Some Kind of Love

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Hutch held him close a moment, full of tenderness. Starsky had come to mean so much to him…

“You were scared today, weren’t you?” Sometimes Starsky’s perceptiveness startled Hutch…

“Scared for you,” Hutch admitted…. He tried to clamp down on his feelings… He started to get to his feet, but Starsky’s light touch held him, his gaze transfixed him.

“What can I do for you, partner?” Starsky’s felt Hutch’s need, whether he realized the sexual nature of the tension or not….

Hutch found himself moving closer and closer to Starsky, his lips drawn to the vulnerable mouth that he knew in every aspect-smiling, laughing, munching junk food, snarling orders at crooks-and yet had never touched….

 

Some Kind of Love was published in April Valentine’s zine, No Pants, No Badge, No Gun, in 1985, under the name Laura Scott Butler.

Special thanks to the author for allowing us to archive her work, and special thanks, too, to Keri for scanning and proofing the story.

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Hutch brought the Torino to a screeching halt in front of his bungalow. The fear-induced adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. On the back seat, his wounded partner moaned. The sound of his pain cut into Hutch’s heart.

Hands shaking, Hutch climbed out of the car and opened the back door. He took a deep breath, forcing a calmness for Starsky’s sake and gently roused the half-conscious man. “Come on, buddy. We’re here.”

Starsky opened his eyes. “Hutch?” His voice was weak, his bleary gaze showed his disorientation.

“Yeah, it’s me.” The narrow escape they had come through on the job today had shaken both the young cops. Hutch had seen glimpses of his partner’s vulnerability before, but this was the most serious trouble they had been in together. Now, hurt and in need, Starsky trustingly allowed Hutch to take charge. Filled with tenderness and affection, half-dragging, half-carrying him, Hutch managed to get Starsky inside.

After easing his burden down on the wide bed that occupied the main room of the cottage, Hutch turned away a moment, hastily shrugging out of his jacket and unhooking the confining shoulder holster. He hung them on a hook inside the closet, then crossed back to the bed.

Starsky was pretty banged up but he would be all right. The bad guys had almost won this one though, Hutch thought as he bent to tug off the blue Adidas. Two brutal killers had tried desperately to retain their freedom-they had gone out shooting. Hutch had felt a bullet whiz past his head, the narrowest miss he could remember since becoming a cop. His relief had been short-lived, however. The bullet that had sped past him had found his partner, catching the fleshy area of Starsky’s upper right arm. The pain hadn’t stopped Starsky. The felons had been driving straight for the cops’ meager cover behind some alley trash cans. Starsky had charged the car, gun out and still firing. He shot the driver and, out of control, the speeding car had clipped him. He glanced off the fender, bounced over the hood and was slammed into the wall as the car crashed.

Their back up had finally arrived and, to the accompaniment of the sirens’ wail, Hutch had roughly dragged the second armed man from the car and cuffed him. Then, ignoring the other police spilling out of the black and whites, he had turned to bend over his injured partner.

Starsky was conscious but dazed. As he grunted in pain, his hands had reached instinctively for the presence he sensed nearby. “Hutch, oh, my head hurts….”

“Easy, partner.” Hutch had held him a moment, aware of the pale face, of the panting breaths, the hands brushing his thigh, his chest, his cheek, as Starsky grabbed for him. Hutch had reacted to that need, holding on tight.

It had almost seemed, as Starsky relaxed in his grasp, that Hutch’s presence had been all that he needed to take away his pain.

It had felt like forever until work at the scene was in the hands of the uniform cops, until Hutch could get Starsky to an emergency room, until his partner was released to go home.

The gunshot was just a flesh wound and he had no internal injuries, but the superficial cuts and bruises were painful. The dose of pain killer given him at the hospital had not had much effect yet.

Hutch was still agitated, still riding the crest of the adrenaline wave that had begun when the shooting had started. He was moving on automatic, oblivious to the time of day, to anything save the overriding thought that Starsky had nearly been killed.

The ringing of the phone interrupted Hutch’s thoughts. He picked it up and caught himself growling a hello into the receiver.

“Ken? Is that you?”

He couldn’t place the voice for a moment.

“Oh. Julie.” Hutch suddenly remembered that the date he had been looking forward to earlier in the day had totally slipped his mind. “Uh-what time is it?”

