Please…

Table of Contents

Starsky & Hutch on a hot Bay City summer day and night. Hutch has a shiny new earring to tempt his partner. Slap & tickle ensue. This is a love story. These guys love each other with dedication and passion, through silences and insecurities, and all through the night…

Thanks to Nancy for the idea of Hutch’s earring. Thanks to Tiber & shadow for editing and beta work.

Feedback welcome – barricadesofheaven.angel@gmail.com

Chapter 1: “The Mark”

“Quite a day we had, huh, partner?”

Starsky rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and grimaced. His left knee still throbbed under the bruises, courtesy of a collision with the edge of yet another dumpster while chasing yet another perp down a filthy unnamed alley. He and his partner seemed to draw a short straw on the streets every single day this entire hot summer – throwing themselves into frays, breaking up fights, booking more bad guys than they could count.

Damn. It’s endless and it’s soulless.

For every criminal they took down, another stepped up to bat. Most times, he believed that the arc of their professional lives slowly climbed toward the good. Other times, like today, he was just sick of the whack-a-mole and sick of the race.

He found his beer bottle on the kitchen counter and took a thirsty pull, his throat muscles working as he swallowed. Bits of debris flecked from his hair onto the counter, backstreet confetti following him home. He shrugged.

“I said it was a damn long hot day, right buddy?”

Silence.

Starsky glanced across the room toward Hutch, his tall blond partner and lover. He shook his head and snorted at the sight.

Hutch was sprawled on the sofa, oblivious to words or motion. His head was tipped onto the back of the couch with both arms outstretched on either side. His long legs were propped on the coffee table and his blue eyes were closed. His chest moved up and down with the evenness of slumber.

Starsky’s deep blue gaze raked over his sleeping partner. Lamplight accentuated the long arch of Hutch’s exposed throat. The soft glow intensified the gleam of a simple stud earring adorning Hutch’s left ear.

A white gold earring brushed by white gold hair.

Starsky shifted, weight favoring his right foot. A familiar gut-clenching hunger within him overpowered innocent fondness. On days like this – the bad days, hurried and throwaway – the hunger felt tinged with darkness. He returned to his Hutch-watching. That old frantic longing he struggled to understand reared and beckoned. It was prowling within him now, hunting and hungry.

Hutch. Look at you – white gold threaded through your earlobe. White gold piercing you.

Starsky licked his dry lips and took another gulp of cold beer, relishing the sharp taste. He set the bottle down and rubbed his hands on his jeans, bruises and aches momentarily forgotten.

In five quick steps he was across the small room. Toeing out of his blue tennis shoes, he carefully stepped between Hutch’s propped legs. His hands pressed his partner’s thighs open wide enough to settle in. Sitting on the coffee table, he leaned forward, his fingers fumbling with the row of snaps on the front of Hutch’s denim shirt. Each snap pulled loose with a satisfying click. He pushed the cloth out of the way to expose Hutch’s smooth chest and strong shoulders.

Hutch shifted and mumbled something that sounded like music.

Starsky slid his fingertips along Hutch’s ribcage, his eyes focused on Hutch’s face for a reaction. He drummed each rib lightly, savoring the touch of steel skinned in velvet.

Hutch swallowed and tossed his head to the side. The white gold earring shone like a new star in the summer sky.

Irresistible.

Starsky pressed forward, weight balanced on his knees pressed into the sofa cushions. His right hand cupped Hutch’s jaw, his left closed around a handful of flaxen hair. With a low sigh, he tilted, mouth opening.

He first laid claim to the tender spot under Hutch’s jawline, blessing it with a tap dance of tiny kisses. Fingers tightening, his tongue lapped the angle of jaw up to Hutch’s left earlobe. With a slow heated groan, he nibbled the sweat warmth of the flesh and tasted the metal tang of gold. He settled into work, tongue swirling over the earring and playfully darting into the ear canal.

Hutch whimpered, his hands curling.

“Don’t move babe.” Starsky’s whisper carried the urgency of a shouted command.

Hutch froze, stilled and willing under his touch.

Starsky’s teeth grazed the earring, tugging and pushing back, his tongue in a languid wet dance. His fingers slid to cradle Hutch’s face.

Hutch’s breathing was shallow, his lips parted. His eyes were open to slits of blue fringed with pale golden lashes.

In slow motion, Starsky’s mouth covered Hutch’s, an aching kiss as gentle as silk. Hutch’s mouth was Starsky’s constant obsession – all moist and warm and playful and hungry. His tongue lapped at Hutch’s, greedy and exploring. His heart soared when his kisses pulled moans of desire from Hutch’s throat.

Just as my kisses always do, beautiful boy.

“Baby blue. Shameless waif.” Starsky whispered the teasing words into Hutch’s panting mouth. His fingers tweaked Hutch’s nipples in unison. Hard.

Hutch garbled the words, his gaze wider now and lit with pure fire.

“Starsk. P-please.”

“Please what, baby?” Starsky pressed a hand to the hinge of Hutch’s jaw, forcing his mouth wider. He deepened his kisses, gears shifting from tender to rough as he drank in Hutch’s taste and smell and need.

Hutch lurched under his hands.

“I said don’t move, Hutch. I said it and I meant it.” An order.

“Please.”

“So polite. Mine is so polite.” Starsky’s teasing mouth abandoned Hutch’s. He looked into the frantic depths of that familiar sky blue gaze. And was breathless from the questions he saw there.

His Hutch. So brave, so confident on the streets. Yet so uncertain, so hesitant in his own skin and his own feelings. His Hutch. So capable of tangling himself up in complicated, self-imposed locks.

