Somewhere in Tahoe

7.2K

“Well,” Starsky said cheerily, “we’re here!… Y’ready t’check in?”

“In a minute,” Hutch said, tonelessly. He continued to examine everything within his range of vision.

As in tune with his partner as he’d always been, Starsky knew what Hutch’s keen eye would notice….

Stop it! Starsky ordered himself, snapping out of his grim reverie. Just ’cause Hutch is wired for light and sound, doesn’t mean you have to be. We’re two guys on vacation, that’s all. Just like everybody else here. Vacation. Period.

Their first real vacation in forever. Or at least several years. And their very first since…since…

The hit in the parking lot.

 

First printed in the SH zine, Test of Faith, published by Lucy in 2006 as a tribute to Tabby.

You can download a podfic of Somewhere in Tahoe, read by soxendom, here.

This story is dedicated to Morgan, who believed I could, and Ro, who always has the answer.

Special thanks to Barb Diana for a painstaking edit, and to Lucy for making such a lovely tribute.

---

“Well,” Starsky said cheerily, pulling the Torino into the nearest parking space, “we’re here!” He peered at the strange surroundings. Looks exactly like the brochure Huggy’s cousin gave me, he thought with pleasure. A gorgeous mountain resort with lots of nature stuff and romantic settings. This is just what Hutch needs.

But when he turned to view his partner’s reaction to the first glimpse of their destination, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of disappointment.

Hutch sat ramrod straight in the Torino’s passenger seat, his hands balled into tense fists resting on his knees–if anything about Hutch could be referred to as “resting.” Behind his sunglasses, Starsky could see Hutch’s eyes scoping out everything, but not the way the average tourist would. The average tourist–a term Starsky would have been happy to apply to himself today–would be noticing the rustic style of the vacation cabins, the attractive landscaping of evergreen shrubs and trees that merged naturally with the surrounding forest, the woodsy decor of the resort buildings, the welcoming signs ushering new visitors to the lobby for check-in, and the listings of interesting activities.

Starsky suspected Hutch was seeing none of that. Hutch really hadn’t had the ability to see things like the beauty of their surroundings for over a year now. Whenever Hutch examined their latest locale, as he was doing now, it was for one reason only.

He was looking for trouble.

“Y’ready t’check in?” Starsky asked, still keeping his attitude light.

“In a minute,” Hutch said, tonelessly. He continued to examine everything within his range of vision.

As in tune with his partner as he’d always been, Starsky knew what Hutch’s keen eye would notice. He would realize that most of the trees and shrubs and forest could easily hide an assailant. There were large attractive landscape boulders that could not only hide a sniper but provide excellent protection in a firefight. The parking lot was too close to the lobby, Starsky thought, allowing anyone attempting to rob the place a quick getaway–assuming they were good at driving snowy roads. Too much speed and they could end up sailing over the edge of the steep mountain pass they’d just navigated. There were too many windows in the cabins and the main building, and they were too big, providing an excellent target for anyone determined to fire on them.

Stop it! Starsky ordered himself, snapping out of his grim reverie. Just ’cause Hutch is wired for light and sound, doesn’t mean you have to be. We’re two guys on vacation, that’s all. Just like everybody else here. Vacation. Period.

Their first real vacation in forever. Or at least several years. And their very first since…since…

The hit in the parking lot.

“C’mon,” he said tersely, “I’m goin’ to check in.” He was angry with himself for bringing that moment to a place he’d chosen deliberately for its peaceful, quiet setting, beautiful nature, and outdoor activities. He cracked open the door of the Torino and got out quickly, knowing precisely how that would affect Hutch.

As predictable as the sunrise, his partner reacted as if prodded with a pin, lurching from the car so quickly he nearly lost his balance in the snowy parking lot. “Starsky, wait!” he snapped, scrambling to maintain his footing, righting himself with the same graceful athleticism he only showed when under fire. “Starsky, not yet!”

“I don’t wanna wait,” he growled, mad at himself for letting his mind go to the one place he’d promised he wouldn’t revisit once they were really and truly on vacation. Not here five minutes and I’m already back in that parking lot. And you think you’re gonna help Hutch let go of it?

