

123

While Starsky is hospitalized after Bellamy’s poison, Hutch discovers a serious problem with Starsky’s finances. After Starsky’s near-death experience, Hutch’s emotions about his partner are high. But he knows Starsky is too proud to accept money from him. What if he found some other way…?

Originally published in the Starsky and Hutch slash zine, Blue Eyes and Blue Jeans 2 by  Linda McGee, Kath Moonshine, and Mary Louise Fisher, under the name, Idiot Triplets Press, in 1996. Special thanks to Gail Lorden for help in transferring this story to the archive.

Art in this story by J.J.

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It was early Saturday morning, and it was already hot. Hutch felt sweat spring to his skin when he let himself into Starsky’s apartment. It was even hotter here than outside, and the place was stuffy after being shut up tight for a week while Starsky lay in the hospital, recovering from the after-effects of Bellamy’s poison. Hutch quickly opened the windows and turned on the fan his partner kept out during the summer months. He bent over to put his face into the flow of cool air for a minute, closing his eyes against the slight sting of the artificial wind. He touched his chest where the collar was open, felt the sweat cooling on his skin.

Starsky would be coming home in two days, and Hutch was just now relaxing as things returned to normal. The whole episode had terrified him, more than even Starsky knew. His heart had begun to race from the moment he heard the weak voice over the phone, calling for him. Then there was the panicky drive to this apartment All the way, all he could think was, God, let him be okay. I’ll do anything. Please. He’d driven so fast he beat the ambulance here, so he was the one who burst in and found his best friend lying unconscious on the floor. He had no idea what was wrong then, no way to guess that Starsky had been poisoned. The fear and the unknown had made him cold and shaky. He’d gathered Starsky up, one arm around his naked shoulders, while the other hand stroked repeatedly down the side of his face, trying to provide comfort to both of them. His throat had been tight, and his eyes had stung. He’d lowered his head, and found himself whispering promises into Starsky’s dark curls, vowing that he would make everything all right again. And with a lot of help and some good luck, he had.

Hutch straightened up from in front of the fan, reluctantly moving away from the man-made breeze. He had something to do. There had been a thick stack of bills and junk mail stuffed into the mailbox. The mailman really should have taken it back to the post office when it wasn’t picked up for a couple days, but Hutch was glad he hadn’t. Starsky had mentioned a couple of times that they were probably piling up and Hutch wanted to take care of them right away. He took a beer from the fridge then carried the mail over to the sofa and settled in. This must be where Starsky sat to pay the bills usually since his checkbook was sitting on the table. Hutch ripped open the first envelope. He wrote a check from his own checkbook for each bill—gas, electric, phone—and kept track of the running total of how much Starsky was going to owe him.

He was done with the bills, and almost done with the beer, when he remembered something else. Starsky sent a check to his mother every month. If Hutch knew his partner, he wouldn’t want to let this month be different. He pulled his checkbook back out again. He wondered how much he should send, and then he remembered Starsky’s checkbook. He grabbed it and flipped it open, looking through the past entries. There was the amount, a scribbled entry made last month.

Hutch couldn’t believe it. He flipped the pages back… the same amount the previous month and the month before. Could Starsky really have been doing this? Could he have sent her half his salary every month?

Stunned, Hutch tried to think it out. Was Starsky really living on half-pay? Was it even possible? He didn’t spend a lot on clothes, that was for sure. He always wanted to hit the matinee, not the nighttime feature at the movies. He never went to pricey restaurants… not while there was still a taco stand operating in the city. It had never, not for an instant, occurred to Hutch that some of the habits came out of necessity. Now Hutch realized that Starsky’s one and only luxury was the upkeep on the Torino, and he knew there were times when Starsky had denied himself things to keep that ridiculous car in top condition.

Starsky denied himself things. A terrible thought, somehow. It was simply wrong, and it made Hutch turn red, because he suddenly thought of all the times that he had quibbled with his partner about costs, or made some stupid bet that Starsky couldn’t have been able to afford, or complained about the places he picked when it was his turn to buy dinner. He remembered one time when Starsky had asked to borrow some money and he had refused, saying it would teach him to keep better track of his spending. He knew if it had really been a dire emergency that Starsky would have said so, and he would have made the loan. But still, the memory made him squirm. And this had been going on for years.

Even now, with Starsky in the hospital, weak and dependent, Hutch had drunk his best friend’s beer and made his petty little running total of debt. He felt a painfully sharp stab of shame… and a flood of sweet admiration for his partner, who probably never even thought of any of this. He gave his mother all the money he could afford, and then some, because it was the right thing to do, and in Starsky’s mind, that was probably all there was to it. No big deal.

But to Hutch, now that he knew, it was a big deal. And if there was any way he could make things easier for Starsky, he would. He chewed on his thumbnail and frowned absently as he tried to figure out how to go about this. He had some money. In a savings account sat fifteen thousand dollars that his father had given him when he graduated from college. Hutch had tried to give it back when he entered the police academy; it hadn’t seemed right to keep it when he hadn’t put that precious degree to the use his father had wanted. But his father had refused to take it back. And Hutch had vowed not to touch it. It was a nice chunk of money, but when he compared it to what Starsky deserved for being his partner, and his best friend, and generally a beautiful person, it hardly seemed like enough. The only question now was how to get it to Starsky. If only there was a way to get him to take it without realizing it was a gift from Hutch. That, at least, would keep Hutch from having to refuse to take it back.

After he was finished, he climbed back into his car, still thoughtful. He made a quick stop, then drove to the hospital. He usually went in the afternoon, but he just felt like looking at Starsky now… now that he knew this new thing about him.

***

When he walked into the room, Starsky was managing to simultaneously flirt with and bitterly complain to a pretty candy-striper who was hovering over him with a tray.

“Sweetheart, when I’m out of here, I’m takin’ you out for some real food, ’cause if you call this lunch, you’ve clearly never seen none.”

Hutch almost burst out laughing to think that this real, exasperating, human being was the man he’d been thinking of as practically saintly all the way over here.