But here. Now. Those light eyes. Starsky saw fragments of trust warring with eternal shadows. The transparent longing on Hutch’s face begged him to understand, deliver the answers to his needs, and still love him when passion dissolved into slumber.

“Please.” Hutch’s voice was strained with desperation.

“You want.” Starsky’s hands wandered randomly over Hutch’s half-clothed body, dark blue eyes narrowing as he watched his partner’s reaction. Hutch’s pale skin was flushed with a lust fever, dew droplets of sweat evident on his forehead and bare chest. With each exploring touch – shoulders, ribs, flat belly, neck, earring – he felt Hutch shiver. He felt Hutch arch up into the strokes, pressing and coaxing Starsky’s touch to the one place not yet fondled – the place where the needs churned and leapt like flames.

Starsky teased. Smiled. Teased. His mouth opened Hutch’s in a searing kiss and his strong hands finally slid down, squeezing through the denim at the tightness trapped at Hutch’s crotch.

Hutch cried out, his sounds ragged and keening.

“Starsk. Starsk. Please.”

“Beautiful boy. Beautiful golden man.” His tongue teased more primitive sounds from Hutch.

Starsky unfastened Hutch’s belt and the button of his jeans.

“Should I love you, Hutch?” He opened the zipper of Hutch’s jeans and pushed his thumb blunt against Hutch’s cockhead. The fabric was damp with pre-cum.

“You’re pouring for me already, baby.” Starsky swiped his thumb against Hutch’s cock slit, dipping into the wetness. He slowly placed the thumb into Hutch’s mouth. “Taste it, Hutch. This is what I do to you.”

Hutch’s eyes were nearly unfocused. “P-please.”

“Beggar. Thief. Partner. Lover.”

With each loving-mocking word, Starsky’s mouth found a different place to taste. He settled back to nuzzle the white gold earring, laving along the rim with his darting tongue. His hands played Hutch, finally gripping Hutch’s cock shaft. A tight squeeze. One stroke.

God. Sweet. Sweet.

Coaxing admissions of need from Hutch was like coaxing steady speed from a magnificent thoroughbred. So. Fucking Satisfying.

Starsky exhaled slowly. His own need threatened to tear his body and soul apart. That darkness, never vanquished entirely from his soul, reared to the forefront – a storm only Hutch could summon and only Hutch could calm.

“Is there a part of you I can’t have tonight, Hutch?”

Starsky knew Hutch wanted to touch him so badly…his blond lover’s hands were clenched white into fists along the back of the sofa. The dark love in him smiled.

“Please.” That soft voice again, reed thin.

Starsky half staggered to his feet, stepping over Hutch’s legs. He walked around behind the sofa and placed a hand on Hutch’s left earlobe. The earring, that damn earring – as intoxicating as 100 proof whiskey, gleaming against pale skin and golden hair.

Is gold an aphrodisiac?

“Stand up, Hutch. Stand up and strip.”

Starsky leaned over, captured Hutch’s lips in one more kiss.

“Everything off, babe. Everything but the earring.”

…Please…

Chapter 2: “The Marksman”

“I said strip down.” The impatience in his own voice surprised Starsky. Seeing Hutch bare-chested with jeans already slid down those lean hips threw him into an overdrive nothing would satisfy except that body against his until they were both sweat-drenched and spent. He tensed, jaw locked.

Two pairs of blue eyes met, Hutch’s lit with a blend of lust fire and confusion. Starsky noticed the red flush of blood on Hutch’s cheeks and chest.

A deep surge of love shot through him – like a fist constricting his heart.

Love. I love this man.

Hutch froze in place, mouth slightly open.

Starsky reached down to Hutch’s exposed body and delivered him one long punishing cock stroke, fist tight and rough – a wordless warning shot.

Hutch gasped and tumbled into motion.

Starsky crossed his arms and waited, eyes raking along Hutch’s moving form, admiring the tautness of the tall body as Hutch reared forward to his feet and stumbled against the coffee table. Shaking fingers abandoned the denim shirt on the sofa, the boots and socks were kicked away in one motion with jeans and underwear next – discarded puddles inches from Starsky’s toes.

Watching Hutch undress was like seeing a strong supple tree bending in a windstorm, blurred limbs against brightness. Uncoiled strength. Starsky’s eyes travelled appreciatively over Hutch from head to toe.

Hutch tilted his head. His earring reflected an arc of brilliant light under the deeper gold of his hair.

Naked white flesh adorned in precious white gold.

Starsky shivered.

Hutch’s frantic eyes held his in a silent question. He locked his fingers behind his neck in slow motion, hips thrust forward, naked cockhead brushing Starsky’s crotch in a teasing dance. Taking a chance, his left hand reached for contact with Starsky’s body.

“No touching.” Starsky stepped back. “You know that. No touching. And no talking.”

He moved behind Hutch, a press of his denim-clad crotch to Hutch’s naked ass. His left hand snaked around and grasped Hutch’s cock shaft.

Hutch snapped back against him, tight as a piano wire, releasing a strangled sound.

Prodding from behind, Starsky steered Hutch to the pine kitchen table. His right foot kicked, throwing his tall partner off balance just as his hand gripping Hutch’s shoulder roughly shoved him counterclockwise.

Hutch slammed face up on the table with a loud thud, legs braced wide for balance. Starsky heard Hutch’s sharp exhale of surprise.

Starsky’s left hand fist tangled in the blond hair, stretching Hutch’s head back. Releasing his own feral growl, his other hand slid over Hutch’s nakedness – hasty fingertips and impatient strokes.