Without looking to see what his partner was doing, Starsky made a beeline for the front lobby. Damn, it was cold, and the leather jacket he’d worn wasn’t nearly enough to keep him from shivering.

Don’t have to look. My big blond beauty can’t be more than three steps behind me, snowy parking lot or no. By the time we get to the front desk, he’ll be glued to my side, bumpin’ my hip, as always.

Not that that was a bad thing. Starsky liked the reassuring presence of the man he trusted with his life and his love. He just wished Hutch’s persistent closeness was for the right reason–because he couldn’t bear to be parted from his soul mate, the man he professed to love before all others, the man he swore to be faithful to, committed to, for the rest of their lives.

Not because of what happened in the Metro parking lot a year ago.

But Starsky was a realist, if nothing else.

At the check-in desk, another gorgeous blond greeted him. “Welcome to Big Bear Lodge, sir. Can I help you?”

With a smile so white it could only be called dazzling, the radiant beauty behind the counter looked as crisp and clean as fresh fallen snow. Is this kid even legal? Starsky wondered as he took in the flawless skin, an absolutely amazing set of huge, guileless blue eyes, and a bow mouth with an expressive full lower lip. The name on the gold ID bar read “R. Reynolds.”

Pulling his wits about him, Starsky grinned and said, “Well, Mister Reynolds, we’ve got reservations for the Snowshoe Cabin. Starsky and Hutchinson.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said. “Let me pull up that reservation and we’ll get you in right away.”

Then Hutch showed up, bumping into his hip. “I wish you would wait until–”

The boy behind the counter saw Hutch in all his imposing, fierce blondness and came to a stuttering halt for two beats before regaining his aplomb. “Uh…uh…welcome to Big Bear Lodge, sir. You must be Mr.–”

“I’m Starsky,” Starsky interjected quickly. “He’s Hutchinson.”

R. Reynolds never pulled his eyes away from Hutch as he stuttered, “Uh…yes, sir. Reservations for Snowshoe. Right away, Mr. Hutchinson.”

Starsky tried unsuccessfully to hide his smirk. Another one bites the dust. The boy was already smack in love with Hutch, who, typically, was oblivious to the young man’s interest. Hutch was too busy scrutinizing the lobby and the other guests. Good thing they were out of their jurisdiction or he’d have to worry about Hutch running a make on everyone here.

Reynolds finally located the right reservation and handed the form to Starsky, but never took his eyes off Hutch. “Here we are. Seven days in the Snowshoe Cabin. Luxury accommodations for two. Spacious living room with vaulted ceilings, river rock fireplace, your own kitchenette, and a huge bath with a two-person Jacuzzi. The view’s the best of all the cabins. You can watch the sunset every night, and they’re spectacular up here. Plus, you’ve got cable television and a king-sized…bed–”

Reynolds must have just realized what that implied for the two men before him; he came to a stuttering halt, then blushed furiously.

Hutch was too busy focusing his laser-like eyes on an innocuous middle-aged businessman loitering ten feet away to pay any attention to the beautiful movie-star-in-the-making that was weaving mental fantasies about him.

Before Hutch could convince himself he’d seen the businessman on some FBI wanted poster, Starsky poked him. Pushing the form toward him, he said, a la Cheech and Chong, “Sign ze papers.”

Before the parking lot, Hutch would have laughed and replied in a high-pitched voice, “I will not sign ze papers.” Now, he just scrawled his illegible John Hancock somewhere on the hotel sheet without even looking at it.

Another vehicle pulled into the parking lot next to the Torino. Starsky could feel his partner draw closer as Hutch zeroed in on the new unknowns emerging from their four-wheel drive Jeep. While Starsky worried that they’d bump the Torino and scratch his paint job–new since the shooting–he knew Hutch was absorbed with examining the couple in case they had a pair of Uzis stashed under their bright-colored parkas.

Reynolds must have followed their line of sight, because he asked, “Is that your red sports car, Mr. Hutchinson?”

Starsky couldn’t help laughing. “Mr. Hutchinson doesn’t have that much taste in cars. It’s my Torino.”

Reynolds blinked a few times as if basking in the brilliance of Hutch’s radiant good looks was more than his eyes could handle. Starsky felt that way himself sometimes, so he could sympathize. “Wow. It’s a beauty, sir. Not the kind of car we usually see at Big Bear.”

