Playing Barber

Hutch decides it is time to remove the hair from his lip.

Written for the Mustache Fic Challenge posted at the LJ Starsky_Hutch comm.

My grateful thanks to Quoshara and Dawnebeth for their help. All remaining errors are mine.

Hutch glanced inside the paper bag and frowned. “What the hell? I told you I’d do it, Starsky. You didn’t have to—”

“Hey, give me that back.” Starsky hastily snatched the bag out of Hutch’s hands.

“What? Did you think I’d renege on our deal? I said I’d do it when you got reinstated, and you did, and I will.” Hutch put on a show of being affronted, but he couldn’t disguise the pride and the love he felt. He knew it radiated from him, he could no more hide it than he could stop breathing. Starsky had beaten the odds and, come next week, was going to be back on the job. It had been a tough road, full of pain, sweat, and tears, but as far as Starsky was concerned, it had been the only road, and he had committed his heart and soul to making it back. He fought for it, as hard as Hutch had ever seen him fight, as fiercely as he had ever fought against the criminals on their beat. Hutch felt privileged to have been right there by his side, through it all.

“No, no, I believe you. I just want to, ah, participate.” Starsky grinned brightly. “C’mon, let’s go home.” They left the store, Hutch wondering what Starsky meant. He found out soon enough.

No sooner had they walked into Starsky’s place when Starsky said, “Okay, sit back and gimme a few minutes to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Hutch asked suspiciously.

“You’ll see.” Starsky disappeared into the bathroom.

Hutch could hear loud, happy humming over the sound of running water, and thought briefly about making a run for it. Curiosity got the better of him, though, so after shedding his jacket and holster, he stretched out on the sofa to wait. He yawned and closed his eyes.

It had been a great day, but a long and emotional one, culminating with the official announcement of Starsky’s reinstatement, and Hutch was pretty well played out. He was glad for the upcoming weekend off, for the time to recharge. Then—Monday. He’d have his partner back on the job, back at his side, where he belonged. It would be desk duty at first, naturally, but that was okay. Hell, it was more than okay—it was a dream come true.

He had almost fallen asleep when he heard Starsky’s cheerful “Here we go, all set!” Hutch opened his eyes as Starsky reappeared with a towel slung over his shoulder and a large, steaming bowl in his hands. Starsky carefully set it down on the coffee table. Hutch peered inside; the bowl was full of hot water and there was another towel, soaking in it.

Starsky opened the package of stuff he had bought earlier and pulled out a pair of scissors, a razor, a shaving brush, a mug, and a can of shaving cream. “Ready?”

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing?”

Starsky replied, in complete seriousness, “I’m gonna give you a shave, Hutch.”

“Oh, no—” Hutch got to his feet, but before he could take a step, Starsky grabbed his arm.

“Oh, yes.”

“Don’t be silly, I can shave myself,” Hutch protested, but Starsky stopped him, pressing his fingers against Hutch’s mouth.

“You’ll like this, I promise. Just relax.” Starsky’s voice was gentle and calming. He ran his thumb along the edge of the mustache, ruffling the hairs and making Hutch’s lip tingle. “You’ve been going like crazy for the past month, working your ass off, helping me get ready. I think it’s time we do something for you, for a change.”

God, when he turned it on, there was nothing more irresistible than Starsky’s sexy charm, and Hutch was instantly intoxicated. He leaned in and caught up Starsky’s mouth with his own.

The kiss was passionate, but brief. Starsky broke it off, saying, “Mmm, nice, but don’t think you can distract me. Now, sit down, get comfy, and let me take care of you.”

Hutch gave in, sat, and examined the paraphernalia Starsky had lined up on the table. He picked up the items one by one. The shaving brush was real badger hair—silvertip, like the one his grandfather used to use. He eyed the straight razor warily.

Starsky took the towel that was over his shoulder and draped it around Hutch’s neck, across his chest. “Lean back,” he commanded, as he picked up the scissors. Hutch obeyed, and Starsky trimmed the mustache down to stubble.

Starsky reached gingerly into the bowl, pulled out the hot cloth, and squeezed out the water. He looked down at Hutch. “Close your eyes.”

Hutch did, and felt soothing, moist heat enveloping him as the towel was wrapped around his face. Nirvana. Hutch couldn’t help the sigh of pleasure that escaped him. “Ah…”

Starsky snickered knowingly. “Told you you’d like it.”

Hutch was too blissed out to reply. He let himself drift in the comforting warmth, listening to Starsky humming again as he puttered with the shaving cream. The normalcy of it all felt so good, so right. Hutch felt the warmth slip inside and grow and spread all through him. Not that Starsky shaving him was normal, of course. It was so very not normal, but in a good way. Kind of a hot way, in fact, and he didn’t mean the towel, either. It—

Hutch’s wandering thoughts quickly returned to the matter at hand when Starsky pulled the cloth away. The air felt cool for a moment, then foamy lather was being spread across his face; soft, sweeping strokes that covered his cheeks, his upper lip, his chin, and down under his jaw. He inhaled deeply through his nose, enjoying the clean, crisp scent of the cream.

“Babe?”

Hutch peeled open his lids. Starsky was unfolding the razor. He stared at the wickedly sharp instrument for a moment, then looked at Hutch, one brow raised.

Hutch winked, shut his eyes again, and tilted his head back further, offering himself up to Starsky. He felt Starsky’s whispered “love you” brush past his ear and a kiss dropped lightly against his temple. Then the razor’s edge drew across the plane of his face.

Hutch had had barbershop shaves before on a couple of occasions, but this—this was something else entirely. What Starsky might have lacked in experience was more than made up for by his intimate knowledge of Hutch. The smooth, sensual glide of the blade across Hutch’s skin was deft and sure; his touch, almost reverential.

Hutch felt no fear. Straight razor or no, he was always safe in his partner’s hands.

Hutch opened his eyes after Starsky wiped off the last traces of cream. Starsky was leaning over him, watching, with a self-satisfied look on his face. Hutch fingered his upper lip carefully. It felt naked, exposed… and oddly sensual. Hutch decided to test out the new lip and wipe away Starsky’s smug expression in one fell swoop.

When they parted for air, Starsky said huskily, “Guess that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

Hutch rubbed his newly-shorn face against Starsky’s shadowed one, the sandpapery roughness sending sparks all along the sensitized surface. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. “Makes me want to grow it back, just so you can do that again.”

“Nuh-uh, I think it’s my turn,” Starsky countered. “I look pretty damn good with a mustache—a real one,” he interjected before Hutch could make a smart-ass remark. “Then you can be the one to play barber.”

“Hey, what happened to ‘doing something’ for me?” Hutch teased.

“Oh, I ain’t done doing you yet, babe. That’s gonna take the rest of our lives.” Starsky ran his fingers over the smoothness once more. A promise.

“Good thing we got the weekend free,” Hutch murmured, pulling Starsky back in. “Let’s get started.”