“Arms back over your head, Hutch.” Hutch silently obeyed, the pull of lambent limbs turning his belly concave with strain. His hands gripped the edge of the table. Starsky settled his hands in a firm hold on Hutch’s hips. He tipped forward, nuzzling a wet kiss into Hutch’s belly button, starting a burning wet path upward across stomach, sternum, neck, left ear.

He nibbled the gold earring lazily as he increased the pressure of his fingertips on Hutch’s hips.

Hutch’s cock jutted out, seeking the softness of faded Starsky’s jeans. Starsky ignored it. Hutch propelled up again, a tantrum of voiceless desire, begging for attention. Starsky stared him down, deep blue eyes broadcasting a private invitation.

“Show me what you need, Hutch.” Starsky’s open palm started and repeated a well-rehearsed move, grinding down on Hutch’s dripping cock slit for a moment before snatching his hand away.

Hutch’s body heaved and fell, thrusting, a chorus of forlorn moans ripped from his throat as he was denied contact with Starsky’s body.

That’s it. Dance for me baby. Thrust all you want. All you’re humping is air. Until I decide otherwise.

Starsky closed his eyes, lust skyrocketing, as powerful as a blast furnace. A siren voice from within taunted him to reach out, seal Hutch’s body around him like a glove and take him down in one rapid agonizing ride.

No. No. *I* need too baby blue. I need a full meal tonight – not a few quick bites – I need to savor every mouthful.

He heard Hutch’s whimper escape from behind clenched teeth. He smiled.

You think you’re crazed now. Check back with me later. If you have any brain cells left firing by then.

Starsky shifted to the other side of the table, perpendicular to Hutch’s stretched form. He grasped Hutch’s cockhead, his right pinky finger wedging into Hutch’s wet cock slit. In unison his left forefinger coaxed Hutch’s mouth open. His lips joined the finger sliding into and tasting Hutch’s mouth. He probed the depths there until Hutch rose and fell in his own prison of red madness.

“Who owns you, babe? Do you know? Do you understand?”

He whispered the words against Hutch’s mouth. Hutch’s tongue slid across his in answer.

Starsky delivered him a tormenting cock stroke, his throat greedily swallowing Hutch’s wordless sounds.

That’s it babe. If you need to cry out, you cry out into me.

Hutch’s fingernails clawed the table’s surface.

“I can work you like this for hours, sweet boy. Ride you right to the edge and then send you back. I’ve done it before. You know that. Don’t you?”

He felt more than heard Hutch’s groan of agreement.

Starsky’s teasing voice was punctuated by his hand sliding back and under, stroking the heaviness of Hutch’s balls. He settled in to play, hands and mouth working until Hutch’s body slicked with sweat.

Starsky bracketed his hands together and pressed them on Hutch’s ribcage.

Hutch hissed – a pure sound of startled pain.

Starsky pulled back immediately. He stood and looked closely at Hutch’s body. He noticed the fading bruises just under Hutch’s lower ribs, previously invisible in the lamplight. Lifting his hands from the bruises, he remembered the hell hot afternoon and how they got there. He’d arrived seconds too late to prevent a fast moving whack job from kicking Hutch in the ribs during a foot chase gone bad. In the end, the good guys won. But seeing the dark bruises marking Hutch’s flesh had fired deep, dangerous feelings that he usually locked deliberately out of reach.

Now that dangerous hunger flooded back, carrying the ruthless heat of summer and the stench of the streets.

Setting the stage.

For this.

Starsky stroked the bruises lightly with the backs of his hands.

“I don’t like it, Hutch.”

Hutch whimpered at the abandonment of Starsky’s mouth.

Starsky bent over, lips in a bite-kiss-bite-kiss dance around the bruises.

“The only bruises I like on your body are the ones I put there.”

He lifted Hutch’s head and held it, admiring the lust-daze in Hutch’s light eyes. Hutch peered from under his lashes, his lower lip trembling.

“St-Starsk-“

“Wrong.” Starsky moved his mouth to Hutch’s left ear and tongued the white gold earring. He could feel Hutch’s labored breathing on his cheek.

“Not ‘Starsk.’ Not now. Do you understand?”

“Starsk –” Hutch shivered.

Starsky’s hand punished Hutch, delivering long, carefully controlled pulls on his cock flesh, the harshness tossing Hutch’s body upward in a blend of pain and pleasure.

“Do you understand, Hutch?”

Hutch shuddered. Whispered. “Yes. Y-yes.”

Starsky’s need crested, adrenaline-fueled and blood crimson.

Dear. God.

“Roll over, Hutch.”

Starsky softened the sharp bite of his command with another deep kiss, reveling in the wet retreat of Hutch’s mouth. His hands levered under Hutch’s thighs, easing him up and over onto his stomach.

“I’m going to fuck you tonight, baby blue.”

Hutch’s back tensed. His face turned to the side, cheek resting on the tabletop, arms crucified out, white knucklescurled around the edges of the table.

The blond head bobbed once. Understanding.

“It might hurt. I might not be able to help myself.”

Hutch’s hips lifted. Accepting.

Starsky’s heart pounded – an anticipatory rush.

Preparing Hutch was like tuning a fine automobile – too little effort and his lover’s self-sabotaging logic took over. Too much and Hutch latched only to the physical while the emotional zoned out of reach.

He is like a meteor falling to earth – a brilliant glow in dark skies.

Starsky skimmed out of his clothes, his naked body hard and lean. The lamp glow dappled the ripples of perfectly formed muscle – back, chest, buttocks. His dark curls were burnished auburn in the soft light. His cock thrust upward and out in freedom, aching and hard. Clear drops of his pre-cum painted the back of Hutch’s right thigh. With a groan of anticipation, he spread his body over Hutch’s sprawled form.

Hutch’s gasp at the sudden weight morphed into a sigh of pleasure.

