Revelations

A chilly and seemingly pointless stake-out reveals unexpected revelations.

Originally published in Code 7 #3 in 1984 by PS Press and Bound in Leather Press.

Shivering, Hutch pulled his jacket tighter and glanced at his watch. 2:47 am and the third damn night on a stake-out he was convinced was a false lead. If that megabucks heroin shipment was coming in, it sure wasn’t coming here. Three nights parked behind a deserted warehouse and not one damn thing to show for it.

Maybe he’d wake Starsky up, make him take the watch for a while. He glanced over at his partner affectionately. Thank god, after seven years of being partners, Starsky’d finally learned to doze on stake-out. Hutch was no longer kept awake by an insomniac partner who couldn’t bear to see Hutch sleep when he couldn’t.

He grabbed Starsky by the shoulder and shook him. “It’s your watch, Starsky, wake up. Your turn to watch all this nothing happening.”

Starsky grumbled and turned toward him. “It’s cold in here, it’s cold out there, and you wake me up to look at nothing?”

“Gripe, gripe. Maybe I just got bored and wanted company.”

Starsky shook his head and looked martyred. “Ya ever gonna stop throwing that up at me? For all the years I wouldn’t let you sleep on stake-outs, I’m sorry. You woke me up so’s you could sleep, so sleep.”

Obediently Hutch leaned back and closed his eyes. “Can’t, Starsk,” he announced a few minutes later. “I’m too damned cold and we can’t even turn the heater on because they might hear the engine. Not that there’s anyone there to hear it.” He knew he sounded cranky but he also knew that Starsky would understand.

“Life’s tough, babe,” was the heartless response. “If you’re interested, I’m frozen solid myself. And they say it doesn’t get cold in California. Hell, November is November—it gets cold!”

Hutch agreed—wise man, his partner. “Wait a minute, I think I’ve got a blanket in the back seat.”

“Blanket in the back… if we’ve been freezing our asses off since 11 o’clock and you had a blanket all this time I’m gonna kill you,” Starsky snarled and leaned over the seat, rummaging in the back.

“Sorry. I put it in this morning when I remembered how cold it was last night and forgot it was there.”

In short order they had it tucked around them. It helped somewhat. Hutch decided to try to fall asleep again. Three-quarters there, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to scootch over and cuddle up to Starsky, who was radiating a cozy 98 degrees or so after all.

“You still chilly?” Starsk asked quietly, and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Uh-huh,” Hutch mumbled.

“Well, on the really small chance that anything happens, I’ll wake you up.”

Nestling his head in the curve of Starsky’s shoulder, Hutch fell blissfully asleep.

***

What’d I do to deserve this? Hutch thought. Even in my dreams I’m still on that damned stake-out. That he knew he was dreaming didn’t bother him unduly—he often knew it. He was still curled against Starsky’s side but this time Starsky had both arms around him, holding him tightly. Hutch decided the solidly muscled body he lay against felt very good—he approved.

Starsky rubbed his cheek against Hutch’s hair and muttered something. The words didn’t make much sense to Hutch—who was James Paxton and why would Starsky damn him?—but the tired unhappiness in the voice caught at his heart. Hutch slipped his arms around Starsky, rubbing his back and shoulders in sympathy.

Starsky tensed under his touch and drew a gentle hand down Hutch’s face, tracing the jawbone, then over the sensitive skin of his throat. It seemed an odd thing for Starsky to be doing but the caressing fingers felt so good that he had no thought of stopping him.

The fingers worked down his throat and tickled delightfully along his collarbones, then moved in slow sweeps across his chest. Starsky’s other hand rubbed up and down his back, brushing warmly against the nape of his neck. That was nice too—very nice—but the combined sensations were definitely causing a reaction and one he wasn’t all too sure he wanted caused by Starsky, even in a dream. Slow fire began to kindle in the pit of his stomach.

He drew breath to protest just as Starsky bent down and kissed his lips. The kiss was tentative and gentle but the response it woke in Hutch was neither.

Arousal flared in him like fire through August-dried manzanita. He moaned and ground his mouth against Starsky’s, forcing his lips apart. Starsky’s tongue met his eagerly and the contact sent shudders of pleasure through Hutch. Dear god but Starsk tasted good.

Hutch’s arms wrapped around him, one hand sliding up into the silky black curls. Starsky’s grip tightened too, pressing them so closely together that Hutch wasn’t sure which racing heartbeat was his. For an instant he had the wonderfully weird feeling that they both were. I’m a Time Lord, he thought with dizzy delight. That would make Starsk one too; the silly thought was equally delightful.

Starsky moaned low in his throat and broke the kiss, needing air; Hutch met the dark blue gaze, read passion there and knew that his partner wanted him as much as he wanted Starsky.

And then knew abruptly that he was totally awake.

Startled, he drew back sharply and smacked his elbow on the steering wheel. The painful jolt that ran clear down to his fingertips confirmed it—he wasn’t dreaming,

“M’god, I’m awake!”

Eyes still passion-fuzzed, Starsky stared at him. “You didn’t think it was real? You thought you were dreaming?”