“You don’t know, that’s obvious,” she snapped. “You were supposed to pick me up two hours ago.”

Shit. “Julie, I’m sorry. My partner and I got into something and I just got home.”

“Well, you can forget tonight. The last date we had, you were two hours late, too. Instead of going out to dinner, all you wanted was to get me into bed.”

Hutch blushed, remembering the incident. He and Starsky had had a close call that day, too, but that time they had both been lucky. The danger and tension, however, had left Hutch in the mood for sex. At the time, Julie had not seemed to mind his ardor. Apparently he had been wrong. He cleared his throat, realizing that he had been hoping to sleep with Julie tonight, before Starsky was hurt, at least. Now, even if she wasn’t cancelling because she was mad at him, he knew he would have broken the date himself.

He tried to make some apology, but she wasn’t hearing him. Hutch was relieved when the dial tone in his ear signaled the end of the conversation and his relationship with Julie. He reasoned he could always find another girl to date.

The realization that he wouldn’t be in her bed tonight gave a new definition to the feeling in his gut. This wasn’t the first time that being shot at had made him need the release of sex, but he had never thought much about it before. Now that it looked as though he wouldn’t have an outlet this time, he wondered at himself-at what it was about him that caused sudden danger to turn him on. You’re weird, Hutchinson, he thought as he crossed to get a beer from his refrigerator. It wasn’t that he liked being in danger and he hoped it wasn’t some kinky death wish that made him think of sex that way. Adrenalin, maybe that’s all it is. That, and the relief of being all right…

Hutch downed the cold beer quickly, trying to get himself together. He was still moving on automatic, his heart still pounding at faster than normal speed. He took deep breaths, consciously attempting to relax. He opened a second beer, then went back to the bed, drinking this one more slowly as he sat at Starsky’s side.

The dark blue eyes of his partner opened to look up at him. They appeared a little more clear now.

“You feeling better?” Hutch laid his fingers, cool from the frosty bottle, against Starsky’s warm brow.

“Yeah. Thanks, buddy. You’re good to have around in a tough spot.”

Hutch felt the tenderness in his heart grow again. “This was one of the closest calls we’ve had so far, partner.” In two and a half years on the streets together, he guessed they’d been in about an average number of such scrapes. They seemed to know each other instinctively, and the trust born of that knowledge was a valuable asset in scuffles with the bad guys.

Starsky was struggling to a sitting position, favoring his bandaged arm. He looked around the room, as if realizing only now that they were at Hutch’s place. “Hey, what’re we doing here? I thought you said you were takin’ me home.”

Hutch shrugged. His protective instincts had taken over and he had driven Starsky here where he could keep him safe. The impulse made him feel strange, not really embarrassed. The danger had passed, nobody was after them, but he knew he didn’t want to let Starsky out of his sight.

“But, you’ve got a date tonight, don’t ya?” Starsky was persistent.

“Not anymore, I don’t. That phone call was from Julie.”

Starsky read him well. “She dumped you? Just for tonight?”

Hutch grinned, sheepishly. “For good, I think. Cops’ hours are too irregular for her.”

“She’s dumb.” His partner was being supportive, commiserating. “It was all right to sleep with you when she wanted, though. Geez, just cause of a little inconvenience… Sorry, pal. I know you were…lookin’ forward to tonight.” The blue eyes crinkled mischievously.

Hutch laughed, feeling as if Starsky had read his earlier thoughts. Kiddingly, but essaying a leer that matched his partner’s, Hutch teased, “Guess I’ll just have to make do with you, lover-boy.”

Starsky sighed. “Any old port in a storm, eh?”

“Want something to-something for dinner?” Hutch felt a sudden need to change the subject. That sort of teasing never seemed to bother Starsky. It didn’t bother or embarrass Hutch either, not usually anyway, but for some reason it made him feel a bit disconcerted now.

Starsky met his eyes, then grinned, still teasing. “I see you worded that question pretty carefully. Naw, I’m not hungry. I think I just want a hot shower and some sleep. Am I staying over?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, if you want.” Hutch got up and rummaged in the closet for some extra towels and a spare bathrobe. “The doc said somebody should keep an eye on you tonight.” He tossed the articles over toward Starsky. “Here you go.”