Starsky rubbed his chest hair on Hutch’s smooth back, the friction instantly reddening Hutch’s paler flesh. He reached up and speared three slender fingers into Hutch’s mouth.

“Wet them down good. You know their next stop.”

Hutch’s mouth opened obediently, bathing the press of fingers.

Starsky rocked slightly, letting Hutch feel the rebar hardness of his cock along the cleft of his ass cheeks.

He loved the magic of opening Hutch’s body – a sensation that never dulled, never faded. He loved the sensual expanse of Hutch and the way love, appropriately delivered, vanquished Hutch’s moods and obsessively looping mind games.

I love knowing I’m the only man who touches you this way, blue boy.

Starsky stood back between Hutch’s spread legs, fingers of his right hand drenched in Hutch’s saliva. His left hand urged Hutch up onto his forearms on the table. Hutch’s cock angled along the plane of the tabletop. His golden head hung down between his propped arms, his eyes closed.

Starsky held his breath and placed the three wet fingers at Hutch’s opening. With a hiss, he pushed in slow and careful, finding resistance in the first ring of muscle. The tightness cramped his fingers. He waited, letting Hutch adjust. His body tripped like a switch back and forth between Hutch’s need and his own.

Hutch’s slow whimper was too far away to soothe with kisses.

He pressed his fingers deeper, the blistering heat of Hutch’s body transferring from his fingertips to his cock – electric pulses riding him like a raft on a river. Desire became a devil at the edge of his sight as he carefully but steadily worked, stretching Hutch inch by inch, forcing him to accept the intrusion. He found a rhythm and rode it in piston motions, fingers knuckle deep in Hutch’s tight channel.

Hutch lowered his forehead, pressed into the table, shoulders shaking, breath like a bellows.

“Take it Hutch. Accept it. That’s all you can do.”

Starsky knew the long minutes of repeated stroking burned Hutch’s body like hot metal. Sweat beaded like diamonds on Hutch’s back. His breath became a melody of sobs and moans. Somewhere in the jumble of the sounds, Starsky hear Hutch whisper his name.

Starsky’s voice was gentle in contrast the lunge of his fingers owning Hutch’s body – shallow then deep, plunging straight and scissoring.

“Relax into it, Hutch. C’mon – breathe.”

Hutch wilted.

Starsky hooked his fingers and jabbed, glancing Hutch’s prostate in a waterfall of repeated blows. Hutch’s body arched back, legs widening in reaction. His cry nearly shattered Starsky’s heart.

“StarskStarskPleasePleasePlease-“

No one else saw Hutch this way. Lost. Wanting. Asking.

Me. This belongs to me.

Starsky’s free hand lovingly stroked Hutch’s sides to center him.

“LoveofGodPlease.” Hutch’s voice was ragged, lust blinded, as he begged.

Starsky’s fingers answered, pressed inside the heat of Hutch’s body, stroking and teasing. He knew Hutch was trip-wired from the prolonged handling, body locked in a spasm, lips moving, eyes blue slits of madness.

Hutch’s cock rutted on the table top. He pushed up onto hands, back arching like a cobra, head thrown back, tugging Starsky’s fingers deeper. Starsky rammed fingers to the hilt and held, lazily strumming Hutch’s prostate, nailing him over and over.

Hutch screamed. “Aggghhhhh! Please—“

“No.” Stansky’s finger’s continued their torturous play. He felt Hutch recoil, a diver caught in midair longing for the tumble from thin air to safety.

“Please – ”

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s cock root and squeezed. Hard.

“I said no. You’ll hold or I tie you off.”

Hutch growled his frustration. Strung out.

Starsky felt the ravenous wolf within him bound free.

Edging…edging…edging…

Starsky gripped Hutch around the waist and tugged, balance off center by the weight and heavy limbs. Locked together, they slid sideways and down to the floor, landing on the orange shag carpet with arms and legs entangled.

Starsky held Hutch against him, cock to cock and chest to chest. He felt Hutch’s labored breathing. Inhaled the familiar scents of soap and clean sweat and musk.

And nearly shot his load that second.

He guided Hutch onto his back, his hands cupped behind Hutch’s shoulder blades, supporting him slightly off the floor. His blunt cockhead stroked a path down from Hutch’s balls to perineum to buttocks.

Hutch lay panting, body open and eyes closed, fingers raking the shag carpet. Starsky grunted as he lifted each of Hutch’s long legs over his own shoulders. The position tilted Hutch backward slightly, exposing him all the more. His trapped cock drooled, rock-hard. Needy.

Starsky coated his cock with massage oil from a small bottle he’d managed to drop in the vicinity of the kitchen table earlier. The scents of cedar wood and lemongrass blended in the air and transferred to Hutch’s flesh in pinpoint touches from Starsky’s fingertips. He flicked a drop over Hutch’s cockhead and rubbed lightly.

Hutch arched.

Starsky steadied him, hands firm on Hutch’s sternum. Then he gripped his cock root and positioned the rounded head at Hutch’s opening. He saw the pleading madness of Hutch’s unblinking gaze.

Sweet.

He braced at the tightness of Hutch’s opening, pushed in slightly. The muscles suckled around his cockhead. He heard Hutch’s inward gasp for air at the intrusion. He stopped – waited for the ragged exhale telling him that Hutch was ready for more. He gritted his teeth and cast his mind far from the reality of the blond man sprawled for his taking.

Stop riding the clutch, Starsky. Think about the colors of the rainbow. Bowling scores. Pizza. Anything.