“She’s a street rod, for sure,” Starsky said. “She wasn’t real happy with a couple of those hairpin turns coming up here. She’s got some age on her, and she’s had her share of hard times, but I’m kinda sentimental about her.”

Hearing the car talk seemed to snap Hutch out of it. He turned to Starsky, then noticed the desk clerk, as if realizing for the first time where they were. “She handled just fine,” Hutch said in a low tone. “If they took care of the roads around here like they were supposed to, there wouldn’t have been any problems. Even a four-wheel drive vehicle can’t handle ice.”

Starsky never thought he’d see the day he dreaded hearing Hutch defend the Torino. In some ways, it was the worst symptom of how things had changed since the shooting. Their arguments about the oversized Coke can were one way they used to liven up boring days. But now, Hutch attributed the car’s solid presence to saving his life during the assassination attempt. And because Hutch had survived the hit by diving behind the Torino, he was able to give Starsky immediate first aid, which the paramedics credited with making the critical difference in saving Starsky. Ever since, the Torino had become his icon of salvation. Hutch had had Merle completely restore it before Starsky recovered, and he had an almost superstitious mania about using it for work while his own rust bucket sat at home and…rusted.

“If you gentlemen would like any help with your bags–” Reynolds offered, but the two men interrupted in perfect synch.

“Absolutely!” said Starsky.

“No!” snapped Hutch.

“Yes!” argued Starsky, his temper rising. “Hutch, we brought enough stuff to stay for a year. We could use some help–”

“We don’t need to advertise where we’re staying or for how long!” Hutch hissed quietly.

“Wha’d’you talkin’ about? Nobody cares where we’re stayin’ or for how long. You’re bein’–”

“Uh…Mr. Hutchinson, Mr. Starksy?” Reynolds interrupted.

Both men turned and said in unison, “That’s STARS-SKI!”

“Sorry, Mr. Star-sky,” Reynolds repeated. “I’d be happy to help with your luggage. Since I signed you in, I already know where you’re staying, if that’s an issue, and I can direct you to the cabin, too.”

Starsky suspected the love-struck boy just wanted a few more minutes with Hutch; he could barely begrudge the kid that. Besides, if it got them a helping hand to unload Hutch’s mounds of luggage… “Great idea, kid! It’ll give us an excuse to give you a ride in the Torino.” He couldn’t miss Hutch’s exasperated expression. “You comin’ or you…just wanna walk?”

Hutch narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

Starsky smirked. “I was countin’ on that. C’mon Reynolds. Time’s a’wastin’!”

“Yes, sir,” Reynolds replied smartly. “Let me just get some coverage out here…” He hit a button on his intercom and said, “Janice, can you cover the desk for a few minutes so I can help these guests find their cabin?”

A willowy redhead immediately emerged from a back room. “I’m here, Richy.” She noticed Starsky and Hutch at the counter. “Oh, hello! You must be the guests.” Her eyes latched onto Starsky as he gave her one of his best smiles.

“We must,” he said. “And you must be Janice?”

“I must,” she answered, then giggled.

An iron band latched around Starsky’s right arm as Hutch nearly lifted him off the floor. “Let’s go, Mr. Stars-skee,” Hutch intoned. “Time’s a’wastin’!”

Starsky struggled to hide his smirk. A jealous Hutch was about the only thing that could restrain paranoid Hutch from his ever-watchful duties. And I’ve still got it with the ladies, even if I’ve got no reason to use it.

From the backseat of the Torino, Reynolds directed them down a snowy road away from the hub of the resort. “The Snowshoe Cabin is our most private,” he explained as Starsky drove. “And it’s got the best view of the mountainside. You can see part of the lake from the loft bedroom. There’s a small kitchen, so you can cook if you want, or order room service, or use our restaurant or any local restaurant. There’s a list in your cabin.”

In the rearview mirror, Starsky watched the kid stare at the back of Hutch’s head.

“Have you ever been to Big Bear before, sirs?”

Hutch stayed silent, so Starsky answered. “It’s our first time.”

“A lot of our guests come from Bay City,” Richy told them. “Do you work there?”

“That’s right,” Starsky said amiably. Then, just to annoy Hutch, he added, “We’re detectives with Bay City PD.”

