Promises Kept

Hutch reminisces and dreams.

This story takes place during the episode “Sweet Revenge.”

Author’s Notes: Whether or not this story reads realistically, it was written based upon my firm belief that in love all things are possible. Debs, thank you for looking this over for me. I very much appreciate the time you’ve taken. And, thank you to Anne, Debs, and Robin for your constant encouragement.

For much of the morning, rain tormented the heart of the city. When the sun broke through, bright and clear, during the noon hour, it seemed as though Lady Fortune had smiled. However, she was merely teasing. By early afternoon the sun surrendered to ominous black thunderclouds and by nightfall the streets gleamed wet. Street lamps cast eerie shadows through the dense fog. And though the calendar proclaimed the date to be the middle of May, a thick winter-gray chill permeated the air.

Ken Hutchinson sat cross-legged on the floor, head and back pressed against the wall of the quiet, darkened room, his hands lay folded in his lap, fingers clasped tightly together. Fatigue and worry scored every feature. He stared straight ahead; his blue gaze focused solely upon the man lying so still and silent in the bed before him. He rarely spoke and paid little heed to the rain drumming atop the roof or the nurses that came in periodically to check the patient’s vital signs or replace empty IV bags with new ones. Every once in a while, his gaze flickered toward the soft green glow illuminating from computerized lines, and he vaguely registered the clicks and whirls of various machineries. Most prominently, though, he heard the weak, uneven rhythm of the heart monitor and the steady whoosh of the respirator. He listened to these sounds and let them wrap around and soak into him, embracing them with his heart and soul, and drew small measures of comfort from them for they told him that David Starsky still lived.

However, the question that had tormented his soul for the past three days still remained unanswered. Would Starsky live? His injuries were beyond horrific. The hail of bullets that ripped through his body had left mangled flesh and muscle, crushed bones, and damaged organs in their wake. He had nearly bled to death before the ambulance ever arrived on the scene and had fallen comatose while en route to the hospital; these two complications alone created an immediate concern of brain damage.

But, still, he lived.

Much to everyone’s astonishment, he survived several grueling hours of surgery and the hours afterward with no change…

Until today when his heart stopped and for long hellish moments had been clinically, figuratively, plain and simply dead.

He had been resuscitated, but the doctor clearly stressed that Starsky had lost what little ground he had been able to maintain, and that this second chance may be nothing more than false hope.

The damage was just too severe.

After the shooting, Hutch had talked of Starsky’s impending death to Captain Dobey and Huggy, had actually said the dreaded words aloud; however, those conversations were nothing more than hollowed, un-believed words uttered with bravery during the bright light of day. Now, though, alone with his thoughts in this small, dark room, the fact that Starsky had died stared him cold in the face and his whole soul screamed in horrendous agony. The harsh, bitter realization that he may have to face life without this man pounded a hole in his heart and drove deep into his soul; it beat unmercifully behind his eyes bringing sharp tears and fragmented throughout his skull. His breathing came in shallow gusts, his stomach churned violently. And the small comfort he had garnered from listening to the beats on the heart monitor fled in a torrent of sorrow from the very core of his being. He pulled up his knees and wrapped trembling arms about them, squeezing shut his eyes as he desperately tried to draw into himself to escape the profound, heart-wrenching ache.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, “please don’t take him from me.”

Silent tears fell unchecked as he hugged himself tighter, unable to fathom the shell he would become without Starsky. After all, this was the man that brought peace and happiness to his life, the man that had offered himself wrapped in an endless bounty of love first in an unshakable, unbreakable friendship, and, most recently, offered it again in the sharing of his body.

This was the man that had accepted a love-scarred heart and wounded soul and healed them with his unconditional love.

Who would heal them now?

He stared at the pale, gaunt man. This was not his Starsky; this man was too frail looking, too dull, too lifeless. The aura of death clung to him like a thick wool blanket. No, the man he remembered was strong and healthy, a whirlwind of energy that was never that still or quiet. He was all life and sparkle.

He was the keeper of Hutch’s light—and was the light itself.