The woman left with the untouched lunch tray, and Hutch came over to sit by his partner. He reached out and ruffled the already bed-tangled hair. “Feeling better, huh, buddy?”

“Feelin’ like I wanna get outta here.”

As Hutch pulled his hand back from Starsky’s head, Starsky reached up and clasped his wrist, holding it for a long second before he let go. Hutch marveled at how many ways Starsky had to communicate. The little hold meant he was glad Hutch was here, something Starsky wouldn’t have hesitated to say out loud, Hutch knew. But he was glad he chose to say it this way.

“I’m early today. Don’t usually get to see the lunch ritual.”

“Man, what these people don’t know about food. It’s scary, it really is.”

“You mean they’re not letting you eat drippy, greasy, artery-clogging burritos?”

Starsky moaned. “Don’t do that! Making me want something I can’t have.”

Hutch pulled the paper bag out from under his jacket. The stop on the way here had been at Starsky’s favorite burrito joint. Grease had already turned part of the bag translucent. “Who says you can’t have?”

“Gimme!”

Hutch grinned as Starsky practically ripped the bag from him and plunged one hand inside as if he wanted to throw his whole body after it. Hutch settled back in the chair to watch him messily devour his lunch. There was nothing better than Starsky like this. The guy had the ability to be happy with every muscle… he moved happy. Hutch knew that the best part of giving a gift to this man would be if he could watch this kind of reaction. He had a thought.

“Hey, Starsk. Is your landlord still talking about raising your rent on you?”

Starsky answered around an enormous mouthful. “Yeah. A whole hundred a month. Can you believe it?”

“That’s a shame, buddy.”

And it’s not going to happen.

***

The next day, Sunday, Hutch discovered that it was easy to convince the landlord to let Hutch pay the extra hundred for the next twelve months. And it was pretty easy, too, to swear him to secrecy. And it wasn’t even that hard to get him to tell Starsky the good news some time when Hutch could watch the reaction.

Monday morning, Hutch was helping Starsky out of his car in front of his place. It was Starsky’s big return home, but it was marked by more complaining than celebrating. Hutch was grumbling about the continued heat, and Starsky was grumbling about all the fussing over him. Starsky was just out of the car, and leaning on Hutch, when the landlord came over.

“Hey, Mr. Starsky. I just heard from the rent control board, and it looks like your rent’s gonna hafta stay where it is for now.” He stomped off, making a good show of what Hutch had asked him to do.

Hutch had to shift Starsky around in his arms a little bit to see the expression on his face. “Yes!” An explosion of happiness, and that familiar half-grin. Hutch loved it. In fact, Starsky half-grinned all the way into his place, and Hutch loved it all.

Starsky was still weak. So Hutch settled him in bed, then sat on the mattress next to him. Starsky dozed, and Hutch looked down at his partner’s face and planned the next move.

The next day, Starsky paid Hutch back for the money he spent on the bills. It hurt Hutch to let him do it, but he figured he’d make sure Starsky came out ahead anyway. Way ahead.

***

By the end of two weeks, Starsky was back at work. He had made a half-hearted, farcical attempt to con Dobey into some vacation time, but they all knew what he really needed was to get back on the horse. So here he was, still riding the desk, but getting stronger every day. And Hutch was waiting for the next surprise to be sprung.

Every time his partner reached into his top desk drawer, Hutch had to catch a breath and look away. He knew Starsky’d find it eventually, even though he’d pushed it way to the back. Hutch was proud of this gift. Starsky loved expensive watches… when he could buy them cheap. A year ago, he’d bought one from Huggy that had turned out to be hot, but usually they were just fakes. This latest one was a fake, and Starsky had lost it chasing after a robbery suspect. He’d kept Hutch out there in that alley for an hour after the other cops had left, looking for that stupid cheap copy watch. Hutch had complained, of course, and rolled his eyes, but he’d stayed, and looked hard, because it was for Starsky. The watch was gone. But pretty soon Starsky was going to find…

“Hey!”

He’d found it. Hutch had to struggle to appear disinterested.

“Hey!” Starsky was holding it up now and looking at it.

“Hey, what?”

“It’s my watch!”

“What watch?”

“I thought I lost it in that alley but I musta taken it off here first!”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Look! My genuine replica watch.”

Hutch pretended to drag his eyes up from the report he was pretending to write. He tried to look disgusted, but Starsky was being happy with his whole body again, and Hutch found himself drinking in the sight.

“Hutch! I love this watch! I can’t believe I got it back! Look, it’s still keeping the right time! I told you it was worth the money.”

Starsky was trying to use his right hand to clasp the watch onto his left wrist. Hutch didn’t know why Starsky didn’t wear his watch on the right, like most lefties, but right now he was strangely glad of it. Because that meant that he got to lean across the desk and help. He held on to Starsky’s left hand, loosely, as he fastened the band. His whole body felt warm as he performed this simple gesture. Hutch held the smile inside, knowing that Starsky didn’t even know the best part.

The watch that got lost was phony. This one was real.

Okay, so it didn’t exactly make Starsky’s bank account swell, but it made him happy, and the next time he needed money, Hutch could suggest that he check with a jeweler, just to see how much he could get for the “replica.”

***

The next one was tricky. He found the jacket all right. As soon as he saw it in the store, he knew Starsky would love it. The leather was thick, but soft, and he knew it would look great on his partner.

Sexy, he thought. It’ll drive the girls crazy.

He tried it on. It fit except that the arms were a little short. That meant it should fit Starsk perfectly. He thought about buying it, then telling Starsky that it was a gift for him from his parents and he was giving it away just because it fit his partner better. But that was too close to the truth, too much like just giving him an out-and-out present. That wasn’t the game he was enjoying.

He finally came up with a plan. He spent most of the next day with the jacket folded up inside a shopping bag hidden under the desk. It made a comfortable weight against his leg. It was afternoon before he had his chance. The squadroom was empty except for him and Starsky. A casual mention of hunger was enough to send his partner out to the candy machine in the hall. Hutch took the jacket out of the shopping bag and stuffed it into the wastepaper basket next to the water cooler. Then he sat back and waited.