Starsky obviously hurt all over. It only took a minute of watching the unsteady movements for Hutch to give in to the urge to lend him a hand. Starsky liked to be babied sometimes, and Hutch felt good helping him, touching him.

With his good arm around the hard waist, Hutch steered Starsky into the bathroom where he sat him on the closed lid of the John.

“Listen, maybe a bath would be more soothing than a shower,” Hutch suggested. “That nozzle shoots a pretty powerful spray and you’ve got a lot of cuts and bandages.”

Starsky nodded his assent and Hutch bent to turn on the taps, adjusting the water temperature to comfortably hot. He opened a jar on a nearby shelf and tossed a handful of herbal scented crystals into the steaming bath. The water turned a shade of dark blue that reminded him of Starsky’s eyes.

His partner was having trouble getting off his shirt with his bandaged arm. Hutch helped him, hanging it up along with the jacket he’d worn slung over one shoulder.

“Ow…” Starsky complained as he started to unbuckle his belt.

“What?” Hutch held his shoulder, steadying him.

“My stomach is all scraped and bruised. And my fingers…” He held up the skinned knuckles for inspection.

“You want me to kiss ’em better or just help you off with those jeans?” The comment was derisive, but the tone was gentle.

Starsky turned on a lopsided grin and a plaintive voice. “I could use the help.”

Hutch sighed, but didn’t begrudge him the assistance. Starsky had been a hero today; Hutch kind of enjoyed coddling the man who showed no fear of bullets, crazed killers or speeding cars.

With Starsky’s lack of help, he got the belt unbuckled and pulled the rumpled, much-faded jeans down, steadying Starsky as he undressed him. With his arm around the naked man, Hutch looked skeptically at the high side of the old-fashioned tub.

“Think you can climb in there?”

Starsky looked up at him. “Gettin’ in’s a cinch. It’s climbin’ back out that’s the real challenge.”

Hutch laughed and maneuvered Starsky into the tub, handing him soap and a wash cloth. “Relax, buddy. I’ll call the fire department if I can’t get you out by myself.”

“Oh, good. I can’t wait. I heard there’s an all girl volunteer fire fightin’ squad out here in Venice.”

“That’s an all gay squad, Starsk…” Hutch ducked the splash of herbal-scented water directed at him and closed the bathroom door on his way out.

By the time Starsky called his name, Hutch had put away a couple more beers. He was feeling them tonight, he realized as he crossed the room. Must be his highly strung emotions, he thought; beer didn’t usually affect him so fast.

Starsky looked kind of sleepy now, as if the medication was finally taking effect.

“Still hurtin’, buddy?” Hutch reached to ruffle the short, damp curls at the back of Starsky’s head, leaving his fingers resting on the moist nape.

Starsky smiled up at him, peacefully relaxed and secure with Hutch. “I’ll live. Feels good in here. But I guess I better get out before I turn pruny.”

Hutch opened the drain and reached for a couple of big bath towels. He got a wet and slippery Starsky to a standing position and patted the towel along his dripping shoulders and back before helping him to step out of the tub.

They were both pretty unsteady and Starsky’s weight pushed Hutch back against the wall. Starsky’s wet length pressed along his body, and Hutch responded to the closeness that was both physical and emotional. Puzzling feelings assaulted him and he became even more confused when Starsky pulled him into a clumsy hug.

“Sorry, partner.” He rubbed his weary head against Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch held him close a moment, full of tenderness. Starsky had come to mean so much to him. To get away from the pain of his past, Hutch had cut all the old ties: home, family, wife, thinking love could only hurt him. Yet slowly, almost without his being aware of it, Starsky had filled him up in all the places where his loneliness lived. Hutch thrived on their closeness, on the trust, the partnership, and his natural tendency to touch, to comfort, found an outlet in Starsky’s need.

Still holding each other, they staggered back to the bed. Hutch eased Starsky down, sitting him on the edge of the mattress. Something about the little boy look of him made Hutch just want to wrap him up in love. Instead, he took one of the towels and bent to rub his legs and feet.

Starsky’s strong and gentle hands on either side of his head stilled his actions. Hutch looked up into deep blue eyes that sent drowning waves of emotion over his spirit.