On their own accord, waves of dark brown hair that curled softly around his fingers and the face that Hutch claimed was utter perfection flashed before him, all-knowing deep blue eyes that turned dark midnight during the throes of unrestrained passion and the smile that gentled every single fear shimmered in his mind. Hutch bowed his head and closed his eyes, easily conjuring his lover’s lean, hard body—God, how he loved to roam his hands over every inch of that exquisite flesh—and hearing his heavy Brooklyn accent, softened by love and desire, whisper in his ear.

I love you, and I promise you forever.

“I love you, too, David. Please don’t forget your promise.”

Hutch sighed as a cool misty breeze blowing through the opened window caressed over his skin. He opened his eyes, blinking against the bright glare of sun, then shifted and cradled the man sleeping in his arms tighter to his chest, nuzzling cheek and chin over the soft hair, placing a kiss to the dark head as his partner moaned in his sleep.

“Ssh, Starsk,” he whispered, “everything’s okay.”

He smiled. Things were better than okay—much better. In fact, he would venture to say they were damn close to perfect. Last night, after a decade of friendship, he and Starsky had at long last admitted their love—to themselves and to each other, and had sealed that affirmation with the joining of their bodies.

And that joining merely completed the circle for they had long ago joined their hearts and souls.

He felt Starsky stir against him.

“Are you awake, buddy?”

“Umm…” replied the sleep laden voice, “think so.”

“You okay?”

Starsky nodded and yawned. “Hutch, last night did we do what I think we did?”

He rolled Starsky over onto his back, and then straddled him with a single, swift move, grinning down at the startled blue eyes. He reached out both hands and gently carded through the thick wealth of hair.

“That depends. Is this what you think we did?” he whispered, burying his mouth in his partner’s.

Starsky closed his eyes and gave himself up to the physical pleasure of the moment. Hutch’s mouth was firm and demanding against his. Hunger soared through him, hot and erotic, like nothing he had ever felt before. Finally, he pulled away, gasping harshly, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“So, you did have your wicked way with me, didn’t you?”

“Umm,” Hutch replied, “and I plan to over and over again.” His eyes were dark with desire, holding Starsky’s for a moment, and then he descended upon the long column of throat, his lips firm and gentle as they kissed and nuzzled. His teeth nipped quickly; his tongue rough as it teased the pulse. “Would you deny me?”

“No,” Starsky replied, pushing Hutch back onto his knees, and then sitting up, his hands sliding up to cradle the blond head, “I’ll never deny you. I won’t give you up and I won’t share you with anyone.”

Hutch wanted no one else. Why would he when the person he loved and desired above all others was already in his arms?

He shuddered and groaned deeply, all thought and reason fleeing, as Starsky’s talented mouth sought his, as those firm lips claimed his and moved hungrily against them. Drawn like a moth to flame, he desperately clutched his dark lover to him and opened his mouth to the firestorm igniting him to the core. A swift agile tongue swept inside and his tongue rose at once to greet it, sliding and swirling, joining in a most intimate dance. Soft moans mingled with guttural groans as the kisses deepened and grew more demanding, and passion flared into an impenetrable wall of flame as each man lost sight of where he ended and the other began.

Hutch bore his lover back onto the bed, following him down, and swiped his tongue over the man’s wet, swollen lips, sucking on the lower one.

“From this day forward, David, there will be no on else.”

Once again, Hutch rose to his knees, still straddling Starsky. His gaze raked hotly over his lover’s body. The man was a work of art. The firmness of muscle covered by surprisingly soft skin, the sheen and silk of the wealth of hair, the smoldering blue eyes with depths deeper than any ocean, the well-defined chest and stomach with their heavy smattering of dark hair, and farther down, that magnificent cock, already curved hard and tight against the flat belly, flushed with want and need. This man was beautiful to him—dark to his light, a creature of the night.