Starsky entered the room with less than half of his candy bar still intact That meant he was thirsty. He filled a paper cup from the cooler, downed it, then he balled up the cup… and missed the basket by a mile.

Hutch shook his head. He should have known. “Hey, aren’t you going to pick that up?”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“Pick it up, you slob!” Hutch forced himself to glare at Starsky. It worked. Starsky grumbled, but he picked up the cup and took it to the basket. Hutch held his breath. Would he see it? Starsky was a trained detective, but sometimes he could look right through things.

“Hey, someone put a leather jacket in here.”

“You gotta be crazy. Who’d do that?”

“Here it is, though. Nice, too. Looks brand new.”

“I guess it’s yours, partner.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, sure. Someone threw it away, didn’t they?”

“I guess. I don’t know if I feel right about keepin’ it.”

But Hutch could tell Starsky was in love with it already. Starsky shrugged himself into the jacket. Then he turned up the collar… a gesture that immediately made it his own. No one else was going to get that jacket. And the leather was so soft that when they went out for dinner that night, Hutch found himself running his hand along Starsky’s back and arm more than once.

***

That was pretty much it for the small presents. There were a few more, but the only one that was really different was when Hutch borrowed the Torino and secretly took it in for an adjustment that it needed, but that Starsky couldn’t afford. That one was different because Hutch actually got chewed out for keeping the car for so long. He was surprised to find that he still enjoyed the whole game, even if he had to take some blame along the way. The important thing was that Starsky ended up happy in the long run. And he did end up happy, even though he was also very confused at how the car’s problem apparently fixed itself.

***

This was really all Hutch had planned on doing: a few well-timed gifts to help Starsky out, but it was too much fun to quit. And something new had occurred to him. No matter how much he loved Starsky’s child-like joy in life, the man was an adult. He really deserved to decide for himself how to spend any money that was coming his way, not have Hutch decide for him. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get a large sum of cash from his bank account to Starsky’s without his partner knowing it came from him.

He got lucky when Starsky entered a ten-thousand-dollar sweepstakes that his favorite brand of root beer was sponsoring.

Starsky had a cousin who entered sweepstakes all the time. Starsky seemed to think that she actually made a living at it, but Hutch suspected that even with a few sizable wins, she was probably just about breaking even on her postage costs. Anyway, he started listening with more care when Starsky talked about how these sweepstakes notified their winners. It sounded like it would be pretty easy to fake it. He used the typewriter at the police station to make an official-looking letterhead, then an official-looking envelope with the sponsor’s name and address cribbed off the entry form. Then he sent a certified letter, informing Starsky that he had won the ten-thousand-dollar grand prize. Starsky was supposed to fill out a simple form, have it notarized, and mail it back, and then he would be sent his check. Hutch had the cashier’s check all ready to go—a check with only an account number to indicate the source of the money.

After Hutch mailed the “notification letter,” he went home with Starsky every night, so he could be there to see him read it. Actually, he pretty much went home with Starsky every night anyway. He was on that couch more often than he was in his own bed. Since the poisoning, he found that he wanted to be with his partner all the time. A little overprotective, but also because he found that he, Hutch, was just happier that way, being with Starsky. And Starsky wasn’t complaining. In fact, on those nights when Hutch did drag himself back to his Venice Place apartment at midnight, Hutch sometimes thought he saw disappointment in Starsky’s eyes.

So Hutch was there when the letter came. Actually, what came was the little slip of paper saying that there was a certified letter waiting at the post office. Hutch went with him to get it. Starsky wanted to open the letter right there when he saw it was from the sweepstakes judging agency, but Hutch made him wait until they got back to Starsky’s place. He didn’t really have a good reason to give Starsky for why he should wait, but he knew the real reason. If Starsky reacted like Hutch thought he might, he’d just as soon have it be in private.

Starsky started ripping at the envelope almost before his front door had closed behind him. Hutch watched, already smiling. He tried to decide how he’d be acting if this was real—if the money was coming from A&W instead of from him.

He managed to say, “It’s probably fifth prize, Starsk. A T-shirt that says ‘Root Beer Drinkers Are Better Lovers’ on it or something.”

By then, Starsky had the letter out and was reading it. Hutch was amazed to find that he had a lump in his throat as he watched him read the letter, and then read it again, trying to comprehend that he really had won. Hutch tried to understand what this kind of money would mean to someone like Starsky, someone who had spent his whole life having nearly enough, and never really quite enough.

“Hutch.” It was a whisper, eyes still glued to the letter.

“What?”

“I won.”

“What?”

“I won.”

“I got that. What did you win?”

“All of it. Ten thousand dollars. I just have to send this page back, and I get it. Read it for me, Hutch, see if I got it right.” Starsky looked as if he could hardly stand up anymore.

Hutch took the page and looked at it, pretended to read it. “You got it right, buddy. You won. Congratulations!”

Starsky looked at him. Blank. It was still sinking in.

Hutch reached out and held his partner’s head, gently pressing a hand on each side of his face. He locked eyes with him. “You won.” He let his hands drop to Starsky’s shoulders.

Starsky let out a whoop then, and he leapt in the air. Hutch started to laugh, enjoying every second. Then Starsky was in his arms, spinning them both around until they were dizzy. They clung to each other afterwards, laughing. Then Starsky sort of let his head fall forward, staring at the floor, his forehead pressed to Hutch’s shoulder, and Hutch brought his arms around him. They were both happy and exhausted. Hutch kissed him on the top of the head, a gesture that seemed allowed by the joy of the moment. He probably didn’t even feel it anyway.

“Oh God, Hutch. What am I gonna do with all this money?”

“Anything you want. That’s the point, pal.”

“I’m gonna give you some.”

Hutch couldn’t believe it. All this work to get this money to Starsky, and this amazing generous man was already trying to give it back? “I won’t take it. It’s yours.”

“You’re my partner. It seems like what I have oughtta be yours.”