“Hey, babe. I’m okay.” Starsky seemed to sense how worried about him Hutch had been.

Hutch swallowed hard. “I know.” His voice was husky. “Just need to make sure, I guess. I don’t mean to nursemaid you.”

Starsky’s hand stroked his cheek. “S’okay. You’re good at it. It’s nice. Hey,” he glanced at Hutch’s damp shirt. “I got you soakin’ wet.”

Hutch leaned into the gentle caress, his mouth curving into a slight smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You were scared today, weren’t you?” Sometimes Starsky’s perceptiveness startled Hutch. The diamond-in-the-rough characterization his partner displayed on the street was mostly affectation, he knew.

“Scared for you,” Hutch admitted. Starsky was like a diamond to him, hard and brilliant and very cherishable. He tried to clamp down on his feelings, afraid the beer and frustration would make him do something foolish. He started to get to his feet, but Starsky’s light touch held him, his gaze transfixed him.

“What can I do for you, partner?” Starsky’s felt Hutch’s need, whether he realized the sexual nature of the tension or not. Their partnership was so equal that seldom did just one of them reach out. When one hurt so did the other, when one needed, they both needed.

“Ah, Starsk…” Hutch didn’t know what to do, didn’t think he should talk about the crazy feelings racing through him. Yet he couldn’t move away, couldn’t resist the appeal in Starsky’s eyes. The feel of fingertips brushing through his sideburns was as arousing as any more blatant touch had ever been.

Before his thoughts went any further, Hutch found himself moving closer and closer to Starsky, his lips drawn to the vulnerable mouth that he knew in every aspect-smiling, laughing, munching junk food, snarling orders at crooks-and yet had never touched. His lips brushed Starsky’s. This was the way mouths should touch, the way true partners could communicate-the realization came to him like a movie abruptly focusing correctly, like a swiftly completed maze. Thoughts of why he suddenly felt sexual desire for his partner, another man, fled before they could form. Hutch pressed his lips to Starsky’s, feeling joined to him, to his spirit, to his soul. Their mouths differed as much as did the two men in every other respect. Starsky’s was thin while Hutch’s lips were full, and the difference attracted Hutch as much as the difference between male and female attracted him to other mouths. Yet there was nothing female about Starsky’s mouth. It was hard and yielding, smooth and firm against his questing kiss. The power and beauty of the man’s mouth affected Hutch now more than any woman’s. They were the same, equal in strength, in masculinity, yet Starsky was a mystery Hutch suddenly wanted to know, to solve, to understand. And he wanted to reveal all of himself for Starsky, wanted them together, complete, united.

Starsky’s arms went around his shoulders as desire exploded in Hutch. He was pulled closer, pulled up, leaning over until he pressed Starsky back against the bed, finding himself on top of him, their mouths still locked in a kiss that was becoming more passionate than experimental. The dry lips opened to him, Hutch sensed moistness, sweetness and, without thought, his tongue followed the opening invitation, seeking to know, to taste, to fill Starsky with his own secrets.

The man wriggled beneath him. Hutch sensed strength and vulnerability, need and caring. He thought briefly of stopping, of going no further. This was crazy… but damp thighs opened, pressed against his hips and held him. The embrace of Starsky’s arms, of his legs, of his body felt intoxicating. The hardness pressing against Hutch’s groin was all too real. Starsky didn’t want him to stop.

He broke the kiss momentarily, reaching to pull Starsky further up on the bed. Hands got in his way, reaching for his own shirt buttons, tugging at his belt. The man’s hands undressing him further enflamed Hutch. This was his partner, his friend, and they suddenly wanted each other, needed each other. Who better than partners could understand such needs?

Freed of his clothing, Hutch lay down beside Starsky. The man was alive under his touch, moving, aroused, hands seeking, body quivering his delighted reaction. Starsky turned on his side, moving into Hutch’s embrace.

Hutch stroked him all over, feeling warmth under his palms, exploring the lightly furred chest and thighs, caressing shoulders and back and ass in rapid succession, needing to know him as quickly as possible. Once his flat palms had toured Starsky’s body, his hands slowed, fingertips seeking details, tracing the artfully designed patterns of chest hair, finding the nipples grown hard, gently noting the day’s injuries, wishing his touch could heal. Hearing Starsky sigh brokenly, feeling answering touches on his own body, Hutch thought wonderingly that maybe he could, maybe sharing love with this man could heal his own deep emotional wounds as well.