Starsky reached up and curled his fingers in the mane of blond hair and pulled his lover down to him, gasping for breath as that mouth covered his. Hutch’s body was hard and aggressive, his hands firm and demanding as they roamed over his skin. He shuddered and thrust his hips upward, his aching shaft seeking its mate, crying out as Hutch thrust downward in reply, their cocks rocking against each other in a slow sensuous dance. His mouth moved over his lover’s pale skin, his hands a constant motion, stroking and kneading the strong back, cupping and squeezing the firm ass.

Hutch wanted it all; wanted to consume this man’s heart, body, and soul, and wanted to be consumed. He wanted to take everything Starsky offered and give all in return. Continuously, he slowly thrust downward. He groaned harshly as sharp teeth dug into his shoulder, followed by long swipes of tongue. White hot lightening flashed through him, and he shouted hoarsely, the pleasure so intense he could not stay silent. His mouth moved restlessly over his lover’s face and blazed a fiery trail along the column of throat, then roamed farther down, sweeping over shoulders and chest, licking and sucking, nibbling the skin around tightened nipples until, finally, his lips closed about the taut nub, pulling it hard, then drawing it into the moist heat of his mouth and sucking hungrily at it.

“Hutch!”

Starsky’s body moved restlessly, wildly with no thought of inhibition. He thrust upward faster, harder, crying out again as Hutch answered with increased hunger of his own. They rocked long and hard, surging again and again and again until at long last they exploded as one in an intense fury of fire.

Breathing raggedly, Hutch lowered himself atop Starsky’s heaving, sweat-glistened body—strong arms snaked about him—unable to fathom the mind-shattering response this man brought out in him. Even now waves of desire coursed through him, and his muscles shuddered. He lay for a moment, his head resting atop Starsky’s chest, until his breathing calmed, and then swiped a nipple with his tongue and placed a kiss on that chest right above his lover’s heart.

“Promise me, David.”

“I love you, and I promise you forever.”

Booming thunder startled Hutch awake. He raised his head, wincing sharply at the stiffness in his neck, and looked around, the dream still close to his mind and heart, Starsky’s voice still echoing in his ear. A bone-deep longing for his partner swept through him, and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes. How could this have happened to them? After so many years, they had finally found in each other what they had each been seeking and now may be torn apart by death. Why had the fates been so cruel? After a few minutes, he stood on shaky legs and stretched, then moved to the chair, pulling it closer to the bed.

He stared intently at the man lying before him. “We’re in the same room, but you’re not with me, Starsk. Where are you?” He reached between the rails and took one bruised hand within his own, tenderly rubbing the top with his thumb, all the while searching the beloved face for any signs of change, and finding none.

“You’ve been gone long enough,” he whispered, “and it’s time for you to come home. Starsk, I can’t do this without you. You know that, don’t you?” He gripped the hand tighter. “I love you. You have so much to live for—we have so much to live for.”

Behind the glass window, the lights in the hallway flickered off and on, and a series of thunder rolls crashed again, reminding Hutch of the sound of gunfire. He visibly quaked and swallowed hard, his free hand trembling as he brushed it through his blond locks, his eyes filling anew with tears. Suddenly, he stood over the bed, staring directly into Starsky’s face.

“Do you know how scared I was when I saw that you were down?” he rasped, harshly, his voice quaking. “All that blood—Jesus! YOUR blood; it… it was all over me.” Twin tears slipped down his cheeks. “I tried—Jesus, David, I tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t. You wouldn’t stop. God in Heaven, you wouldn’t stop! Then, today, you died on me.” He released the limp hand and tightly gripped the rail, then leaned in until his mouth hovered just above Starsky’s ear. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? Do you?” He let go the rail and again picked up the hand, pressing it to his own chest, holding it to his heart. “Do you feel that? It’s beating now, but it stopped when yours stopped.” He leaned farther in and lowered his head, resting it in the juncture of Starsky’s neck and shoulder, breathing deeply his lover’s essence. “You damn near broke my heart,” he whispered. “My soul is lost at the bottom of an abyss. Without you, who’s going to save it?”

“Mr. Hutchinson?”

Startled, he straightened, scrubbing a hand over his face, and then turned toward the voice. Standing in the doorway was Annie, the night nurse attending the surgical floor.