As deliberately dialed back, the pressure eased, softening his hunger. Satisfied, he punched in farther, his cock now semi-hard, easing the pathway into the grip of Hutch’s body. He sank deeper and deeper still, his low moans blending with Hutch’s. His cock slowly probed its way into Hutch’s heart space. His fingers tested Hutch’s belly, trying to find the outline of his cock buried inside.

When there was no more of Hutch to stretch or open, Starsky folded and gripped Hutch by the shoulders. Pleasure stained red washing over him as the tightness of Hutch’s body gripped. He rocked his hips, hair-trigger, cock swelling to full hardness.

Hutch groaned as the girth within him increased, stretching him wider. Starsky thrust once, carefully, testing. The smothering blanket of Hutch’s heat drew his balls up until pressed against Hutch’s ass.

Hutch’s eyes were hooded. The white gold earring glowed under a single beam of light.

Dear. Fucking. Gods.

Starsky reared back and plowed Hutch’s tight channel in full strokes, his cockhead pulling out at each back stroke and driving home in one full movement. Hutch bucked under him, gasping at the pounding pace Starsky set. Cries spilled from Hutch’s lips as the duet of pain and pleasure switched sides. His moans dripped with need, his body wanton and begging as Starsky drove them both toward a freefall.

Starsky growled under his breath, delivering viper strikes to Hutch’s gland, impaling him heart deep. He accelerated, piling driving and retreating – slamming forward and arching back. His heart trip-hammered, cock pummeling, muscles clenching and smoothing. Sweat dripped from their damp skin, its fragrance blending with the oil.

Hutch’s blond head shook, neck tendons corded, beyond understanding or caring. Starsky felt the tremors in the lean body; saw the lack of control in the wide blue eyes.

And felt a scrambling of signals in his own mind.

Starsky slammed forward, lifting Hutch on his cock shaft, stretching to meet the wetness of Hutch’ mouth. His tongue darted in and retreated in time to the rapid stroking he delivered inside of Hutch’s body. Hutch panted under the dual assault, his cock kissing the ridges of Starsky’s ribs. He whimpered as Starsky’s fingers moved and explored his stretched opening.

Starsky slammed home and bucked with short jackhammer blows, mouth sliding from Hutch’s, hands gripping Hutch’s thighs in an attempt to cement them together in that heart stopping second when his balls climbed up near his gut and the trigger released. His fist wrapped around Hutch’s cock, slippery and stroking. Demanding.

He heard the distorted echo of Hutch’s cries, felt desperate fingers grasp blindly for purchase.

Hutch jerked upward and shot, hot seed splashing on the deeper heat of their flesh, his body clenching down on Starsky’s cock. Starsky’s body went rigid and ricocheted forward in a jet wash of release, thick ropes of cum pouring, searing. He pumped again and again, feeling Hutch’s body milk him dry. Shuddering, he drew back, fuck-lost and spent, nerve-endings sparking as Hutch melted against him.

Groaning, Starsky wobbled back and eased Hutch’s legs down. Hutch’s groan replied as strained muscles unclenched. His cock stayed in place within Hutch’s body until the last second as he slid forward stretched over Hutch’s prone form.

Hutch gasped as the fullness slid from his body.

Starsky soothed him with a long kiss. His fingers threaded into silk-fine strands of white gold hair, his lips gently kissing Hutch’s forehead, his cheeks, his throat.

“You went high this time, partner.” Hutch’s fuck-sated voice was shaky.

“And you went low, partner.” Starsky grinned and kissed Hutch’s chin.

“I can’t move.”

“Then don’t.” Starsky smiled against Hutch’s mouth.

“But wanna touch you.”

“You are touching me, baby blue.”

“Oh.”

Starsky’ grunted and rolled them in unison to their sides, chest to chest. Starsky kissed the hollow of his throat.

Hutch’s sleep heavy blue eyes were filled with a soft glowing light.

“Did I mention I like your earring, Blondie?”

“Ummmmm.” Hutch’s response was drowsy and joyful.

“Maybe we should pierce your belly button next.”

“God help me.” Hutch was a blink away from slumber.

“God help us both.”

Starsky ignored the oppressive summer heat flowing in the open windows, the stickiness of the carpet and the itchiness of sweat and spunk and oil drying on his skin. He pulled Hutch into the circle of his arms and held tight. Clean up be damned. Right now he was safe, holding the answer to years of wishes right against his heart. He gave way to his own exhaustion, slipping into sleep with his mouth nuzzled against the shine of flaxen hair and warm white gold.

…Please…

Chapter 3: “Target Acquired”

A searing heat bled into Starsky’s sleep, burying him under a smothering blanket. He reeled from image to image. Here – entombed in airless darkness. There – stumbling along the edge of an erupting caldera, dodging flaming arrows.

He surfaced, gulping at the murky air as the dreams slithered away. His wide eyes surveyed the bedroom, taking in shadows imitating shapes reflected by neon lights outside. Darkness brought no relief from the earlier heat of the day.

Familiar pain gripped his left leg, the souvenir of chronically overworked muscles blended with recent bruises and rug burns.

Feels like someone yanked out my kneecap, stomped on it, ‘n shoved it back in the wrong place.

He gritted his teeth at the hollow ticking of the alarm clock. He tried propping on one wrist to toss the mechanical pest across the room, but a weight at his center tugged him back. He groaned, pressing a palm to his face, rubbing the sleep away. Hutch’s scent lingered on his fingertips. His elbow collided with a bare shoulder attached to a long, lean body crowned with a head of blond hair.

Hutch – plastered against him, BTUs cranking off of him like steam, nose half-buried in Starsky’s chest. Sweat pooled where their bodies touched and soaked the twisted sheets beneath them.