Starsky was bolder, more direct, here as he was on the streets. His warm hands found Hutch’s ass, his lips nuzzled Hutch’s throat. His kiss turned wet, mouth tasting him, open and sucking. Hutch grew hot under that bruising, loving touch, the fire spreading, fed by searching hands that caressed and stroked his ass, curious fingers sliding down the cleft between his cheeks.

Hutch’s hands reached, feeling the curling body hair grow crisper and more dense the lower it went on Starsky’s body. Half out of shyness, half out of a wild desire to tease, Hutch avoided the maleness that he knew was rising hard and seeking, and stroked the open thighs. Here the fur was downy soft, slight. His hand slid up to the crease between thigh and groin, reached around and back, fingers splaying, searching, sensing warmth and healthy male aroma.

Feeling dizzy, Hutch looked down, feasting his eyes on the aroused body that he dazedly realized was responding to him. His lips found one nipple, his tongue licked it, circled it, then his inquisitive mouth moved lower, tasting Starsky as if he were some exotic delight spread out before a starving man-he could not decide just what to sample first, but he knew he wanted it all. Starsky was clean and sweet and warm, hard muscled, quivering, eager. Hutch looked up and met eyes hot and bright with desire. They fell into another searing kiss, drowning in each other’s taste, tongues meeting in moist dueling, wet sucking. Starsky’s fingers felt between Hutch’s legs, reached up, brushing from the crack of his ass to shock him with bright bolts of pleasure as they caressed his balls and made him go nearly delirious as they fastened on his cock, circling, holding, beginning a slow pumping.

Hutch was wild with desire, with pent up passion. He released Starsky’s mouth, trailing wet kisses rapidly down the body that radiated so much beauty, desirability. The hand let go of his cock as he turned, the fingers finding his nipples, teasing and pinching them.

Hutch looked down at the hard cock standing up, seeking, between Starsky’s spread thighs. It was dark with blood, thick and powerful like the rest of Starsky’s body. And beautiful, so beautiful… No more holding back. Hutch opened his lips, taking it, swallowing it, descending until it filled his mouth, sucking it with a driving need to experience this new and tempting delight fully. He released it a moment, now licking, now bathing it with light, wet kisses in an effort to show his feelings, to give homage to this beautiful aspect of Starsky, then he sucked on the head again, wanting, wanting. His hands kept moving, pressing the legs open wider, feeling across the trembling balls, seeking to know Starsky’s center. The opening was there, delicate, unknown, yielding under his touch. Hutch felt clumsy with passion and inexperience, but as he traced the opening it magically relaxed for him. His middle finger slid in, and his arousal shot higher as he explored the dark unknown secrets of Starsky’s body.

Starsky was turning, reaching for him, but Hutch couldn’t move. Right now he wanted to bring Starsky pleasure more than he needed to be touched himself. Still, though Starsky could not reach Hutch’s cock with his mouth, his hands fondled it, clasped it, explored it with fingertips that sent him flying.

Hutch feasted on the hardness he sucked, his head moving up and down on the shaft, his finger sliding in and out of Starsky’s body. He licked the thick cock all over, loving its hardness, its male taste, then sucked again, swallowing slowly as much of it as he could until he had it all. One part of his brain registered his sudden and miraculous ability to do this; strange, he’d never been particularly adept at arresting his reflexes before He might have thought taking something so hard and so big so deep into his mouth that it reached his throat would make him choke, but he hadn’t thought, he had just acted, reacted, loved.

Starsky was shaking, bucking beneath him, jolting back and forth between the conflicting sensations caused by Hutch’s mouth and fingers. When his release exploded into Hutch’s mouth, the taste and feel nearly made Hutch come in response. Starsky fell back weakly, letting the orgasm take him over completely. Hutch swallowed some, releasing the cock in a reaction somewhat of surprise, overwhelmed that he had done this to Starsky. He watched the recurrent pulsations, the flow of precious semen that followed, his fingers catching bits that sprayed Starsky’s thighs and belly.