“Starsky! That’s for newlyweds, not partners.”

“Seems like it oughtta be both,” Starsky grumbled, but Hutch hoped he’d won the fight.

It was a long, wonderful night. Hutch ran out for champagne, and Starsky reread the letter out loud over and over. And every hour or so, he found that he had to swing Hutch around in his arms again. And for the first time in his life, Hutch wished he had a million dollars, so that he could do this all the time… make Starsky keep whirling him around like this forever.

They both slept in Starsky’s bed that night. After all the champagne and the excitement, it just felt like too much work to make up the couch. So they both just fell into the bed and slept.

Hutch woke up first in the morning, and he felt the unaccustomed weight of a curly-haired head pressing against his bare shoulder. He wondered when Starsky had shifted over to him like that. He liked the feel of the curls against his skin, and he hoped Starsky would stay asleep for a while. He lay there, drifting, listening to all the early-morning quiet, and thinking. He didn’t have any more money to give his friend, but as the sun came up, he made a silent promise to himself. He would do his best to make Starsky happy from now on, in any way he could. It suddenly seemed desperately important.

The next day, Starsky filled out the response form, had it validated, and gave it to Hutch to mail. Hutch threw it away… it was only window dressing. Nothing could keep Starsky from getting that money. Hutch watched him all the next week. He was fully recovered from the poison attack now and sort of floating through the days, waiting for the check to come. And when it did, Hutch got to enjoy a replay of that wonderful night. He kissed Starsky on top of his head again too, just because he could.

***

Another whole week went by before the bottom fell out. Hutch found out later what had happened, that Starsky had checked with his sweepstaking-cousin and was told it was customary to send a thank-you note to the sweepstakes sponsor. Hutch was there with Starsky when he read the answering letter saying that there must have been some confusion, as the winner was a woman in Michigan.

Hutch couldn’t read the opaque eyes that met his when Starsky finished reading. “I didn’t win, Hutch.”

Hutch swallowed. “Sure you did. The check cleared, right? The money’s yours. It’s in the bank.”

“Yeah. But where did it come from?”

“They must have a glitch in their computer, Starsk. You won.”

Hutch saw he wasn’t convincing anybody. He didn’t know how close Starsky was to figuring it out, but he felt himself starting to sweat. He went to the fridge and stared into it, not really seeing what was inside.

“Hutch. What do you know?” Starsky had followed him. He took the fridge door from Hutch’s hand and closed it. He was very close to him now. Hutch had learned a long time ago that Starsky liked to use intimacy as intimidation. If he wanted something out of someone, he got right in their face, and dropped his voice very, very low. He was doing it now to Hutch.

“What are you talking about? All I know is that I saw the letter, you idiot. An official letter. It said you won.”

“Anyone who knew I entered coulda sent that.”

“Starsk, that doesn’t make any sense… what kind of con artist gives you money?” He tried to sound contemptuous, but it wasn’t playing.

Starsky stayed very still, very close to Hutch’s face. “And what about the jacket? A brand-new jacket in the trash.”

Hutch knew Starsky was just taking a shot in the dark, but he felt his face gave him away anyway. He saw the shock as Starsky read the expression. Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and backed away.

“Hutch. You set this up. Why? Why did you do this to me?”

It was a raw accusation. Starsky probably felt as if Hutch had made a fool out of him. Hutch wanted to curl up and die at that thought. The only way out of this was to go right through it… the truth. He put his head down and mumbled, “I found out how much money you send to your mother.”

“What?”

“Damn it, Starsky, I never knew you sent her so much. I didn’t like that you had so little left for you. I had some extra money…” Hutch shrugged, hoping he was making things better, but fearing that he was hurting Starsky more, making him feel like a charity case.

Starsky was good and mad. There was no question about that. He was pacing around the room, looking as if he wanted to hit something. “You couldn’t talk to me? You couldn’t say, ‘Hey, Starsk, you doing okay? You want a loan or something?’ You had to do it this way? So you could see me go nuts over something that was a lie?”

Starsky stopped pacing and stood right in front of Hutch. He narrowed his eyes, as if he could look right into him if he looked hard enough.

“I wanted to make you happy.” He said it softly and simply. It was the truth.

Starsky heard it. Starsky sat down on the couch and rested his forehead on his hands.

Hutch ached to sit down next to him and put an arm around the bowed shoulders. But he didn’t think he’d be welcome. He stood, awkwardly, three feet away.

“You wanted to make me happy.” The voice was flat.

“More than anything. And it worked. I got to see you be happy. Starsky, you don’t know how amazing you are when you’re happy.” Hutch could hear the tears in his own voice. He wondered if Starsky heard them too.

“That’s ten thousand dollars worth of important to you?” Skeptical.

“Yes.” Hutch had said it before, and it seemed like the time to say it again. “I love you, Starsk.”

Starsky looked up then, raising his head off his hands. His jaw was set, like it got when he was trying not to yell… or cry. He looked at Hutch. “What do you mean? What kind of love?”

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Hutch was genuinely confused.

“You gave me your worldly goods, Hutch. Seems like I remember someone saying that’s for newlyweds, not for partners.”

Hutch snorted. “You saying you think I was making some kind of play for you?” He looked at Starsky. The expression was unreadable. “I told you why I did it. I thought you needed money. I had money I wanted you to have. I didn’t think you’d let me give it to you. I promise you, I didn’t do it to trick you, or make you look foolish, or to seduce you. God! Of course not! I just wanted you to be happy.”

Starsky was staring at him. Looking through him. Making Hutch think about what he had just said… think deep about the words to measure the truth of it. Starsky was still looking at him. So he looked back, at the dark curls, at the strong jaw, the sensitive mouth, the long-lashed eyes. And he really thought about what Starsky was asking.

And then he felt a strange feeling at his core: both hot and cold. He remembered how it had felt to run his hand along Starsky’s back in that soft new leather jacket. And how it felt to kiss the top of his head in the heat of the celebration. And how it had felt waking up that morning after, feeling the pressure of those curls on him. He knew now what all that had been about. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had started, but he had to admit to himself that lately, his feelings toward his partner had been charged with some new kind of energy. Starsky was still looking at him, waiting for him to continue. He had to fight back the urge to bolt from the room. He needed time to think. “Uh… Starsk. Wait.”