“Hi.”

“Welcome back,” she said, as she moved to the other side of the bed. “I thought you had a new job holding up that wall over there.” She checked Starsky’s vitals then looked up at Hutch, smiling gently. “He’s stable right now. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I… I can’t. I need to be with him.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” she replied. “What would David say about you wearing yourself out like this?”

Hutch smiled. “He wouldn’t like it. But—”

“No buts. You can go and you will,” she said, busying herself with the IV bag. “He needs you now just as much as he will later. But he needs you healthy and strong. Go—eat, sleep. I’ll take good care of him.”

Again, he shook his head. “I—”

“If you don’t go now, I’ll call your captain and have you permanently removed until David is released to a regular floor room.”

Hutch’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You wouldn’t. You—” He sighed and grinned as Annie stared him down. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded.

He walked over to the window and looked out into the hallway for a long moment. “I guess I am tired,” he said, then turned back to the nurse. “You’ll call me if he needs me?”

“Immediately.”

He moved back to the bed and reached out, caressing a cool cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You heard the lady, buddy. You rest well and I’ll see you in the morning.” He leaned in close to Starsky’s ear and whispered, “I love you,” then straightened, and, with one last lingering look, turned and left the room. Annie followed him to the door, stopping just outside to gather items from a cart that she had brought with her.

“Mr. Hutchinson, he’s fighting with everything he has to come back to you. Hold on to that and trust him.”

“I’m trying,” he replied. “Just take care of him for me.”

Inside the darkened room, Starsky shifted ever so minutely, his blue eyes fluttered twice then flickered open a mere fraction, and then closed.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

By the time Hutch reached his car, he was wet, miserable, and cursing the rain that still fell from buckets. He climbed in and started the car, waiting several minutes for the windows to defog, then pulled out of the nearly deserted parking lot and sped down the highway. After a while, he turned the radio on low, cracked open the window, and drove with the swish of tires on the asphalt. A huge splay of lightening split the heavens and was soon followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

“Shut the window, will you, Hutch?”

“Why?”

“The storm—I… I’d feel better with the window closed.”

He rose from the bed and padded to the window, pulling it closed and shuttering it, then went back to bed. “Come here,” he said, twining his arms about his lover, tightening his hold as he felt tremors rock through the tensed frame. “Hey, what’s going on with you? You’re not afraid of storms.”

Starsky lay with his head on Hutch’s shoulder, drawing strength from the warm embrace. “It’s nothing, babe; just some old memories.”

“Thinking about your dad?”

Starsky looked up in surprise, and felt the arms about him tighten ever more. “How’d you know?”

“Today’s the anniversary of his death,” Hutch replied, kissing the dark head. “Still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does.” He studied Hutch’s face, his blue eyes regarding him steadily. “It was awfully hot that day. I remember these huge black clouds billowing ‘cross the sky. Ma saw them, too. She said the devil was plotting something.” He sighed. “She was right.”

Hutch shifted them so that Starsky lay atop him, then reached up and linked his arms around the man’s neck, drawing him down into a tender kiss that was without passion but full of the deepest love he had to offer. Gently, he placed another kiss to the hollow of Starsky’s shoulder, and then ran his hands comfortingly up and down the strong back, feeling the tension that coursed through his lover like a fine wire pulled taut. He smiled as the dark head once again found purchase on his shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

Starsky sighed, taking comfort in the shade of this man’s love. “After the shooting, my pop was laying there—his… his blood was pouring out of him. I tried to help him, tried to make the bleeding stop, but I couldn’t. I kept begging him not to leave me… ” he shuddered and his voice grew soft, “but I knew he was going to. I could feel it. There was this deafening noise. God, Hutch, I thought it was gunfire. I looked up and saw those black clouds; realized I’d heard thunder. It started raining. I… I tried to cover Pop, but he was gone.” He paused a moment. “The thunder rolled and rolled, and the sky was so black. I wondered if God was mad because Pop had been gunned down or because I couldn’t help him.”