Starsky watched the dreams and moonlight play across Hutch’s features; admired the curve of the smooth jaw and the high cheekbones. Even in sleep, Hutch sidestepped absolute peace, evidenced by the vertical tension groove between his eyebrows. Starsky smoothed at that stubborn furrow with a rough-tender press of his thumb.

“S-Starsk–” Hutch’s voice was a soft inflection in the half-gloom.

“Yeah, buddy?”

A rapid flicker behind pale eyelashes confirmed that Hutch was still asleep.

“Starsky.” That mellow voice, sleep-addled, confused. “Starsk. Please. I want ….”

Starsky tilted his head.

Please. The same, sorrow-tinged plea again.

He stroked a hand over Hutch’s pale forehead.

“Hey, Hutch. M’here. ” His voice tapered to silence, speech giving way to thought.

Hutch. You drink down doubts like beer. “Want.” “Please.” Huh? Do I seep into your dreams? Am I in there with you now, babe? What do I say? Do I tell you how much I love you? Or do I say I got nothing more to give you? ‘Cause with you, it’s one or the other – no middle ground.

Hutch mumbled, blond head falling back against the pillow.

Hutch. I love you. But dammit, I’m tired of this. What does it take to get through to you – to make you trust me? What’s your burden of proof for love?

Starsky pressed his hands flat against Hutch’s naked shoulders. He hoisted Hutch into the haven of his arms, sliding back against the brass headboard with Hutch’s head on his bare chest. The brush of Hutch’s body triggered familiar desires, those eternally churning needs – blood red and razor sharp. His body strained with impatience and hunger as true as the trajectory of a bullet.

Need and trust and love . The eternal trinity.

Starsky rested a hand on Hutch’s neck and reviewed the facts of the case.

Hutch needed him. No questions there. And Hutch trusted him – with his life, his friendship, his body. Another absolute. But what about off the job, away from banter and bullets and bedroom? Deep veined insecurity was a much a part of Hutch as his fair hair and long legs. And battling Hutch’s doubts constantly landed Starsky on a mental and emotional proving ground where declaring final victory never seemed an option.

I get frustrated. I get impatient. And it boils over, fueled by too many mixed signals ‘n too many times shooting at the same paper targets.

How to connect to Hutch’s insecurity as effortlessly as connecting to his body? How to tame those rogue emotions once and for all?

Enough. No more detours. No turning back.

Hutch’s warm breath, coupled with his weight against Starsky’s groin, was seductive. Distracting.

Wait a minute. He’s asleep. Maybe it’s like that article I read in the paper – about subconscious communication. I can sneak in there. Make him hear the truth. Can’t let him get the drop on me though. Need a diversion.

He felt Hutch’s thigh, heavy and erotic, against his balls. A knife blade of desire raked his spine.

He smiled.

A distraction. Work him. Drain him. Get those busy brain cells of his fuck-drunk.

He settled Hutch onto his back, grinning as Hutch’s long limbs spread in all directions to claim more than his fair share of the bed’s real estate. The damp hair on Hutch’s forehead was a moon-washed halo in the dim light. A white gold earring glimmered against white cotton sheets.

Starsky kissed the tremble under Hutch’s Adam’s apple. His lips teased a trail of kisses from nipples up to exposed neck and ear lobe. He nudged the earring with his tongue tip and licked and sampled his way back down, nuzzling fading bruises on Hutch’s ribs and kissing fresh marks, imprints of his own fingers, on Hutch’s hips and lower belly.

Hutch breathed out a word from his dream horizon.

“Please….”

Yes, Hutch. “Please.” It pleases me. It will please you.

Starsky positioned Hutch’s limber body, arms to the sides and thighs open. He knelt between Hutch’s legs and let his fingers roam, finding the pale hair under Hutch’s armpits, flicking over tight ribs, prodding hidden and secret places.

He shifted backwards, hands splayed on Hutch’s inner thighs with thumbs locked against Hutch’s balls. His tongue, lapping at Hutch’s cock, was instantly rewarded with flesh swelling to arousal. He mouthed the circumcised head and swept a wet lick down the vein. He paused to sip lazily at the shallow pool of pre-cum gathered at Hutch’s cock slit. His mouth continued its teasing journey, agonizingly slow and tender.

Hutch bucked and writhed, breaking the hot silence with a low whimper.

Sweet boy. That’s right.

Starsky opened his mouth wider and swallowed Hutch’s cock to the root. His bite steadied; his tongue tested each sensitive inch.

Hutch gasped. His right arm swept up against his forehead. His eyelids fluttered.

Starsky pulled away and whispered, soothingly, urgently.

“Sleep, Hutch. S’okay. Don’t wake up.”

At the sound of Starsky’s voice, Hutch shivered and submerged into the depths of slumber as though dragged by gloved fingers.

Starsky returned to his play, nursing and suckling. His tongue stroked leisurely, his fingers fondled the tender sweep of Hutch’s skin from cock root to ass – coaxing, demanding.

Hutch’s hips lifted, plundering Starsky’s mouth. Starsky pleasure-tortured him artfully, combining deep suction with perfectly timed fist strokes. Hutch shuddered, arched, and came – mindlessly and helplessly. His feverish moans echoed as Starsky languidly sucked him dry.

Hutch tried to pull away, but Starsky held him down, watching with dark lashed eyes as Hutch lay panting.

Delicious lover. Greedy lover. Next time, baby blue, why don’t I slide a straw inside you and drink right from the well?

Hutch’s left arm flung wide.

Starsky grabbed the wrist, turned the large hand, and gently kissed the palm. He planted a second playful kiss on Hutch’s ear as he choreographed his next move.

Hutch rolled and stretched on his right side with elbows akimbo, his deep breathing a hint that Starsky’s handling had spiraled him further into sleep.