“What?”

“Oh, God, I’m confused. I don’t know. I’m really scared.”

Starsky stood up then and came over. “Of what?”

“Of what you’re thinking. Or maybe of what I’m thinking.”

Starsky was standing so close. “Do you love me?”

Hutch knew what he was asking, and he couldn’t deny it. He nodded and turned away. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know where to look, and he felt sick to his stomach from the fear of losing something before he even had it, before he even knew he wanted it. He didn’t know what Starsky was going to do next. Starsky had moved around in front of him again… circling him, like a boxer? It occurred to Hutch that Starsky might actually be about to hit him. He braced himself. Starsky was strong, and Hutch wouldn’t fight back. He would take the punches. Conceivably, Starsky could kill him if he wanted to.

But Starsky didn’t touch him. He just looked. Then he said, “Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you love me.” The words were carefully measured.

He hadn’t expected that. He stammered for a second, looking all around the room as if there was inspiration on a wall somewhere. “I… I guess I… I just do. I don’t know. I mean, I know all the things that are great about you, all the things that make you my best friend, like how you take care of me, how I feel about taking care of you. And how you’re always so… yourself. You’re the kind of person I always wished I was. But I don’t know why that doesn’t add up to just friends anymore. I don’t know why it’s love all of a sudden.”

He couldn’t go on. He finally looked into his partner’s eyes. “Oh, God, Starsk. If you leave me now, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He felt all the strength leave him then, and he laid his heart at Starsky’s feet. “I’ll be and do and say anything you want from me. I can’t believe I’m going to lose you.” By now he was practically sobbing. And when he felt Starsky’s arms close around him, the tears finally came for real.

Starsky held him close for a long time, the two of them standing in the middle of the room, Hutch with his face bowed, pressed into Starsky’s shoulder, his body shaking with sobs. When the tears finally slowed, Starsky sat down and sat Hutch next to him on the sofa.

Hutch wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse. “So now what? You take off? You get a new partner? A new friend?”

“I don’t think so.” Starsky leaned back on the sofa, put his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. But I gotta tell you, this is kinda scary. I mean, I have us all figured out, sorta fit into a compartment in my head, and then this…” There was a long silence. Starsky finally broke it. “Hutch, I want you to know that losing our friendship would kill me too.”

Hutch said it again: “I’m sorry.”

“Stop bein’ sorry, wouldja? I think a lot of this is my fault, anyway. I knew you were, you know, touching me more. And I gave you openings to do that. To tell the truth, I liked it. And I think I touched you more too. I don’t know. Maybe we’re supposed to be… touching. I mean, I don’t know if I can—”

Hutch felt a surge of panic. “Starsk. Wait. I don’t know what I want. I don’t think I want… I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’ve just figured out that I can feel… romantic toward you. But that’s not sex, exactly.”

Starsky lifted his head from the back of the sofa, and looked at Hutch, clearly thinking hard about this, taking it seriously. “Romantic, huh? Hearts and flowers?”

“Yeah, hearts and flowers.” Hutch managed a small smile as he imitated the way Starsky had said it, the lingering East-coast accent transforming the words into something like “hots and flowahs.” The mood was lightening, and he felt the cold knot in his stomach loosen a little bit. Maybe they would survive this after all. “That’s all. Like, I don’t know, holding hands or something.”

“And sayin’ sweet nothings? Being free to say whatever we want?”

Hutch felt his stomach give a strange lurch at the idea of that. He almost got lost in the imagining of it. What would he say? Would he say he likes the way I look? Or sound? Or smell? He had to shake himself mentally and go on, struggling for some kind of safe footing. “Sure. Nothing scary. Like best friends, only without the stupid macho walls.” Hutch waited for a beat. No answer. “Starsk, are we gonna be okay?”

Slowly, a response. “I got nothing against romance.”

Starsky moved then, fast. He tucked one leg up onto the sofa and turned his body to face Hutch. He caught both of Hutch’s larger hands in his own. Then, while Hutch swallowed, hard, Starsky brought the trembling hands up in front of him and gently kissed them. First the right, then the left. A gentle benediction.

“Oh, Starsk.” He just breathed the words. He wanted to close his eyes to enjoy the feeling more, but he was afraid that would send too sexual a signal. He kept his eyes fixed on Starsky’s intense blue ones instead.

The hands shifted on his then, and Hutch realized that his partner wanted his hands held and kissed. He changed his hold, took the hands, felt the muscles in Starsky’s arms relaxing. The hands weren’t small and soft like a woman’s, but they were every bit as gentle, and they were precious to him. He kissed the right hand, then he set it on Starsky’s lap. Then with both his hands, Hutch brought the left hand to his lips. He remembered holding this hand when he helped with the watch. He kissed the back of the hand, then he turned it over and watched as the fingers opened. He kissed the damp palm. Too sexual. This wasn’t the deal. But the hand didn’t pull away; it was still there. So he kissed the palm again.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah?” They were whispering. He was terrified that Starsky was about to say he’d made a mistake, that this wasn’t what he wanted.

“Can I touch your hair?”

Relieved and absurdly touched, he smiled. “Sure, buddy. You don’t need to ask, ever.”

Starsky opened his eyes and moved his hand up to pet along the fine soft blond hair. The feel of the gentle hand on his head made him shiver. When Starsky spoke, his voice was very low. “I love your hair.”

“Love it while you can, buddy, ’cause I’m afraid it’s on its way out of here.”

Starsky chuckled at that. He was smiling his one-sided smile and Hutch reached out to trace along his lips with one finger.

“That tickles.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop it.”

Hutch smiled. This he understood; it was the physical equivalent of their normal verbal sparring on the job. He ran his finger along the tender lower lip again. “Make me.”