“Ah, Starsk,” Hutch said, tightening his embrace and entwining their legs, the image of a young man, hardly more than a boy, drenched and scared, holding his dead father amidst rain and blood, breaking his heart, “there was nothing you could do. You know that, don’t you?” He kissed the juncture of neck and shoulder. “God wasn’t mad at you,” he whispered. “Tell me you believe that.”

Starsky rose slightly and looked down into eyes that were full of love and concern. “I do know it.” He shrugged. “But I still remember.”

“Like father, like son, like lover,” Hutch whispered, as he automatically made the turn from the highway onto the darker streets that would lead him to his home. Several minutes later, he pulled the car to a stop in front of his apartment building. He waited a moment before deciding the rain was not apt to slacken, then climbed out of the car and dashed to his apartment.

The room was dark, cold, and drafty when he stepped inside. He flipped on the wall switch, flooding the room with light, then immediately went over to the counter and checked the answering machine, thankful to find no messages. Finally, he shrugged out of his sodden jacket and tossed it in the general direction of its hook, then removed his shoulder holster and gun and put them in their proper place. He thought about grabbing a bite to eat, deciding against it though in favor of rest, then moved to the chair by the window, shivering as damp chills crept along his spine and spread throughout his body.

For a long while, he watched the lightning storm dance across the sky. Like movie reels, memories of the last ten years with Starsky played in his mind. There were so many of them. The times they had shared were both good and bad. Friends and lovers had come and gone—briefly, his mind pictured Terri and Gillian and Vanessa; illnesses and injuries had been battled and survived. But, all the joys and wonders of their decade old relationship, all the trials and tribulations had been shared together. And that fact alone had made the good times sheer marvels and the bad tolerable. Starsky was not here, though, and may never be again. And that thought was well beyond what he could bear.

“Jesus, Hutchinson, get a grip. He’s not dead yet.”

Not yet.

Finally, overcome with the need for sleep, he got up and slowly made his way to the bathroom, turning back, as the clock chimed midnight, to glance about the room; it was cold and empty where once it had been warm and full of life. Upon entering the bathroom, he undressed and showered slowly, lingering under the hot water, and willing it to wash away the dull aches and pains that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his bones and muscles. When he finished, he stepped out and dried off, then slipped into his old robe and started into the bedroom, stopping on the threshold. He stared about the room, a wave of loneliness so thick that he felt like he could almost reach out and touch it washing over him.

God, what a difference the presence of a curly haired imp made.

Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped into the room and toed on the nightlight. Pale light filled the room, casting shadowy scenes of memories in every corner. He recalled the happiness and shared trust, the laughter and the tears, but most of all, he recalled the love—the love that had been seeded in the name of companionship and born in the name of friendship, had been fed and nurtured until it grew and matured into a bond that forever linked him to Starsky—heart, body, and soul.

He forced himself to the bed and turned back the covers, then removed the robe and climbed in on Starsky’s side. He reached over to the nightstand and flipped on the radio, then curled his arms around the pillow, clutching it tightly, breathing in his lover’s scent, the haunting love song wafting from the radio lulling him toward tranquility.

‘Last night I waved good-bye, now it seems years
I’m back in the city where nothing is clear
With thoughts of me holding you bringing us near
And tell me, when will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?

Time in New England took me away to long rocky beaches, you by the bay
We started a story whose end must now wait
And tell me, when will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?’

A familiar presence encircled him and he relaxed, content and at peace, following the sirens call to sleep.

‘I feel the change coming
I feel the wind blow
I feel brave and daring
I feel my love flow

With you I can bring out all the love that I have
With you there’s a Heaven so earth ain’t so bad
And tell me, when will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?’*

Rain fell relentlessly atop the roof, the constant sound drumming in time with the beating of his heart, lightening splayed across an angry sky, and thunder crashed from the heavens, the sound reverberating from every corner of the room, startling him. Moaning softly, Hutch rolled onto his back, reaching out, seeking the arms that offered shelter from all life’s storms, calling out for the man that brought light to the bleakest night…

And felt a male hand brushing his face in a slow, tender caress.