Hutch shot him a look that could have melted lead.

He ignored it as Reynolds said admiringly, “You’re cops. Wow.”

They were both still on the force, still working under Dobey at Metro. It had taken Starsky six months to get back into fighting prime, but he’d done it with Hutch’s help, and the two of them had been like avenging angels ever since. Preparation for Gunther’s trial took up a lot of their time, and it seemed like whenever they tried to get away for a weekend, some Gunther-complication would screw up their plans. But the old bastard was locked up good and solid now, and he wasn’t getting out either, unless it was feet first.

“Take this fork right here,” Reynolds said, leaning between the bucket seats. “Then pull over to the cabin. We’re here!”

“You weren’t kiddin’, Richy,” Starsky said. “This is private.”

The two-story A-frame cabin sat among some ancient pines that screened it from the road. There was nothing behind the cabin but descending mountains and magnificent views. Once inside, it would feel like they had no neighbors at all.

Starsky glanced at Hutch. For the first time since they’d arrived, his partner seemed to relax a little.

“It’s a real popular cabin,” Richy said, as Starsky popped the trunk and the clerk got his first look at Hutch’s idea of traveling light. Starsky thought he saw the boy swallow. “We rent it to newlyweds, writers, artists, people looking to get away from it all. But I think this is the first time we’ve ever rented it to a couple of cops.”

Starsky grabbed some items from the trunk as Reynolds did, too.

“Starsk,” Hutch said, lurching forward, “don’t take that one. It’s mine. It’s too heavy!”

Starsky ignored his over-protectiveness. “Blintz, everything you pack is too heavy. I can handle it.” He hated it when Hutch went into his Florence Nightingale mode. He wasn’t too bad these days, except when he thought Starsky was about to exert himself. Starsky couldn’t decide what was worse: Hutch’s hovering over him as though he were dying of consumption in some Victorian novel, or Hutch’s paranoid watchfulness as though he were the most hunted man on earth.

He hoisted the bag in question, which budged only reluctantly. He stared at it in surprise. It didn’t look that heavy. “What the hell did you pack in here, Hutchinson? An anvil?” He gave another tug and it came free, but it still seemed deceptively dense.

Hutch’s face had an odd expression. Part dismay, part anxiety, part guilt.

Guilt? What the hell’s that for?

Later. He trudged after Reynolds, who looked like a pack animal, hauling the suitcase and a few other items. Hutch grabbed the rest of their stuff, and they picked their way cautiously over the snow to the front door.

Once inside, Starsky immediately dropped everything into a sprawling pile just to be rid of it. Beside him, was the neater pile Reynolds had wrestled in. Reynolds was moving about the room, turning up the heat, checking everything out. Picking up a spiral-bound book, he flipped through the pages. Hutch simply stood and stared, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Starsky followed his gaze.

The entire back of the A-frame cabin were huge floor-to-ceiling windows with a magnificent view of the mountains, forest, and part of the nearby lake. It was everything Starsky had hoped it would be. It was a view that should fill his lover’s soul with enough nature vibes to last them a full year. They could watch the birds and wildlife and people skiing and–

“My God!” Hutch whispered in awe. Just as Starsky started to bask in the success of his cabin choice, Hutch choked out, “We can be seen from a hundred miles away. We’ve got to get out of here!”

Starsky deflated. “Hutch–”

“That’s our best view,” Reynolds said, approaching them with the book. “And our most private.”

“Private!” Hutch sputtered. “What are you talking about? We can be seen from two states away!”

Starsky rubbed his forehead.

“Oh, no, Mr. Hutchinson,” Reynolds said placatingly. “That’s special glass in those windows. It’s mirrored. You can see out, but no one can see in. You know, like one-way glass. Like the police use. Go outside and check for yourself. That’s why we’ve got those bird silhouettes up there near the peaked ceiling, to keep the hawks from flying into the reflection of the sky they see from the air. This cabin is totally private, I assure you.”

Hutch didn’t seem to know what to do about his anxiety. He frowned and stared out the massive windows.

Reynolds glanced at Starsky as if waiting for some explanation of Hutch’s tension. But Starsky decided to just deflect it. “Whatcha got there, kid?”