Starsky slid his hands along Hutch’s ass cheeks, pausing to admire the softness of flesh welded to muscle. Then he padded panther-quiet to the kitchen. He found a glass, filled it with ice and water, and drank deeply. He returned to the bed, carrying the glass and a small bottle of oil.

You’re here and mine for the taking, golden boy. Don’t mind if I do.

He propped himself against Hutch’s side, his erection wedged to Hutch’s lower back. He carefully scissored Hutch’s legs apart, hand moving slyly to stroke Hutch’s cock head. Hutch protested quietly, the direction of his dreams shifting according to Starsky’s touch. The heat from his body almost singed Starsky’s fingers.

Starsky reached for the glass of ice water on the bedside table. He took a refreshing swallow and pondered. Smiling to himself, he plunged his fingers into the glass and pulled out an ice cube. He placed his lips to Hutch’s left ear and crooned.

”Sleep, babe. I’m in your dreams. Dream with me.”

Hutch rolled onto his stomach and humped his cock against the cotton sheets, sluggish and heat drunk.

Starsky tugged him back onto his side.

Time to cool you down, partner.

He slid the melting ice cube over Hutch’s ass crack, trapping him in place as Hutch tried to twist away. He waited until Hutch settled, then carefully slid the ice cube inside the grip of Hutch’s body, into the heat of his channel. He fed Hutch’s body another ice cube, cooling him from within. Two water slicked fingers followed the ice.

Hutch flinched and cried out softly. Starsky leaned and kissed his jaw line.

Starsky lengthened his finger strokes, envisioning himself a conjurer of cold and heat, tormenting Hutch with a wand of ice crystals followed by liquid hot tapers. His fingers fucked Hutch in a steady rhythm, shoving the melting cubes deeper. Using water and sweat for lube, he worked, spearing and strumming against Hutch’s prostate with excruciating precision.

Hutch’s cock twitched, lengthened. He cried out from the mist of sleep.

Starsky murmured reassuringly. He extended his free hand to Hutch’s mouth, offering sweat flavored fingers to suckle. Hutch his lips closed around them in eager, almost innocent, desperation.

You big blond glutton.

Starsky snaked his hand down and pumped Hutch, three steady hard strokes mid-shaft. Beads of sweat rose on Hutch’s back like graffiti.

When Starsky abruptly abandoned Hutch’s cock in favor of ice cooled fingers teasing a path from navel to nipples, he heard Hutch’s growl of displeasure; felt him trying again to flip onto his stomach and drill his cock into the sheets. Starsky prevented him from moving.

Not so fast. Stay in our dream, Hutch. Follow me. You’re safe. You’re loved.

He offered the heel of his palm to Hutch’s cock head as a consolation and Hutch butted it in a blind panic.

Starsky’s breath touched the white gold in Hutch’s ear.

“Sweet boy. Ride it out.”

He heard Hutch’s plea over the pounding of his heart and his own cresting, hammering need.

“…Please…”

Starsky’s smile was dark and loving.

“Beautiful. Wanton. Yeah… just like that.”

Hutch’s long legs kicked. He escaped Starsky’s hold and rolled, face down with long fingers balled into fists. His cock rutted the sheets with delirious relief. Pale moonlight bathed him in a ghostly aura.

Starsky watched him – the lean, smooth body slamming against the mattress as though hit with an electrical charge. And his own body in contrast – tanned, chiseled muscle, dark hair across his chest, fingers slippery with the oil he was rubbing onto his cock from drenched slit to balls.

He angled behind Hutch’s sprawled body. His fingers parted the cleft of Hutch’s ass. With a sweet groan of anticipation, he spread Hutch’s legs wider and pushed his cockhead at the tight opening, breaching the entrance. His hips rocked forward.

Hutch stiffened, spreading his legs wider.

Starsky plunged into the mind-tripping tightness, steady and hard, plowing Hutch open with one long uninterrupted slide.

Hutch’s piercing cry melted into a sob.

Starsky’s whisper replied.

“This is a dream fuck, baby blue. You feel my body owning you. You hear my voice and every word is an oath.”

Hutch curved upward, head tossed back. Starsky’s hands caught Hutch and held him, lengthening the stretch. He gasped as pressure like a steel noose gripped him from inside Hutch’s body.

“Dear godsssss—–”

The tightness was velvet smooth and inferno hot. Planted as deeply into Hutch’s body as he could go, Starsky thrust forward and held, breathing through parted lips.

He waited for the signal that Hutch’s body was relaxed enough to claim.

“S-Stars–” Hutch’s voice was hoarse, nearly soundless, his body open and ready.

Starsky experimented with a series of shallow thrusts, found his gait, slammed harder.

“Mine. Hutch. You are mine. ”

He kissed the nape of Hutch’s neck where the blond hair curled in wisps. He lowered his full weight onto Hutch’s back, his cock nailing Hutch to the mattress.

Hutch’s body was a precision machine, custom built for him, sucking him into the blistering center of howling tornado. The need trapped in his body screamed for relief.

“Agggggghhhhhh—”

Starsky’s frantic hands hauled Hutch up to his knees as he plowed forward, his cock an impaling rod assisting from within Hutch’s body. Hutch’s forehead pressed to the mattress, his hands curled around the lower crossbars of the brass headboard. Starsky’s strong thighs wedged Hutch in position, giving his hand ready access to Hutch’s cock. He choke-fisted Hutch’s shaft, imprisoning the blood and seed.

Hutch’s cry shredded the shadows. He lurched up to Starsky, battling for freedom from the vice grip holding back his release.

Starsky rammed forward, hammering Hutch to the core.

“I love you, Hutch. I. Love. You. Understand it. Understand me. Trust me. Trust. Feel. Don’t think. Feel.”