At that, Starsky moved his head, fast, and captured the offending finger in his mouth. And after a second, he lightly sucked at it and brushed his tongue against it.

Hutch felt as though a bolt of electricity had gone through him. His penis grew instantly hard. Frightened and embarrassed, he pulled his finger away.

Starsky blinked at him, looking a little unfocused. “Where’d ya go?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, damn it. If anyone broke the rules it was me. I’m the one that went and sucked on your finger. You got no reason to be sorry.”

“Starsk. Just now I said it wasn’t sexual… Well, when I said that, it wasn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now, I think it is. So you get it now, why I’m sorry?”

“Hutch. Babe. Listen, I can’t help what’s going on with me right now. Let’s see where it leads us, okay?”

“What’s going on with you?”

Starsky grinned. “I’m tryin’ to say I feel it too. You’ve got me as hard as my gun.”

Hutch stared. Then Starsky leaned in toward him. Is he really going to—

Their lips brushed, separated, met again. Hutch thought that a man’s lips would somehow be… harder than a woman’s. But Starsky’s lips were soft and full and very exciting… and it was all just suddenly too strange. He pulled back.

“Hutch. You keep going away.” Starsky hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed, his face was flushed, and his lips already looked swollen from kisses. His face had that little boy disappointed look that Hutch never could resist.

“Buddy, it’s too weird.” But what Hutch really meant was that it was too much. It was pulling him too close to an edge that he didn’t understand. He was finding it difficult to remember to breathe.

“C’mere.” There was no arguing with Starsky’s tone.

Hutch felt the hand on the back of his head, pulling surprisingly hard, forcing him back to the warm intimacy of the kiss. And suddenly he realized that even though he had been the instigator of all the fun and tricks, this had just become Starsky’s game. Starsky was taking over.

***

Starsky felt Hutch let himself be pulled in. The kiss grew more intense. He wasn’t sure where his own passion had come from, but it was here now, and it was hot. A few minutes ago, he’d been offended at thinking that Hutch had feelings for him, but when he’d looked into his partner’s eyes, he’d realized they mirrored something he felt growing in himself. And suddenly he felt that he couldn’t live without this kiss.

His mouth was active and insistent, telegraphing his demand. Finally, he felt Hutch’s lips give their answer… gently parting against his. Just barely allowing Starsky’s tongue to dip inside. Starsky loved that shyness even as he tried to strip it away. He was rewarded when he heard and felt his partner make a sound deep in his throat, a little involuntary rasp of pleasure.

Starsky broke the kiss to lean against Hutch’s shoulder. He knew what he wanted, but he was terrified of admitting it. He took a deep breath, tried to stop the shaking, but he was helpless. He swallowed, then whispered into his partner’s ear, “Hutch, I’m so hot, I gotta have more. I gotta take you to my bed.” He felt Hutch tremble against him, and he got a little worried. “That okay, pal? You still with me?”

“I’m with you.” Hutch’s voice was small.

Starsky was amazed at the submissiveness. Like a child, Hutch let himself be led by the hand, head down, from the sofa to the bedroom. They sat on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed. Starsky rubbed at his partner’s shoulder.

“Are you really okay about this? We can stop, you know. I won’t quit being your friend and partner. It’s still Me and Thee, babe, either way.”

Hutch looked up then. His pale blue eyes were full of passion and wanting, and Starsky started to feel more confident. “Oh, Starsk, I love you so much.” That went right to Starsky’s heart. He continued, “I don’t want to stop. I’m just… afraid I won’t be good enough. That I won’t make you happy.” He gave his shy little smile, chin down, eyes looking up through spare blond lashes.

Starsky smiled. “You’ve already been making me happy, Hutch. That’s how this all got started.”

“Starsky. I have to tell you. In this area… with you, with a man… I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, the way I look at it, we’re two guys, nervous as a coupla cats, about to try something we never tried before, while we’re both so excited we can hardly think straight. I’m thinking it might not be perfect. I’m also thinking that that isn’t gonna matter. I just wanna be here with you. It’ll be okay, no matter what.”

“So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying, take your clothes off, you big blond dolt. Let’s figure out where everything goes.”

Hutch started unbuttoning his shirt, chuckling at his partner’s idea of a romantic seduction. “You should write lyrics for Barry White, partner. You really got a smooth style going there.”

“You’re getting naked, aren’t you? I believe in what works.”

Five minutes later, it occurred to Starsky that they really should have each removed the other’s pants and underwear. It would have been very sexy to strip those tight pants down off Hutch’s long, long legs. But in their hurry, they hadn’t done it that way, and it was hard to argue with these results. They were both naked, and they were stretched out on Starsky’s bed, lying on their sides, facing each other. They hadn’t really touched, not since that last fiery kiss on the sofa, but they were both already erect under each other’s gaze.

Starsky’s penis was a shade darker than the rest of his skin, and he’d subliminally expected the same of Hutch, but he was wrong. Even erect, engorged with blood, Hutch was the same glorious pale color all over, like he was carved out of a single piece of lightest marble.

Starsky knew he would have to be the one to make the first move. He had seemed confident as he led Hutch to his bed, and made him strip, but he had to admit now he was terrified. He had never touched another man this way, intimately, and thinking of it that way he felt suddenly almost sickened, but then he tore his eyes away, and looked into Hutch’s eyes, and it was suddenly fine. More than fine, actually, thrilling, that he could touch Hutch in this way. He reached out then, extending a finger and running it lightly up, along the underside of Hutch’s erection. Hutch shuddered and groaned, pressing his eyes tight closed while the gentle pressure lasted.

Starsky opened his arms, and in a flash, all of that glorious pale length of body was against him, pressing and snuggling all along him. Starsky felt kisses showered all over his face and neck and chest, felt long legs twining with his. He realized that Hutch was giving himself over, surrendering every bit of himself to Starsky, begging to be wanted and accepted. Starsky wondered where all of this vulnerability had been hiding during their daily squabbles at work. Probably right under the surface, using the manufactured arguments for camouflage. Starsky thought about the money… the lengths Hutch had gone to, to try to give him a gift. He thought suddenly of something he’d heard somewhere about “pearls beyond price.” That was what Hutch gave him. Every day. Starsky ran his hands along the length of Hutch’s back, over and over, trying to convey a whole world of acceptance and comfort.