“This is your guest book, Mr. Starsky. It’s got the restaurant’s hours of operation and menus from some nearby restaurants. You can also find the ski lift schedule and rates, and information about many of our activities, and amenities.” He handed Starsky the open book.

As if Hutch had finally reined in his hyperactive imagination, he turned to the boy. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. You’ve been very helpful.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a bill. Starsky thought it might be a ten.

“Oh, you’re very welcome, Mr. Hutchinson. But please, call me Richy. If there’s anything you need, anything I can do, just ask for me. I’ll be happy to help you.”

Starsky stared at his feet and struggled not to smile. Oh, I just bet you would.

As if Hutch could hear his thoughts, he turned to Starsky, glowered, and blushed to his roots.

To keep himself from laughing out loud, Starsky asked Reynolds, “Can I give you a lift back to the main building?”

“No, that’s fine. I can walk. Thanks anyway. Enjoy your stay at Big Bear.” He let himself out.

Hutch was already threatening Starsky with the Hutchinson finger when the door closed behind the clerk. “Did you book us into a gay resort?”

Starsky started to really laugh then. “Of course not. Bay City isn’t that liberal yet.”

“But…that kid…he–”

“Was flirtin’ with you. Sure enough.”

“And…and he didn’t seem to think anything of us staying in a cabin with…with–”

“One king-sized bed?” Starsky asked, grinning. “Well, the couch does fold out, but–”

“Will you just answer the question?” Hutch demanded, rounding on him.

“No, it’s not a gay resort. They get all kindsa people staying here. They have weddings and family reunions, sometimes movie stars, and gay couples, I suppose–”

“You suppose?”

“–Since it’s pretty obvious from the brochure that the owners are gay.” Starsky reached into his back pocket and handed a well-creased paper to his partner.

Hutch unfolded the glossy flyer and viewed the owners–Rob and James. His eyebrows rose at the picture of the two fey men.

“Huggy recommended the place,” Starsky added, walking over to the pile of luggage they’d dumped in the middle of the living room. “Said Sugar–you remember our old friend Sugar from the Green Parrot–told Huggy it was the perfect place to get away from it all.” He reached for the suitcase he’d hauled in from the car. “And I can’t think of anyone who needs to get away from it all more than us.” He hoisted the bag, frowning at its weight.

“Look, Starsky, I told you I’d carry that.” Hutch tried to wrestle the case away from him.

Starsky turned to him suspiciously. “What the hell did you put in here, rocks?” He started to smile, but Hutch’s guilty expression wiped the smile off him. “No, not rocks.” Dropping the bag, he tried to open the snaps, but they wouldn’t budge. He narrowed his eyes. “It’s locked. That can only mean one thing.”

“It means I’m private about my underwear, okay?” Hutch grabbed the handle and tried to wrestle it away, but Starsky held on tight. The two men stood nose to nose, each clinging to the hard leather handle.

“You packed our guns,” Starsky said accusingly.

Hutch looked like he might deny it, but then tightened his jaw. “You’re damn right I packed our guns. And ammunition, too.”

Starsky closed his eyes to get a grip on his anger. Then he said softly, “But, Hutch, we’re not visiting your mother!”

Hutch released the suitcase and walked toward the glass wall. He ran his hands through his long hair, as though trying to get a grip on his emotions.

“We’re out of our jurisdic–” Starsky started to remind him when Hutch finally exploded.

“I don’t care! We were out of our jurisdiction in Las Vegas, and we damn well needed our guns.”

“We were undercover in Las Vegas–”

“We were out of our jurisdiction on Playboy Island, too! Undercover again. No guns that time. We ended up throwing wheelchairs at people while running for our lives!” Hutch circled the big living room and bore down on him, his long legs striding, his emotions running high.

Starsky took a deep breath, knowing he’d have to stay calm to reason with Hutch once he hit this state.

“We weren’t undercover at Dobey’s cabin, were we? No, we were on vacation. Just two guys, trying to get in a little fishing, a little relaxation. Out of our jurisdiction. With no guns. And what did we run into? A fucking nest of Satanist whackos, that’s what. That time, we had to use telephones and frying pans as weapons to save our asses. Well, since you made the vacation arrangements and I had no idea what caliber of cookware we’d have, I decided to play it safe, okay?”