“I promised forever. I’ll always be near when you need me.”

The voice, that seductive voice, spoke low and was beautifully pitched—a blend of light and dark; it echoed in his mind and swept little tongues of flame over his skin.

“Star—”

“Ssh,” the voice whispered, “hush.”

Hutch felt his wrists grasped within two strong hands, trembling as each was tenderly kissed and laid to rest at his sides. His mind called a name, and as though in reply, fingers brushed through his blond hair and a warm mouth descended upon his, moving over it, the touch of lips beyond tender as they memorized the feel and shape of him, ever deepening as he moaned, his own mouth opening to accept the soft exhale of breath and lick of tongue. Desire ignited his blood and spread like wildfire, consuming him until his body was a living flame.

The bedcovers rustled as they were pulled from his body. He did not resist as his legs were gently nudged apart and his lover knelt between them, nor did he resist as hands reached for him, up-righting and positioning him so that that he rested on strong columns of thighs. Instinctively, his arms and legs wrapped tightly about the powerful, familiar frame, and his face found safe haven within the juncture of the man’s neck and shoulder. Heat lightening arced between them as they held tightly to each other, their bodies melding perfectly, their hearts matching in slow, steady beats.

“David?”

“Ssh.”

White flames streaked over Hutch as that mouth touched his neck in a feather-soft kiss, and impassioned desire shot through him, fueling the flames and pooling between his legs as he felt the warmth of his lover’s breath wafting over the pulse throbbing beneath his skin, and he shuddered hard as a raspy tongue followed that breath.

“David,” he whispered, pleadingly.

“I’m here,” the voice replied. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Hutch obeyed, gasping sharply at the sight of the man that haunted his dreams. He raised trembling hands and reached out, his fingers seeking the familiar planes of that beautiful face, smiling as Starsky’s breath hitched. Then, suddenly, he plunged his hands deep into the thick wealth of dark hair and pulled his lover to him, claiming that full mouth with blazing intensity, molten lava erupting and consuming him as he plundered with wild abandon, roughly nipping and sucking at the wet, swollen lips, raking his tongue harshly against teeth and sweeping it over and around its mate, delving harder and deeper until he had to break away from the sheer wonder.

It was a wonder so powerful that it soothed the deep ache in his heart and warmed the cold in his soul.

“How—”

A hand pressed softly over his mouth. “You needed me.”

Starsky lowered Hutch gently to the bed, blanketing him with his own body. He did not want to be separated from this man, no matter how minutely. The power of love had brought him to his lover’s side, perhaps for the final time. And so, for long moments, he did not move or speak, he merely gazed at the man he loved more than life, drinking in the blond hair and beautiful face with its high cheekbones, wide sensuous mouth, and fathomless light blue eyes. God, he could easily drown in those eyes.

“I love you,” he said, softly.

Hutch caught Starsky’s face between his hands and stroked his thumbs along the prominent cheekbones. “And I love you. You mean everything to me.” He raised his head to bring their mouths together. They blended light and dark, two flames joining as one. And as passion flared, they reached the place where the past was forgotten and the future would not exist. There was only the two of them.

Starsky’s hands roamed freely over Hutch’s skin, his fingers mapping and memorizing. The feel of his lover was intoxicating. He traced the smooth face, savored the hard planes of chest and stomach and the feel of rib. He brushed lightly over the thick patch of wiry dark blond hair centered between the long legs and caressed the crease between groin and thigh, sliding ever lower to tease and rim the tight opening, then upward, fingering over the hardness that curved against the flat belly.

Hutch groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase on the broad back. He needed the strength of this man to cool the flaming tongues of want and need coursing through him. He buried his face in the warmth of Starsky’s throat and tasted the salty skin covering his pulse, then shifting lower, he kissed and nipped the fur covered, unmarred chest and sucked each pink nipple. He heard the strong heartbeat and thanked the fates. Suddenly, he gasped sharply as Starsky’s hand wrapped around his shaft, strong and sure, bringing wave after wave of pleasure and forcing his breath to come in short, harsh gusts. Wantonly, he arched against Starsky, writhing in his hand, seeking relief.