“Oh, God. Hutch… Hutch…” Starsky was still reaching for him. Hutch was on his knees, wanting to fill Starsky’s secrets with his own power, wanting to take those secrets and own them, somehow make himself a part of this man he treasured.

Their eyes met, Hutch suddenly uncertain, scared of the finality of the act that was crossing his mind. He couldn’t; he, they weren’t gay, for God’s sake. Starsky had come, he should let his partner get him off the same way. But Starsky’s thighs were open to him, his hands pulling at his ass, urging, inviting.

“Starsk, I… I can’t…”

“Yes, sure you can. I need you, Hutch. And you need me.”

Afraid, awed by the love and trust in Starsky’s voice, Hutch bent to claim his lips, thinking to slow his raging need, to rein it with something more familiar, more comfortable until he could think, control himself. Starsky’s kiss did not impede his desire, though. It yielded secrets too easily, promised too many more would be revealed if he let passion dictate the consummation his partner invited.

“Starsk…” The kiss broke abruptly. “I don’t… wanna hurt you.”

Surprising him again, Starsky spoke calmly. “Got any baby oil? Use some of that.” He kissed Hutch’s mouth, wriggling provocatively. “Come on, babe. You want it, need it. Been wantin’ it all day, since the shoot out. You got no secrets from me, baby blue.”

Hutch trembled, the endearment sending fires coursing, but the truth of Starsky’s statement held him back. “I can’t…use you, Starsky. That’s not right. ”

“Sure it is. I want to. Let me give you this, Hutch. Babe. I want to show you I love you.”

Still Hutch hesitated. He sensed Starsky was making the offer mainly because of his recognition of Hutch’s need. He wasn’t thinking-and one of them had better start. “Starsky. You don’t know how you’re making me feel, saying these things, offering…but this is real, partner. We can’t go back after something like this. You’re a man, I’m a man, this changes….”

“You talk too much.” Starsky’s fingers found him, stroked him, pumped distractingly. “Get the baby oil.”

Hutch responded to the order, to the invitation. He got up, made it to the bathroom in three strides and fumbled about in the medicine cabinet until he found some baby oil. Returning to Starsky and the bed, he lay down, shaking with need and nerves, his erection fading slightly.

Starsky took the bottle from his hand, opening it, pouring some into his palm. He stroked it on Hutch’s cock, lovingly deliberate, maddeningly gentle.

“You’re gorgeous, babe. Look at you, so blond, so big.” Starsky’s voice was seductive, hypnotizing. His eyes were determined-looking, daring. “Never knew you were an all-natural boy, either. That’s beautiful.” Under Starsky’s stroking, the cock filled and firmed again, foreskin stretched taut. “Come on.” The voice teased, fingers tormented. “Doncha want me no more?”

Hutch covered his mouth with a kiss full of love and urgency. Starsky sucked on his tongue, so open, so ready. The total surrender gave Hutch courage and his overloaded senses could withstand no more.

“Turn over. Up on your knees a little.” Starsky moved and the grace of the loved body made Hutch fumble with anxiety. He reached under, grasping the softened cock, whispering once again, “Are you sure?”

Starsky nodded, his hips swaying, teasing, bumping back against him. “Don’t worry, Hutch. I’m not scared. Just…let’s go before I lose my nerve.”

Hutch laughed briefly, willing his raging need to come under conscious control. In this as in all things, he wanted to take care of Starsky. To love him, to fill him with his love… Hutch’s mind was awhirl with feeling, on fire with passion. He hoped he could be gentle enough, right now he doubted himself.

His hands caressed the firm, round ass; he fingered the cleft again and Starsky moaned. Hutch pressed his slick shaft against the opening. It resisted him and both of them began to shake from anticipation and doubt. Hutch stroked Starsky’s cock and, bending down, he circled the puckered opening with a finger. Wanting this so much, he slid his tongue across it once, then continued the act with erotic abandon, feeling the pulse of it, the relaxation he needed as the wet caress thrilled.

He tried once more, and as he slowly pressed in, Starsky groaned again. They both were sweating, moaning. Hutch closed his eyes, but behind his lids his vision burst with blinding light. “Gonna love you, babe. Gotta take you, fuck you… make you fly with me…” He began pumping, thrusting slowly, then increasing his rhythm.