But he found himself distracted by all the wonderful sensations in his body. His partner was licking at his small flat nipples, sending sharp threads of sensation through Starsky’s body. Hutch’s erection was pressed hard against Starsky’s thigh; he could feel the pulse of it. And his own was digging at Hutch’s abdomen. He pulled up on Hutch, trying to maneuver him higher on the bed.

Hutch took the signal, pushed himself up until their faces were even again. Starsky kissed him, and as he did, he felt the two penises brush together. The shock and intensity of the sensation made him gasp into Hutch’s mouth. The kiss continued, and deepened, their tongues teasing and sliding together.

Starsky moaned from the feeling, and it was as though Hutch had been waiting for that signal before he knew it was all right for him to vocalize his own pleasure. He moaned too, and then he managed to gasp out, “Oh, God, Starsk. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Hutch—” Starsky interrupted himself to grab another kiss, “Hutch, I feel like I’m drowning.” He had expected to be the one tending to his partner, but he heard himself pleading, “Oh, God. Take care of me, Hutch.”

As if it had been a death-clad command, Hutch’s hands left Starsky’s shoulders, and slid down to his hips. They rubbed over the buttocks, stroking the full roundness, before they circled to the front. The hands took possession of him. One hand gripped the iron-hard shaft, while the other tenderly cradled the aching sac below. Starsky had to use all of his strength to keep himself from thrusting into that hand and ending everything too soon. One last sweet kiss and the beautiful mouth was gone. Hutch slid down the bed to take better care of what his partner needed.

Starsky had never felt anything as hot, as wet, or as loving as having Hutch’s mouth take him in an inch at a time. His head tossed back and forth on the pillow as Hutch set to work. Starsky said Hutch’s name over and over as he pumped gently with his hips, unable to keep still. He lifted his head and looked: Hutch’s beautiful blond head was bobbing, sucking in and releasing the slick length. The sight was as sharply erotic as the feel, and Starsky felt the orgasm building up. He reached out and caught at some of the golden strands.

“Hutch, oh dear God…” His voice failed him, and he tried again. “I’m too close.”

But Hutch stayed with it, lowering his head completely then, letting the hard organ push as far back in his mouth as it would go. Starsky felt completely engulfed, felt Hutch doing all the work with the blade of his tongue.

“Oh, God. Hutch! No! Yes!” And then he was too far gone for thought. A rough yell tore from him, and his hips bucked, but he was barely aware of this. He was off the planet, and when he came back down, he was in Hutch’s arms, and Hutch was touching him, carefully brushing damp curls off his forehead.

“Thank you, Starsk. Thank you so much.”

Starsky was having trouble thinking straight. His whole being felt like a just-plucked guitar string, still vibrating and humming in the air. But he knew something wasn’t right. Starsky was the one who had come. Hutch shouldn’t be the one handing out thank yous.

“What are you talking about, blondie?”

“I’m just glad, that’s all.”

Starsky’s whole body felt limp and relaxed, so he threw one arm sloppily up and over Hutch’s shoulders, pulling him down onto him. “I’m glad too, babe. Give me a second, and we’ll get you taken care of, too.”

“You don’t need to, Starsk. Really. I just want to see you happy. It’s like you said, that’s how this all started.”

Starsky looked at his partner. There was something unresolved there. Something more than just Hutch’s unrelieved arousal. A fuzzy idea was floating in his head. He decided to test it. “Hutch. Describe what we just did.”

“Describe?”

“Describe.”

“What we just did?”

“What we just did.”

“You forget already?”

“Just do it.”

“Starsk, it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t. It was great It was wonderful. It was the greatest moment in the history of the world, and I want you to tell me what happened.”

Starsky saw Hutch take a breath, composing in his head. “Well, you let me take you in my—”

“I let you?”

“Starsk. What the hell are you talking about?”

“You think I let you give me another present, don’t you? That’s why you thanked me. You didn’t see this as a mutual act at all… you leapt to be the server, the one handing over the pleasure. Hutch, that’s not right. We’ve gotta be even in this one. You like to make me happy, that’s cool, be my guest, but you gotta remember, you’re not my servant, you’re my lover. I need the chance to make you happy, too. That’s part of loving each other.”

Hutch’s head had gone down when Starsky’s voice got loud, but now he looked up. His face was shining with barely-acknowledged hope.

Starsky suddenly got it. The missing piece. He felt like crap. He said it softly, “I never said I loved you.”

Hutch started crying, but there was no sound. Just big tears. It scared Starsky to death. What had Hutch thought, that Starsky was just taking his pleasure here, that he was going to use him and walk away? He thought about how he would feel if he thought Hutch was treating him that way, and he felt his heart breaking in sympathy.

He couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Oh, God, Hutch. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. I thought you understood that. I’m such an idiot. Of course I love you.” Starsky pulled him close. He went on, panting, hoping the words were going to Hutch’s heart. “I used to think that I’d been in love before, lotsa times. But now I know that it’s you. You’re my love. My only one.” He kept talking, whispering the words right into Hutch’s ear, and stroking his hands along the naked back. “You are loved, Hutch. I’m here to take care of you. I love you so much and you will never have to go another day where you don’t know that.”

Hutch was absolutely helpless in Starsky’s arms, and something terrible suddenly occurred to Starsky. “Hutch? Hasn’t anybody told you this before?”

He felt the head pressed beside him shake. No. No one had told him.

“What about your parents? What about Vanessa?”

A shrug. Finally, Hutch took a deep shuddering breath. He pulled out of Starsky’s arms and lay back on the pillow.

Starsky propped himself up on one elbow and watched his new lover, thoughts of physical completion for Hutch postponed for now. Starsky rubbed his hand along the smooth chest, hoping the constant contact would remind Hutch of how loved he was now that he’d found his home. “Tell me.”

