Sleeping Beauty

Not only do beautiful women wake from a kiss.

This is my first story.

The Dodgers had been out of it for most of the game and Starsky’s alertness had faded with the team’s offense. Hutch’s attention was focused on how well his recovering partner was settled in the hospital bed rather than on the beating the Giants were delivering in the final game of the Dodgers’ home stand. Starsky had been out of the coma for almost a month and spent more and more time awake these days. If his progress continued to be good, he was scheduled to start mild physical therapy next week.

But it was almost 9 o’clock and Hutch knew Starsky had hit the wall on his endurance. Hutch rose from his bedside chair and leaned over Starsky to slide the TV remote gently from his partner’s hand, switching the game off. He slid the remote back in case his patient woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep without the aid of a late, late, late showing of some creature feature and the necessary pain meds.

Hands still touching, Hutch smiled as he looked down at the sleeping man-child. So close, he thought. So close to losing everything that means anything to me. For the umpteenth time, he swore I will never take you for granted ever again.

He had denied the change in his feelings for Starsky for months, almost a year. In the process, he had gained weight, grown surly, sprouted the “cookie duster” and become everything he didn’t want to be to his partner — impatient, cynical, belittling and most disastrously, jealous. Coming back together after Kira had clearly demonstrated his partner’s love for the man he missed, the “old” Hutch. Hutch vowed things would be better, more like old times.

Things had been better, playing ping pong where three months ago Hutch would have sat on a paint can and sulked about how the fumes irritated him. He knew he could never tell Starsky that he had gone from loving to being in love with the beautiful man. Starsky was macho defined, the tough street cop who flirted with everything in a skirt, or hot pants, or jeans, etc… Making love to another man was simply something that the curly haired stud would never consider.

But Gunther had tempered Hutch, and the near miss made his life of unrequited love an easy payment for the continued life of his love. His devotion was assured — Starsky would get whatever he needed to be happy, be it a chocolate milkshake, a joke book, or the chance to flirt with his nurse. And Hutch would be happy giving all those things and more.

He shook himself mentally and softly ran his hand back through the unruly curls. Ah, Starsk, why did you have to be so gorgeous? Hutch rose from his leaning perch and reached for the magazine he’d been half-reading during the game. Marking his place, he set it on the side table, turned and whispered “Night buddy.”

“Wan my kiss,” the dark haired man mumbled.

“What’s that Starsk?” Hutch bent over the rail and listened to determine if the question was uttered in a dream or in half wakefulness.

“If you’re leavin, wan my kiss,” Starsky stated, eyes still closed.

Hutch’s heart stopped beating for an instant. He’d been kissing Starsky good night every night since the shooting. From day one, whenever Hutch left the hospital, he first kissed his partner softly, sometimes on the forehead, then the cheek, and now more often on his soft, dry lips. On more than one occasion, he had to wait until they were alone in the room, but over time gave up caring what the hospital staff saw and thought.

But Starsky had been asleep every time Hutch kissed him. He’d made sure of that. It was his one indulgence that he permitted himself. Starsky would never know.

He saw the eyelids flutter and bent over to lean on the bedrail. “Buddy?”

Blue eyes opened, tried to focus. “Hush, ya still love me right?”

“Of course, knucklehead. I don’t come here for the cuisine.” Hutch rested his hand on Starsky’s head. “But you must have been dreaming about your many lovely ladies to think someone kissed you.”

“Nope.” Eyes focused now, on the blond’s face. “Ya kiss me every night.” Voice awake, but small. “Please?”

A smile spread across Hutch’s face before he could stop it. “No, Starsk. You’re just having great morphine dreams,” he soothed. He felt movement beneath him and looked down to see Starsky’s left hand reaching up. He grasped it and settled it back on the sheets.

“Hutch, you’re not leavin’ me without a kiss good night, are ya?”

With his left hand in Starsky’s hair and his right clasping his partner’s left, he looked into the eyes that read him so well. “Okay goofball, if that’s what you want.” He placed a chaste kiss on Starsky’s forehead.

“Hutch, I died, ya know.”

“Yeah buddy, I was there. I know.”

“Kinda changes ya.”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep pal.”

“Not yet. Gotta tell ya.”

“Shh. Tell me tomorrow. Sleep now.”

“I love ya, Hutch.”

“I love you too, buddy.”

“I know that.” A yawn interrupted. “Damn, ya always kiss me before ya leave. Why won’t you now?”

“Geez, Starsk. I just did. Go back to sleep.”

“Inna minute.” Another yawn, then indigo blue eyes opened wide and blinked purposefully. “Hutch, we love each other. When I get outta here, I’m gonna show you all the ways I love ya.”

“You’re not going to make me eat at Tacos by the Bay anymore?” the blond joked.

Obviously fighting sleep, Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand, then said. “Man, I thought I was the one on drugs. Okay, I’ll tell ya straight out and don’t care if you’re embarrassed.” He looked at their hands, then into the blond’s eyes and whispered “I want to make love to ya Hutch. I’m gunna make you feel so good all over, gunna make you forget you ever wanted anyone else. Wanna wrap my tongue …”

Starsky’s profession was cut off by a large pair of lips capturing his own. A hungry mouth loved him with soft, baby kisses, small, little licks and murmured words. “Yes, my love. Whatever you want.” More nuzzling. “I never thought … I love you so much, so so much.”

Hutch pulled back, face flushed, smile brilliant. “You’ve been faking being asleep?”

“No, lotsa times I was asleep.” Big yawn. “It’s hard to stay awake.” The smile Hutch got wasn’t the 1,000 watt beacon of a fully charged Starsky, but the love was evident. “Love ya so much too.” Starsky settled back into his pillow, his eyes drifting closed. “Now lemme sleep, will ya?”

“Absolutely.” He kissed Starsky full again on the lips. “Big faker,” he whispered.

“Not in bed,” an already half asleep reply came. “It’s the real thin…”

Hutch stood to leave. “It’s the real thing alright.” He walked to the door, stopped and turned back to the bed.

“Good night my love,” then blew him a kiss.