Starsky’s voice responded in cadences of the tempo Hutch set. “Do it, partner. Do it, lover.”

The words came out sounding tight, as if Starsky hurt but was determined not to show it. Hutch pulled back, slowly thrust forward again, gathering Starsky to him, seeking the other man’s pleasure even as his own threatened to obliterate his control. He must do this right, make it good for Starsky. Good, so good… Hutch wanted more, wanted Starsky more than he ever had anyone else. He didn’t know how to make it better for both of them, just let instinct take over where he was lacking in experience.

Starsky’s voice broke, this time on a moan of ecstasy. ‘”Oh, God, Hutch. Yes… yes…” His body responded now, hips tightening, rocking back to meet Hutch’s thrusts.

Starsky’s urging moved him, shook him to his soul. They strained together, tempos merging, bodies becoming attuned. Hutch thrust deep, felt himself enclosed by Starsky’s dark desire, his being welcomed and held secure in tight, exotic heat. In wanting him this way, it seemed Starsky offered him something no one else could ever give. Hutch gave himself up to the healing this completion brought him, his heart full of all the love he had so long wanted to express, all the joy he had denied himself. He moved carefully, but faster, harder, deeper, and the cock in his hand throbbed and hardened, matching his pacing, his arousal. He came, Starsky’s name on his lips, Starsky’s seed in his hand. His body jerked, giving part of his soul to fill Starsky, Starsky draining him as no one else ever had. He had possessed this man, taken him, but as he collapsed against his back, he knew Starsky had taken him, too. Starsky held him now, owned him in the secret sharing they had dared. Complete for the first time in so very long, Hutch felt himself separate from Starsky’s body only to be enfolded in comforting arms and held so tightly he still felt one with him.

“Mmmn.” Starsky’s unintelligible comment was halfway between a sigh of satisfaction and a grunt of pain.

“What?” Hutch’s hand stroked up his damp side and down again.

“My arm hurts.”

“Oh, God, Starsk. I completely forgot about it. I’m sorry,”

“Wanna hear somethin’ dumb? I forgot, too.” Starsky nipped at his chin.

Hutch trembled, amazed by his feeling of total satiation. “I never thought about anything like this with you before, Starsky.” It seemed important to say it. “Never imagined it might be so good.”

Starsky’s pliant, sweat-sheened body moved against him. “Yeah.” The one word vocalization of agreement was full of innuendo. “What’re we gonna do about it now that we know?”

Hutch opened his eyes to look closely at Starsky. “I don’t know. Guess…uh…there’s no way to pretend this never happened…. ”

“I don’t want to.” Starsky’s eyes looked deep, reading his heart, his mind. “You’re not tryin’ to apologize or anything, are ya, Hutch? Cause I don’t think there’s any need to. I got no regrets.”

Hutch pulled him close, burying his face in the mass of curls a moment. He turned his head, rubbing his cheek against the dark strands. Starsky’s comment had wakened his never-well-submerged sense of guilt. “Still, this was…unexpected. It’s got to affect us.” His voice sounded tentative.

Starsky hugged him tightly. “We started together, babe. Maybe it wasn’t something planned, but we can’t deny how good it felt. You try to analyze too much. I grew up on the streets, remember? You do what feels good, long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else. ‘Sides, it’s not as if this was the first time this ever happened between two guys.”

“Starsk…you ever…experiment with this kind of sex before?”

“What?” Starsky chuckled. “No, I never made it with a guy before. Can’t say I’m not the adventurous type, though. Always did like foolin’ around. And I’ve never thought of you as having much in common with a monk, lover.”

Hutch sighed. “Lover. Sounds beautiful the way you say it.”

Starsky’s lips caressed his shoulder. “Was beautiful.” His hands stroked Hutch’s back slowly.

“God, it was, wasn’t it? I just never expected things to go as far as they did, never thought you’d’ve wanted me all the way like that.” He blushed, remembering his unleashed passion and Starsky’s urging him on. “You seemed to know what I wanted, instinctively…and you were willing to give it to me. Ah, babe…” The feeling of closeness, of satisfaction, was so strong, so emotionally wrenching that Hutch could no longer speak of it. He tried to concentrate on the physical, not worry about the emotional factors underlining what they had become.