His fist strangled Hutch’s cock.

He hissed.

“I decide when you come, babe. Me. Not. You. Just like you deciding when you trust my love and when you don’t.”

Starsky’s words swept away as passion and fire devoured him, leaving only their truth behind. He settled in to ride, ramming and retreating, sounds like a vortex screaming in his ears. He drove Hutch as though under a lash, all gentleness gone. Sweat dripped from his dark curls and mixed with the damp sheen coating Hutch’s back.

His body moved in piston motion, his cries as unrecognizable. When his orgasm erupted, molten hot, the shock waves launched him across a formless void. He pumped long shuddering ropes of come into Hutch’s body until he was drained, purged.

And collapsed, his head angled along Hutch’s neckline. He laid still, his fist still gripping Hutch’s swollen cock.

The sound of needy moans roused him.

Hutch’s hips moved weakly, almost hopelessly, in his fevered half-sleep.

Starsky’s lips kissed the hot skin of Hutch’s shoulder. His neck. His ear.

He whispered.

“You want to come, babe? Beg for me. Say “’…please….’”

Hutch’s jaw moved. His lips pressed together, a silent appeal that Starsky heard only in his heart.

*Please*

Starsky grunted as he lowered Hutch onto his side. His cock slid from the sheath of Hutch’s body. He scooped drops of oil onto his fingers and fed them one by one into Hutch’s cock slit, and chuckled as the tiny wet mouth gulped.

Helpless against him, Hutch panted.

Starsky swiped his hand in a cooling puddle of spunk and oil. His hand encircled Hutch’s cock root. This time he stroked, up and down, baiting and teasing with calculated slowness.

Hutch lurched in his fist, fever pitched, but Starsky nibbled Hutch’s ear and kept the same lumbering pace. Hutch whimpered and bucked and fought, but Starsky held him in check with long, unhurried strokes.

Six full fist pumps were all it took before tension stiffened Hutch’s frame. Starsky felt the quiver of cock flesh and hot seed gush from Hutch like a fountainhead. He tightened his grip again, stalling the second spasm for several long seconds. He owned Hutch’s orgasm, controlling the pace, dragging it out, forcing Hutch to ride every flame-licked dagger of pleasure separately. Hutch’s lean belly heaved as the last drops were wrung dry.

Starsky pulled him close. A peaceful lassitude enveloped him, as though a part of his soul was scraped clean and purified. He felt cocooned in a haze of love, a familiar sensation that visited him like an orbiting comet every time physical and emotional passion fused.

Hutch was curled into himself, limp-boned and silent.

Starsky drifted, peace and comfort around him like a protective cloak.

“Starsk?” A voice invaded his half-sleep.

Starsky reluctantly forced his eyes open. He lacked the energy to look at the clock. Hutch’s head was next to his on the pillow, their bodies molded together, chest to chest, legs intertwined.

“You’re awake? I thought you’d sleep ‘til next week.” Starsky was only half jesting. A good hard fucking, and he’d treated Hutch to more than one since early evening, usually sent Hutch into a stupor good for at least 12 hours.

“I’m not awake.”

“Talkin’ in your sleep, then?” Starsky kissed the bridge of Hutch’s nose and felt a warm nuzzle to his neck in response.

“Uhh. Liked that. What you did.” Hutch cuddled closer, his face an inch from Starsky’s.

Starsky chuckled. “’’Course you did. You got touched, you got loved.” His voice softened. “And you got fucked. A Hutchinson royal flush.”

Hutch breathed against his cheek. “Yeah. Um. G’night, partner.”

Starsky shook his head. “Not so fast. Got a mess to clean up.”

“Mess?”

“ Spit. Sweat. Water. Oil. Jism. The usual house blend. Whole bed’s a loss.”

Hutch stretched out his hands for balance and rolled off the bed.

Starsky sat up and peered down at him. He sneered affectionately. “You lazy lout.”

Hutch, full length on the floor, tucked his face on his pillowed arms.

“Terrific.” Starsky’s grimace was good natured. “You’re pretty much useless. Not only do I get to conduct the orchestra, I get to mop up the stage.”

He moved efficiently, naked and purposeful – stripping the bed and remaking it. A lukewarm shower for rinse off, a handful of damp washcloths to clean the excess off of Hutch. His lower back twinged as he half dragged and half heaved Hutch onto the clean sheets.

“Ya heavy oaf.”

Hutch’s breathing shifted, low and steady, nearer to sleep.

Starsky buried his hand in the corn silk of Hutch’s hair.

Good idea. Let’s sleep. Blessed unconsciousness. No. Wait. I had another question. One final question for the night.

Starsky shook Hutch’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy? When you said, ‘I want ’ – like you did tonight – what’s that mean? What do you want?”

Hutch’s response was sleepy and unguarded. “Want to know how to play the game. Want to play by the rules.”

“Play? Game?”

A drowsy exhale. “Want to keep the prize.”

“What’s the prize, Hutch?”

“You.”

A pause.

“Want to play to win, Starsk, but I gotta play it safe, too.”

Safe.

Starsky quietly cursed the plentiful ghosts from Hutch’s past, that Greek Chorus of doom, continually convincing Hutch that was so easy to abandon. They didn’t banish easily.

But neither do I.

Hutch’s left hand was open on Starsky’s chest, fingers spread. The near dawn shadows played optical tricks, making it seem like Hutch held a perfect silver star in the palm of his hand.

Starsky placed his hand over Hutch’s. He offered his own vow, bathed in the cleansing silver light.

“Hey, Hutch. Just so you know. When I play, and when it’s you, I only play for keeps.”

~Finis~