Starsky had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. There was no safety anymore, from Hutch’s point of view, not since the parking lot. Starsky realized the same thing during his recovery, but his reaction was different from his partner’s. “Hutch,” he said, with more calm than he felt, “if I wanted to live ‘safe,’ I would’ve quit the force after I recovered.”

Hutch was nearly on top of him, nose to nose, all his bottled rage bubbling to the surface. “You think I don’t know that? It doesn’t matter what I do to cover your back, you always find some way to stick your nose in the middle of danger. You must think you’re immortal since you recovered from that hit! Well, you’re not, buddy. So if you’re gonna spend the rest of our careers courting disaster, then I’ll just have to spend the rest of mine being even more cautious. Because, dammit, your life is too important to me to risk.”

“Was it only five years ago that I told that crooked creep Henderson and his wimpy sidekick Steele that we didn’t mind getting burned on the street, but we’d hate like hell buying it sitting on our butts? That was a shared philosophy back then, wasn’t it, Hutch?”

Hutch walked away again, shoulders slumped. “Big talk from a couple of hotshots.” He glanced over his shoulder at Starsky. “Maybe I just got worn down from watching you get hurt too many times. Bellamy’s poison. The Italian restaurant. That time you took a bullet when we were trapped in the barn. And…and the p-p-p-park–”

Starsky couldn’t bear to hear him struggle to say those words. He strode over and pressed his fingertips against Hutch’s lips. “You think it was easy for me when you were missing that time you were trapped under your car? Or when you nearly died from the plague? Or when that kid shot you? And the botulism–?”

Hutch took hold of his wrist, trapping Starsky’s fingers against his mouth. With infinite tenderness, he kissed Starsky’s fingertips.

Starsky felt his knees go weak, just like they did any time the big crazy blond he loved revealed the deep emotional need he normally kept hidden. In spite of the rush of feelings washing over him, Starsky whispered, “We can’t give up, Hutch. We can’t give up and we can’t give in. Because that’s not us. And whatever else we’ve become, we’ve still gotta be us.”

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, as though the admission caused him pain. He kissed the fingertips again, and Starsky felt him shudder.

Reaching up, he gripped Hutch’s hair and pulled him forward. At the same time, he took away the hand Hutch had kissed, tightening it into a fist, as though he could capture those kisses and hold onto them for when he needed them. He encircled Hutch with that arm and tugged him close.

Their mouths found each other, their lips meshing in their favorite greeting ritual. This was their coming home celebration, the first private moment they shared when free of prying eyes and the censure of a world that understood everything about sex and nothing about romance, everything about transitory copulation and nothing about committed passion, everything about obligation and nothing about true love. They kissed again. And again.

Hutch’s body released its pent-up tension and fear, yielding to his need to hold and kiss and love and adore. His long arms enveloped Starsky, and Starsky once again experienced the sensation of being walled off from the world and all its prejudice and ugliness. Safe in Hutch’s arms, there was only beauty. In Hutch’s arms, there was only love. For him. All for him. Greedily, he accepted it all, craving more.

But that would have to wait. He kissed Hutch once more, then tugged himself free. Hutch released him with reluctance and opened his eyes, gazing at him with that half-adoring, half-mystified look he got whenever they started making love, as though he still couldn’t believe they were doing what they were doing.

“Unpack your boxers, Blondie,” Starsky rasped, indicating the suitcase that had started this conflict. He meant for it to come out strong, like an order, but his voice always quavered when his body started cranking up for sex. He cleared his throat. “Empty out that suitcase, then repack the weapons. We’re lockin’ those guns up, then securing the case in the Torino’s trunk. Just to be safe,” he said pointedly.

Hutch got that mulish expression he wore when he wanted to refuse Starsky. So Starsky pulled out his trump card.

“You want the maid findin’ those things? We’ll come back from skiing to find the local sheriff waiting. And you know how well we get along with local sheriffs!”

There was a momentary standoff when Hutch looked like he was about to argue, but then, he gave in. Reaching into the offending suitcase, Hutch removed a pile of clothing padding the weapons and dumped them in Starsky’s arms. After refastening the case, Hutch held out a hand for the car keys, then headed outside for the Torino.