Hutch drew a shaky breath. “My parents love me, or loved me. I mean, I guess they have to. But I never really saw it. The only time I’d get told was as a kind of conditioned response, when I did something they were proud of, like getting an award at school. I sort of figured I had to keep doing things like that to keep getting loved. And I didn’t keep doing things like that. And I became a cop. They haven’t said the words to me since.”

“Aw, Hutch.” Starsky felt himself getting angry with these unbelievably cold people, but he forced his hand to stay gentle as it stroked across Hutch. Comfort. Comfort and lots and lots of love. That was his job tonight.

“And Vanessa. The Ice Princess. I guess I lied when I said she didn’t say it. She did, especially before we got married. And God, that meant so much to me, to hear that. Those words were like magic to me, Starsk. They still are. After we got married, she said it during sex, or when she wanted something from me, but I could tell that it wasn’t, you know, real. She would never put herself in a vulnerable emotional position unless I was in an even more vulnerable one. She liked to humiliate me, Starsky. She was the one on top in that relationship, in every possible way.”

Starsky ran his hand over the anguished face, wishing he could rub away the pained expression, the haunted look in the eyes. He knew some day he would have to come back to that topic, humiliation, with Hutch. Starsky had to know what that meant. Exactly what had she put this man through? But that could wait.

He said softly, “So you figured that’s how it’s supposed to be? Your job is to give and not expect anything back, to make me come and not come yourself? As if you don’t deserve it? You give me a fortune, and don’t even let me know it’s from you… so you can’t even collect the gratitude?”

Hutch shrugged. “I never thought about it that much, Sigmund.” He smiled a little at his own joke. “I only just figured out I’m in love with you. I don’t know how many revelations you think you can drag me through in one night.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, partner, but there is one more thing we just gotta cover. I gotta love you, love your body, make you see what kind of attention you deserve.”

“Oh.” Hutch became very still, waiting.

Starsky kissed him. “I love you.” He kissed down the smooth, beautiful body. “I love you more than anything, and I always will.” He tended to the sweet, smooth chest, licking and nipping, breathing Hutch’s scent, tasting the salt of Hutch’s sweat. He kissed his way farther down, to the edge of the tangles of surprisingly soft blond hair.

Hutch was a big man, and Starsky wanted to hold back for a second before he took the enormous erection into his virgin mouth, just from the newness of it all. But he knew that any hesitation could be interpreted as reluctance by his shockingly, sweetly, insecure partner. So instead, he grasped the base of the erection and took it in at once, as far as he could, bathing it roughly with his tongue, as if he were starved. It was a strange sensation for Starsky, accommodating this part of Hutch into him, bending himself to it. And it was incredibly erotic. He thought for a part of a second about how to best make his mouth feel like a woman’s anatomy, and then he realized that what was turning Hutch on was that this was Starsky’s mouth, not an approximation of anything else.

Hutch made a sound of passion that seemed torn from his lungs. Knowing that Hutch was accepting this pleasure from him made Starsky’s own exhausted organ start to twitch again, coming back to life.

He thought about all that he had just learned about this man, and he tried something. He stroked and sucked and pumped at Hutch, thinking about the kinds of attentions he enjoyed himself. When Hutch got close, Starsky kept up his teasing manipulation of Hutch’s balls, and his firm grasp at the base of the erection, but he quickly pulled his mouth away, to gasp out a few words, before starting over. “Oh God, you’re wonderful,” and “You’re beautiful,” and “I love you.” Starsky found that the words stimulated Hutch as much as the physical contact did—his poor partner was that starved for praise. In fact, the semen started gushing from him as Starsky was telling him he loved him, his mouth not even touching him. Starsky had to quickly catch at the pulsing erection with his mouth, engulfing the spurting organ, and getting his face well splattered. It was a first. And he loved it.

It was the ‘I love you’ that did it, he thought dizzily to himself as he swallowed the liquid greedily. I did it to him with a word. I can do this to him with a single word.

He let Hutch wipe his face clean afterwards with soft exploring fingers, as they lazed in the bed. And he wiped tears from Hutch’s face. The man just couldn’t get over the novelty of being truly, finally, well-loved. “Hey, partner.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the jacket.”

“Oh, that. You’re welcome.” There was a beat of silence before Hutch added, “You like the watch, too?”

Starsky stared at him, open-mouthed.

Hutch laughed. “You keep your mouth open like that, you’re gonna tempt me to dive back in, sweetheart.”

“You… you bought me that watch? I thought I misplaced it! You sneak!” Starsky’s left hand was under Hutch, cradling his waist, but he made a show of taking a swipe at Hutch with his right.

Hutch dodged it, grinning. “I just loved you so much, Starsk. I had to do something.”

“Well, I guess it’s hard to get mad at that.”

“I want you to keep the money.”

“No way. I’m not takin’ ten thousand dollars from nobody.”

“But I want you to have it. I was never going to use it.”

Starsky thought about it. “Tell you what, blondie. Let’s make it our money, okay? We’ll use it for stuff we wanna get together. Like maybe a down payment on a house, or if you don’t want that, then maybe vacations or something. How does that sound?”

Hutch made a little involuntary choking noise, then took a second to find his voice. “It sounds like you want to make this permanent.”

“That surprise you?”

“Starsky, you just found out you’re dealing with the most insecure man on the planet. I’m surprised when I come home from work and none of my plants have left me.”

Starsky had to laugh at that. The man knows himself. That meant there was a good chance he could get Hutch out of this awful pattern his life had thrown him into. A few years of Starsky devotion ought to make a good start.

“To answer your question, you big, beautiful blond, yeah, I wanna make this permanent. Me and Thee, always.”

“Me and Thee.”

Starsky felt Hutch relax then, maybe more relaxed than he’d been in years. With complete confidence and trust, Hutch laid his head down on the dark fur on Starsky’s chest and simply fell asleep.

Starsky petted the fine golden head, and wondered what gifts Hutch hadn’t told him about, the ones that were still to be discovered in the years ahead.