His voice held a husky tone that made the back of Hutch’s neck tingle intriguingly. “Uh, yeah, I did. Who’s James Paxton?”

“Paxton?” Starsky sounded confused, almost as confused as Hutch felt.

Hutch rolled the window down; he needed air. The damp night wind blasted in. Several lungfuls of the biting air and he felt a little more in control.

“Do you mind if we skip pneumonia tonight. Hutch—close it, huh? The last night we were on duty at the Golden Earring, Paxton was a customer.” His voice was so low Hutch could barely hear him and Starsky wouldn’t look at him.

Hutch nodded. They’d spent several weeks undercover, pinning down an extortion ring that preyed on wealthy gays. The Golden Earring was a mildly raucous gay bar known to be the hangout of several of their suspects. Hutch had gone in as a bartender and Starsky as a drunk and regular table-propper-upper, working on the knowledge that people say amazingly indiscreet things in front of drunks and bar-keeps. “Paxton was a patron. And?”

Starsky sighed, studying his knees. “He must’a been a ‘misery-loves-company’ type; I looked like a worse derelict than he was and I couldn’t get rid of him. You must have seen him, Hutch; tall, rail thin, sandy hair, big black eyes.”

“Oh, him.” Hutch remembered Paxton, all right. Every time he’d looked up from the bar that night, he’d met a burning dark gaze like the man hadn’t eaten in a week and Hutch was a char-broiled sirloin with all the trimmings. It made Hutch edgy.

“He had a real case on you. I asked why he didn’t try for you, he said he knew you were straight; figured with his luck you had to be. Besides, you were a man with a job—way outta his class!”

“What about you? Did he try for you?”

Starsky grinned. “Sorta. He explained that he usually didn’t go for brunets but he liked me anyway. I think he was afraid he’d hurt my feelings with his drooling over you and if I was mad then I’d say no when he got up his courage to ask me. Any port in a storm, y’know.”

Hutch was fascinated. “So what’d you say? How’d you turn him down?”

“I thanked him for the offer but I couldn’t, just couldn’t. I gave him a tragic smile and muttered about Viet Nam and catching shrapnel in a delicate area.” Starsky chuckled, the sound doing strange, pleasant things to Hutch’s insides. “He looked horrified and said I had the best reason for being a lush he’d heard in years.”

Both laughed, then Hutch sobered. “Y’know, you’re evading the question, Starsk.”

“Yeah, guess I am. It was such a different viewpoint, you know? I couldn’t imagine looking at a man like that, but there was Paxton just dying over you and wearing my ears off cataloguing your charms and virtues. I got curious and tried looking at you like he did.” Starsky looked away, face unreadable.

“And it worked,” Hutch said quietly.

Starsky drew a deep breath and nodded. “It was a few days later, Minnie answered the telephone and said it was your turn to handle a fruitcake call. You picked up the phone, put on your ‘be nice to the loony’ voice and grinned at me.” He shrugged. “That was it, don’t know why. Sorta like being lit with an arc light and hit by a truck. Two weeks ago and I’ve been goin’ round the bend ever since. I tried to get over it before you found out but I haven’t. This stake-out’s sorta rough.” He sounded so apologetic it hurt.

“And throwing myself in your arms didn’t help any.”

Starsky shrugged again. “You didn’t know. Now, you do. I promise, I won’t touch you again. No need to worry.” He turned away.

Hutch leaned his elbows on the steering wheel and rested his chin on his crossed wrists, trying to absorb it. To his amusement he was neither shocked nor upset. Or even very surprised. Maybe subconsciously he’d expected this to happen? There’d been rumors about the two of them for ages; he’d always ignored them, figuring that protest of any sort would only convince the rumor-mongers that their stories were true.

Besides, he and Starsky were close; closer than most people ever imagined being. A friend had once told him that he and Starsky had obviously been good friends in an earlier life and this time were just picking up from where they’d left off. Maybe so, maybe no, but there was no one he cared for as much in the world. Cared for? No. Loved. No one he loved as much. Maybe it was natural that a physical awareness would develop. Had developed. His blazing reaction to Starsky’s kiss had more than proved that.

Hutch glanced over at his friend, studying the familiar profile; deep misery showed through Starsky’s determinedly blank expression. Experimentally Hutch summoned up the touch of Starsky’s hand, the taste of his mouth, the solid warmth of his body. Desire rose in him again, and he smiled to himself, delight filling him. Of all the ways his life could go, it had never occurred to him it might take this path. Not an easy road to walk, but Hutch had never believed that life was easy. Besides, the idea of the happiness he could foresee would more than out-weigh the problems. Out-weigh them by so large a margin that they might as well not exist.

“Starsky?”

His partner wouldn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

“Your promise never to touch me again, take it back, would you?”

Starsky’s head jerked around and his face made Hutch’s heart pound.

“You mean that?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch reached out to touch his face, profoundly stirred by the look in Starsky’s eyes. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Feather-light, his fingers ran from Starsky’s forehead, down a cheek and shakily traced the parted lips. “Yeah, babe. I mean it,” he said and pulled Starsky into his arms, meeting his lips joyfully.