Starsky reached for the bottle of oil sitting atop the nightstand then opened it. He quickly prepared himself, and then spent pleasurable minutes preparing his lover with gentle fingers and tender strokes. For a moment, he gazed into the love-darkened eyes. God, how he loved this man; had always loved him in one form or another. They belonged together now and forever. He positioned his body, and then caught Hutch’s hips tightly in his hands and gently slipped inside the hot, wet sheath, burying his shaft in the white fire that was Hutch. His breath caught harshly in his throat and his body shuddered at the sheer intensity of joining his lover. He began to move, thrusting in and out with long, hard strokes, his hips surging forward, each time going deeper. A firestorm swept over him again and again as Hutch surrounded him, capturing him with liquid fire and wet heat, linking them together fully as one.

Hutch cried out, arching against the body manipulating him so beautifully, matching him thrust for thrust, his ass clenching, relaxing, clenching again, his head thrashing from side to side, his hands roaming his lover’s back, nails raking deeply into tender skin. He groaned again, arching higher as Starsky reached between their bodies and grasped his aching shaft, stroking in sync with his thrusts.

Neither man could discern who was doing what as they joined heart, soul, and body. Hutch felt Starsky swell and harden even more, felt his body tense, and heard his own name whispered in sweet benediction as his lover climaxed deep inside him. He reached up and drew their mouths together in a frenzy of heat as his body tightened to the point of painful ecstasy and spiraled heavenward, exploding in convulsing white-hot spasms, his seed spewing over his stomach and Starsky’s hand.

Carefully, Starsky eased his body out of Hutch’s and rolled slightly to the side, then pulled his lover into his arms. He smiled. Hutch was already drifting toward sleep, his breathing growing steady and deep. He lowered his head and gently kissed the sweat-glistened forehead.

“I love you.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hutch slowly awakened as Dawn made her first appearance of the morning in skirts of muted purple and red. He sighed deeply and yawned, then slowly peeled open his eyes, quickly shutting them again as the sun rising in the eastern sky poured its first rays through the window. For a long a moment, he lay there savoring the dream he had had of being with his lover. It seemed so real. So real, in fact that for the first time since the shooting he felt his heart beating strong and whole and his soul had lost its emptiness. It was as though both had regained the parts of themselves that had been missing.

And it was so real that he still felt Starsky’s presence in the room.

But, Starsky was not here. He was in the hospital fighting for his life—a fight he might not win. Hutch sighed again as fissures of worry and despair for his partner started to sliver back into his mind. He glanced over at the clock and decided it was time to get back to the hospital as he knew the doctor would soon be making his morning rounds. He started to sit up, gasping sharply and freezing as unexpected pain sliced through his ass.

What the hell?

Slowly, he pushed himself back against the headboard, wincing again at the dull ache deep in his body. It was the ache caused by the presence of another.

“Starsky’s presence,” his mind whispered.

No. That was impossible. There was absolutely no way that Starsky had been here, yet—

Yet, he recalled how strongly he had felt his lover in the dream, and how strongly he still felt the powerful aura that always surrounded Starsky. It was everywhere now. It clung to him, it infused deep within him, and it surrounded him.

Hutch looked around the room, a small degree of fear rippling through him. The bedcovers had been pulled down to the foot and the bottle of oil that they always used lay in the center of the bed. He breathed deeply, his eyes narrowing. A very faint aroma of sex wafted about his nose and, upon looking at his stomach, remnants of spilt seed lay dried on his skin.

I promised forever. I’ll always be near when you need me.

Those were Starsky’s words.

Spurred with a sudden need to be by his lover’s side, Hutch climbed out of bed and quickly showered.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The surgical floor was quiet and still as he stepped off the elevator. He quietly walked down the hallway toward Starsky’s room, stopping when he reached the window. His lover looked as he had the night before; still pale and frail, still hooked up to every thinkable piece of equipment. Finally, he sighed and walked inside, slivers of alarm racing through him as he saw Annie sitting in a chair just inside the doorway.

