Pillow Talk

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They talk, among other things.

 

With much love and thanks to SC_Fossil for the beta.

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“Now that was a good day’s work!” Starsky’s triumphant voice floated in from down the hall, and although Hutch couldn’t see him, he knew his partner was probably doing a little victory dance in the bathroom. Smiling to himself, he finished undressing and sprawled out on the bed.

“Sure was,” he replied. “Walker and his goons are going away for a very long time.”

Starsky sauntered into the bedroom wearing a smile, and nothing but. “So, you think Dobey will let us take some vacation time now?”

“I don’t know. We’re still slated to appear in court tomorrow for the Haverston trial.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have anything scheduled after that.” Starsky poked Hutch in the ribs, who rolled over to make room. Starsky spooned up against Hutch’s back and wrapped his arms around him. “I wanna go to Vegas.”

“Hell, no. You know why they call it ‘Lost Wages,’ don’t you?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Starsky wheedled. “I’ll even let you drive.”

Hutch snorted, unimpressed. “Now I know you’re desperate, buddy. You’ll go in my car?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I’ll let you drive, I didn’t say it’d be in your car.”

“I am not driving your soup can!” Hutch protested.

“Okay, I’ll drive then, no problem,” Starsky said artlessly. Hutch sighed again.

“What am I gonna do with you, partner?”

Starsky pressed a kiss on the nape of his neck. “Just love me, babe.”

“I do love you, mushbrain, but it’s my turn to choose our vacation spot, remember? C’mon, fair’s fair. I’ve already got a place picked out, up in the foothills. It’s really nice, I promise,” Hutch said.

Starsky shuddered and grumbled, “Shit, no way. You know that’s a bad idea.”

“It’ll do you good. Fresh air, clean living….”

“I’m allergic to fresh air,” Starsky complained, “and clean living ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. You’re just being mean. I think you want me to get eaten by rabid bears, attacked by crazy Satanists, bitten by vampire mosquitoes and poisonous snakes, and—hey!” His armful of warm Hutch was suddenly gone. “Wait, where’re you goin’?”

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch.” Exasperated, Hutch grabbed his pillow. “I’m tired of this argument. If you want to renege on the deal so badly that you have to bring that up, you can just stay here in this nice, comfortable bed—alone.” He headed toward the living room.

“No, hey, I’m sorry. Look, that was stupid. I didn’t mean it, ‘kay?” When that got no response, he reluctantly threw in the towel. “Jeez, Hutch! Okay already, we’ll go camping.”

He had no sooner said the words when 180 pounds of partner landed on him. Warm lips against his ear breathed, “Gotcha!”

Starsky groused, “Hutchinson, you son of a bitch, that’s dirty pool.”

“No, babe, that’s love and war,” was the cocky response.

“Oh, yeah?” Starsky growled. “I’ll show you war—!”

He twisted and flipped them both over, putting himself on top. In a flash, Hutch fought back, and they rolled around, grappling like bear cubs—all enthusiasm, no finesse.

Starsky had the advantage of the first strike, but they were both panting, flushed, and aroused by the time he had his partner where he wanted him, pinned down and immobile. He drank in the sight, then drawled, “Now, for the love.” He slid down and took Hutch in his mouth, started doing things with his lips and tongue that should have been illegal, and probably were, somewhere.

Hutch gave himself up to the sensations that washed over his body, that radiated from what his partner was doing to him. His world narrowed down to one point of blinding light, then that light exploded into a million iridescent sparks that rained down, soft as glitter.

Starsky raised his head and moved back up to lie next to Hutch. Hutch looked totally spent and Starsky couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. But as they kissed, Hutch carded his fingers into the thick dark curls, held his head close, and gave back as good as he got. When they drew apart for breath, Hutch raised an eyebrow and warned, “Don’t look so damned smug. Payback’s a bitch, you know.”

Starsky felt a shiver of anticipation. “Talk is cheap, hotshot. Prove it.”

“Mmm. Just gimme a minute.”

Starsky spread himself out on the blanket like a picnic feast and waited. He figured he was in for swift retaliation—was kind of counting on it, in fact—and prepared himself for the assault. Hutch, however, had other ideas.

Hutch sat up and for an eternity just looked at him, his eyes impossibly bright. Starsky was drawn in, into the love all tangled up tight with the desire. It wrapped around him, held him in bonds he would never break, even if he could.

“Gonna make you fly, partner,” Hutch murmured, husky and low, and began working his magic.

Hutch cupped Starsky’s face gently before drawing his fingers lightly down his neck, feather-light touches that sent electric sparks skittering down Starsky’s nerve endings. He stroked along the length of each collarbone, back and forth, barely-there brushes that threatened to short-circuit Starsky’s brain.

A sheen of sweat broke out all over Starsky’s body. This man knew him too well; knew where to tease with the softest of touches, where to nip and bite and pinch for the greatest effect. It seemed to go on forever, and all the while, Hutch completely ignored the point of Starsky’s greatest need.

Finally Starsky reached his limit, one more second and he’d go completely crazy. He reached down….

Hutch casually blocked the groping hand. “Ah, ah, ah.” He gave Starsky a wicked grin. “That’s mine. Don’t touch.”

“Well, you touch it then! Damn it, Hutch,” he groaned desperately, “you gonna make me beg for it?”

The grin fell away, softening into the warm smile Starsky loved best.

“Never, babe. All I’ve got is yours.” Hutch then lowered his head and proceeded to give Starsky everything he wanted.