The kiss was deep and prolonged, and left them both breathless. Hutch nibbled down Starsky’s throat, kissing the hollow, one hand caressing the broad chest. The feel of hard muscle under the smooth skin was intriguing as was the delightful silkiness of chest hair beneath his fingers once he’d undone a few buttons.

Starsky was running his own reconnaissance, one hand rubbing down Hutch’s chest and stomach, making the blood sing in Hutch’s ears. His fingers roved toward Hutch’s groin and trailed lightly over his erection, then cupped it, massaging with his palm. Hutch gasped and arched into the touch, then pushed the hand away. “We’re still on duty, Starsk, we’ve gotta stop!”

“Uh, right. It’s gonna be a long night—wish they’d call and tell us we could go home.”

Panting, they stared at each other. Starsky began to grin. “I haven’t felt like this since I was a kid, and…”

“Zebra three, zebra three,” the radio said sharply. Starsky raised his eyebrows at it like he didn’t believe he’d heard right.

“Speak of the devil,” Hutch said and reached for it, fingers crossed. “Zebra three, Hutchinson.”

“The deal went down in Encino, stake-out’s been cancelled. Dobey said call it a night. You can file the reports tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Out.”

Starsky reached over and brushed a stray lock of Hutch’s hair off his forehead. “You heard the lady, Hutch—let’s go home,” he said softly.

The grind of the LTD’s cold engine was nearly deafening. It didn’t want to catch. Hutch turned the key a third and fourth time. “Come on, car,” he muttered. “You can’t do this to me. Start, you bastard!” The engine caught with a roar and Hutch’s sigh of heartfelt relief was echoed by Starsky.

“Starsk, I have a question I never thought I’d ask you,” he said solemnly.

“What is it?” Starsky’s voice was equally serious.

Hutch grinned. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine’s closer.”

“You got it, babe,” he laughed, and the LTD rocketed into the street.

“Hey, I want to get there as much as you do, but slow down. I don’t want the highway patrol to stop us.”

Hutch obediently leveled off to something near the legal limit, working to keep his mind on his driving and off his partner. Not easy, with Starsky sitting little more than a hand’s breadth from him. He couldn’t remember ever being so sharply aware of someone’s presence. A wicked light in his eyes, he reached over and ran a finger down Starsky’s thigh, making him jump.

“Not fair, Hutch, not when you’re driving and I can’t do the same to you.”

Stopped for a light, Hutch looked over to meet Starsky’s eyes. The dark blue gaze was fire bright, so bright that Hutch wondered dizzily if sapphires were ever used to make lasers. Heat flowed through him and his attention was caught by Starsky’s hands, resting deceptively easy on his knees.

Beautiful hands, strong and graceful… he imagined the touch of those hands on his bare skin and trembled. “Green light, babe—let’s get home so I can do more than just sit here and look at you, huh?”

The LTD pulled into Starsky’s car-port and Hutch turned the engine off, hands unsteady on the keys.

Then Starsky reached for him, and Hutch’s tightly-held control broke. He leaned heavily against Starsky, pressing him against the door and wrapped his arms tightly about him.

Starsky’s arms slipped around his neck and Hutch met his mouth eagerly, lost in the sensations of taste and touch. Starsky shifted beneath him and a thigh rubbed against his groin. He gasped with pleasure and Starsky rubbed against him again, harder. Hutch pushed avidly against the hard thigh, aching for an end to the sweet torture.

Starsky pulled him into another kiss, tongue and lips working hungrily. Hutch realized Starsky’s state equaled his; both nearly to the peak. Suddenly he wanted to touch that heat, to know the throb of his partner’s release.

He ran his hand up Starsky’s thigh and felt him quiver, then caressed the straining erection, fascinated by the heat and hardness. Starsky bucked into his touch. He rubbed harder, roughly massaging.

Starsky was panting, head thrown back against the window glass. His hands tightened on Hutch’s shoulders, pulling Hutch harder against his thigh. Hutch shuddered. One more stroke would be all he needed; he was so close.

“Don’t stop, babe, don’t,” Starsky said desperately, and Hutch stroked his hand over the throbbing cock. Starsky’s fingers bit into him and the hard pulsing of his climax under Hutch’s hand triggered Hutch’s orgasm.

Shuddering with release, Hutch held his partner close, seeking his mouth.

Starsky laughed weakly. “M’god, Hutch—in the front seat of the car? And fully dressed yet. I don’t believe it.”

Delighted laughter bubbled up inside Hutch. “Neither do I; talk about tacky. But it was great!”

“Yeah? Well, I’d rather head for the house, in case you forgot, that sort of stuff is illegal in public.” His pious tone didn’t match the blazing grin.

Hutch grinned back. “Yes, Officer; I saw how hard you tried to talk me out of it. I’ll write you a citation and you can write me one, okay? Unless you’d rather just overlook it since it’s a first offense?”

Starsky raised an eyebrow and started to unbutton Hutch’s shirt. “I still think we should go into the house… I think I’m gonna be a repeat offender.”

Hutch caught the gleam in Starsky’s eyes and decided that the house was a very good idea.

“Sounds good to me, Starsk. Lead the way—it’s your house!”