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”

“How’s he doing?” he asked, tightly, nodding toward the bed.

Annie stood and moved over to the Starsky’s side. “He was a bit restless overnight,” she replied, as she adjusted some of the IV lines. “His blood pressure and heart rate elevated, and there was some eye and finger movement. The doctor instructed that a nurse be present at all times to log any further movement.”

Hutch rubbed the bridge of his nose then shook his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. “Why the hell didn’t someone call me?”

“He wasn’t in distress, and there hasn’t been any other activity since.” She smiled. “The doctor thinks that David was merely dreaming. That’s normal for comatose patients.”

“When did this happen?”

“Oh, it was sometime after midnight,” Annie replied, returning to her chair.

Hutch pulled up the other chair and sat down, wincing slightly. As he had the night before, he intently searched Starsky’s face for any sign of change, and still found none.

“Starsk, it was too real to be a dream,” he whispered. “Were you there? Babe, are we that connected?”

Could it possible that their bond had reached depths that were beyond either of them?

He leaned back in the chair, his blue eyes dulling as his mind drifted back to a day of long ago—a day of bright sun and summer vacation–—and a conversation that had been held with another beloved man.

“Are we going to catch all the fish in the lake, Grandpa?”

“Don’t think we have enough worms for that, do you?”

Biting his lip, Ken looked at the small pail that held their bait then frowned. “Maybe we need to go catch more worms.”

The old man chuckled. “Nah, son—I think we have enough right here for what we need.”

Ken leaned back in the small canoe and held lightly to his fishing pole while studying his grandfather. Grandpa was the smartest man he knew—even if Dad did sometimes say that the old man was a fool. Shoot, Grandpa knew all ’bout fish and worms and the mountains and stuff. He always said that he found his pleasure in nature—whatever that meant. Fools wouldn’t know ’bout all that.

“Did Grandma Ellie mind you going fishing all the time?”

“No, she didn’t mind. She knew how important it was for me to get away from the city and the company.” His voice grew wistful, his blue eyes sad. “She knew that I could always work out my problems with a fishing pole and a bunch of worms.” He smiled warmly. “That, Ellie—I tell you, boy, that woman was my soul mate. And, Lord, I miss her.”

Ken raised a hand over his forehead and scrunched up his eyes. “I’m supposed to have a soul mate.”

The old man leaned back, pulling a pipe from his shirt pocket and tamping it on the side of the canoe. “Oh,” he said, lighting the pipe, “who told you that?”

“That fortune teller at the carnival yesterday—remember?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Well, she said a soul mate is your spirit’s best friend, and that when two souls know they’re supposed to be together they search for each other. Sometimes they travel for centuries, but they don’t stop ’til they find each other. Do you believe that, Grandpa?”

“I sure do. Love is like nature, pure and simple—man is what complicates things.” He drew on the pipe. “What else?”

Ken blushed and bit his lip. “She told me ’bout my soul mate.”

The old man leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me.”

“She said I’d be a grownup when I met him.”

“Him?”

Ken nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a round dark blue stone then holding it out to his grandfather, his eyes taking a faraway look as he watched it sparkle in the sunlight. His voice grew soft with wonder. “She said his eyes are this color, and that he’d always protect me. She told me he’d be my life mate, whatever that is.” He looked up and sighed. “He’ll never leave me, but if I forget that and separate myself from him, he’ll come for me. He’ll bring me home.”

The old man smiled with bemusement. “Well, son, it looks like you have someone mighty special waiting for you.”

“Yes, I do,” Hutch whispered, softly so that Annie would not hear, and then leaned toward the bed. “I believe, David. I was the one lost, not you. I gave up and you came for me. Somehow, someway, you came for me.”

For a long while he was quiet. Then, he talked of the weather and of the case, all the while thinking of the unbreakable bond he and Starsky shared. Finally, he stood and paced. When he turned back toward the bed, the beloved blue eyes were open.

THE END

*Weekend in New England written by Randy Edelman for Barry Manilow. No copyright infringement is intended.