***

I can’t believe he conned me into locking the guns in the car. Hutch fumed silently as he dutifully loaded the weapon-laden suitcase into the Torino’s trunk. And now he expects me to relax? While we’re unarmed? A pair of sitting ducks? He recalled a time when they waited outside a hotel room for an attack from a government-trained killer. Starsky had said something about feeling like a target in a shooting gallery. Hutch had been carrying that feeling ever since–

Don’t. Don’t think about it.

And like any bad memory, every attempt not to remember it brought it instantly to mind. In vivid total recall and slow motion. Starsky crowing over winning the silly ping-pong game. The crunch of fender on fender. The police car that didn’t stop, even after hitting another car. The horrifying instant he saw the muzzle of the automatic weapon pointed at them–

He slammed the trunk lid down so hard he made the car rock on its suspension, and nearly caught the tip of his finger. Jerking his hand back, the shock of the near-amputation brought the motion picture in his mind to a halt.

Shaking his hand, he wished he could shake his brain as easily to make the horror show in it go away. Desperately needing to distract himself, he looked over the roof of the car, staring at the magnificent vista, reminding himself that Starsky had gone to a great deal of trouble to find this place for him. Given his druthers, Starsky would have preferred a few days in Las Vegas or the more swinging resorts in Tahoe. But he picked this place with its nature settings and cozy amenities to please Hutch. Starsky was worried about him, about his need for constant vigilance, his inability to relax. Hutch was worried, too. Worried that Starsky’s lack of concern about the real threats to their lives would make him drop his guard so some bastard–some Gunther-paid bastard–could get the drop on them. Hutch didn’t care if the old dog was behind bars. Low-level Mafia goons could run entire operations from the joint. How much easier for one rich, sick old son-of-a-bitch who wouldn’t die?

Still, the beauty of their surroundings wasn’t lost on him. They were finally in Tahoe. How many times had they made plans to vacation here, only to have to cancel at the last minute due to court dates, complicated homicides, or mandatory overtime? After enough disappointments, Hutch wouldn’t even consider making plans to vacation here, as though there were a jinx on the place. It had been a few years since they had even tried. So, it surprised Hutch all the more when Starsky sprang this destination on him. He’d had all the old apprehensions about last-minute cancellations, and even now had trouble believing they had actually arrived.

He looked around, taking in the vast scenery. The snowy mountain slopes glistened in the afternoon sun. The conical evergreens swayed gently in the breeze. He could see tiny colorful skiers in the distance. Off to the side, a nature trail beckoned him to explore. Intrigued, he moved toward it to get an idea of how far it might extend. It would be quiet in there. Peaceful. He imagined himself and Starsky crunching along the snow together, not speaking, just enjoying the solitude, the chance to be alone together in private in the beautiful outdoors.

Then he discovered a pair of large dark eyes watching him.

He froze, his heart racing.

The eyes blinked slowly, and that slight motion allowed him to suddenly see the animal that had been invisible to him a moment before.

On the nature trail, just inside the copse of trees, stood a mature elk stag. He stood perfectly still, his impressive rack held high on a chiseled, elegant head. The creature, as massive as most elk, was hard to see while standing on the path. Except for his dark eyes, nose, muzzle, he was completely white, nearly disappearing against the backdrop of snow. The trees in front of him broke up his outline, and the spattering of snow against their bark completed the animal’s winter camouflage.

My God, it’s a white stag. It was as improbable as seeing a unicorn. White deer were not that rare, but rarely survived their first year. They were easy prey for predators and hunters, and were generally smaller and weaker than normal-colored deer, the result of recessive genes.

Yet this one’s rack showed his age, and he was as large, if not larger, than any elk Hutch had ever seen.

Unbidden, he heard his grandmother’s voice, her old-world accent as unique as she was. “The White Stag is a magical creature, not truly animal, yet not human either. It’s a spirit animal and only appears when it has a message to bring. In the old country, hunters would chase the stag, not to kill it, but for the joy of the chase, knowing the stag would lead them to adventure. They would chase it to capture happiness.”

His own childish voice had asked worriedly, “So, they could only be happy if they captured the white stag?” Imagining the beauty of such an animal, he hated the idea that joy could only be found in killing or capturing it.