Starsky seemed to sense the turmoil going on in Hutch’s mind. “Somethin’ wrong? You’ve got those shadows in your eyes again, like you used to have when I first met you. Lonely, kinda scared, I mean. You know this meant a lot to me. I’m not sorry and I don’t want you to be.”

“No regrets…and don’t ask why, is that what you mean?”

“No reason to. You’re my partner and you’re everything to me. We’ve got to face pain and lies and injustice and death out in the streets. What wrong with us finding a little love just for the two of us from time to time.”

“Love,” Hutch breathed, “thought I never wanted to feel that again. Never thought I’d understand what that word means. Guess I still don’t.” All his fears of commitment and admitting to his own needs seemed to swell up in him, but Starsky was here, in his arms, confident and joyous. Hutch responded to everything positive in that.

“Maybe it’s not like bein’ ‘in love’ exactly. We’re makin’ something new. That’s some kind of love, isn’t it?”

“Ummm.” Hutch relaxed in the security of Starsky’s reassurance, reasoning that when a heart cared for someone as much as his cared for Starsky, it was impossible not to show it physically. He gave himself up to the pure pleasure of lying this close to his partner.

“That’s more like it.” Starsky reached to touch Hutch’s hair. “Ow.”

“What hurts?” Hutch’s fingers checked the bandage on his partner’s arm. It was still in place, no bleeding had started.

“Me. Everything.” Starsky chuckled. “Everywhere.”

Hutch cleared his throat. “You asked for it.” It felt good to recapture the teasing, the lightness. “Turn over. Let me massage your back.” His hands went to work, easing the aches and pains of the bruised body. The action gave him something else to concentrate on, took away his need to analyze how and why his caring and his desire to comfort had taken expression in lovemaking, and why Starsky had wanted it as much as he. He only knew how much Starsky meant to him, how good their loving had felt.

Starsky seemed to be reading his mind. “Some kind of love, all right.” He stretched provocatively under the massaging fingers, then was still. Hutch continued his ministrations, rubbing back and thighs, easing shoulder tensions, lightly caressing the fascinatingly curved ass. Now that his heart had taken possession of this beautiful body, his hands couldn’t stop touching it. The secrets they had revealed to each other meant so much to him, the sharing was precious. He wanted there to be other times like this for them, very much.

Finally, he planted a kiss on the patch of soft hair below Starsky’s waist. “Feel better now?” Starsky didn’t answer; relaxed and comfortable he had fallen asleep at last.

Hutch smiled, going to get an extra blanket from the closet, wondering at why they had talked so long, why he was still so wide awake when usually sexual satisfaction left him wanting only to fall asleep. Lovemaking with Starsky, it seemed, was as unusually stimulating as it was unusual in every other way. He returned to the bedside, throwing the blanket over Starsky’s back and lay down under it, curling himself close to the other man’s warmth. Later they would wake up together, hungry for the dinner they had missed and most likely sore in unexpected places. His imagination wandered on, thinking of the next time they would reach for each other, of new secrets, more power they could share. The first time, with its rushing need and the swift shock of unexpectedly blazing desire for each other, was over. The desire was there, they had learned that. The idea of learning more made Hutch ache with anticipation and perhaps a trace of anxiety.

Maybe the scene they were getting into was a heavy one. He liked to experiment in bed, yes, but his experience had been with women only. He had never thought about sucking another man before, touching so intimately, rimming and all the way he had. Yet the way he felt about Starsky made him want to do these things, made him want to feel the way Starsky felt while being made love to, to explore intimacies, to give up inhibitions, to share deeply and reciprocally. Sharing everything, on the streets, and in their hearts… Hutch shivered with his thoughts of newly defined sexuality.

Equal partners, new lovers. Gently he toyed with the unruly hair of the man slumbering beside him. They still had the partnership, the trust, the friendship-and now something more. And because they accepted it all without question, just as they accepted everything that came their way, maybe they could have it all, and keep things on an even keel. The morning might bring something different, unanticipated pain, but for once Hutch refused to worry. Right now, he felt the warmth of afterglow again, sweet as just after they had climaxed together. He settled down to sleep next to his partner, one arm thrown about Starsky’s waist in a protective clasp.

Some kind of love, indeed.