“Oh, no,” she’d assured him. “The joy was not in the capture, but in the chase. No one can capture the white stag.”

His heart hammered wildly as he stared at the stag. Do you have a message for me? Is that why you’re here? Or am I simply having a quiet nervous breakdown complete with mythological hallucinations, thanks to Gunther?

As though he had heard Hutch’s troubled thoughts, the stag’s ears pricked forward. Then he seemed to focus on something just beyond Hutch. A split second later, he was gone, silently bounding down the nature path, his white rump as invisible against the snowy path as an arctic hare would have been.

Hutch gazed after him, wondering if the stag had been real or not, when the solid thwack of a snowball hit the base of his neck, sending freezing fragments down his collar to melt against his skin.

“Caughtcha daydreaming, Blintz,” Starsky crowed, thwacking the back of his head with another solidly packed snowball.

Completely disoriented, Hutch half turned, only to take another shot in the side of the face. “STARSKY!” he bellowed, ducking to scoop up a handful of snow as another cold missile whizzed over his head. “So help me–!” He flung the hastily made snowball in Starsky’s direction, only to watch it disintegrate before reaching his aggravating partner. He dodged to the right, anticipating the next assault. Starsky had to run out of ammunition sooner or later.

When Hutch saw Starsky frantically scooping up handfuls of snow, he bolted forward with a wolfish grin, eschewing hurled snow in favor of a full-body tackle. Starsky looked up to see Hutch barreling toward him like a linebacker. With a shocked yelp, he took off, with Hutch in hot pursuit.

Starsky took a full circuit of the cabin and once around the Torino before making a break for the woods. Hutch knew Starsky figured him for a sprinter and was trying to tire him out. But his Bay City lover didn’t take into account that Hutch was from Minnesota. Snow was his element. And Starsky was a city boy. He might have learned the fine art of snow packing during Brooklyn winters, but those bandy legs couldn’t last forever in the powdery snow.

The snow was deeper along the unused path of the nature trail than it had been in the plowed parking lot, and Hutch caught up to Starsky before they’d gotten too far from the cabin. Grabbing him around the waist, he brought him down, face first, into a deep drift.

“Hitting a man in the back isn’t very sportsmanlike, Starsky,” Hutch said, planting himself on Starsky’s butt. Grabbing a fist full of snow, he yanked up Starsky’s collar and shoved it down his back.

His victim howled delightfully. “Hutch! That’s cold! Don’t!”

“Pre-arming yourself with a half-dozen snowballs without giving me a fighting chance wasn’t very sportsmanlike, either,” Hutch reminded him, shoving a handful of snow in his face. Starsky sputtered and whined pitifully, while wriggling in the most interesting way. Hutch grinned, enjoying his revenge.

“Okay! Okay!” Starsky protested, laughing in spite of his humiliating defeat. “You win! Ease up, you weigh a ton!”

Hutch lifted his weight just enough to allow Starsky to roll onto his back. Settling on his knees, Hutch rested against Starsky’s groin. He wasn’t surprised to find Starsky with a full-blown erection. “Most men shrink when exposed to the cold, but not you.” He rubbed his ass against Starsky’s crotch just to aggravate him.

“Anyone ever tell you, Hutchinson, that you’re a poor winner? I’ve got snow drippin’ down my back, and my nose has got frostbite. Lemme up, will ya? The only reason I’m hard is ’cause my dick’s frozen! You wanna wiggle against it, then warm it up first, so it might actually feel something.”

Hutch stood then gave Starsky his hand to help pull him to his feet. Hutch was laughing. His lover was covered in snow from head to foot.

Remembering the white stag, he glanced down the trail, but there was no sign of him. There weren’t any tracks, either. He might’ve veered off in the woods anywhere. Our chase would’ve wiped out any tracks.

He thought of something. “Hey, Starsk,” he said, while brushing white stuff off his partner, “while you were making snowballs, did you…did you see anything?”

“Just your big beautiful blond self staring off into never-never land,” Starsky said. Sensitive to Hutch’s change in tone, he asked, “Why? Did you see something?”

“I…uh…I was watching an animal. An elk. I was wondering if you saw it.”

“No. An elk, huh? They told me the bears were all hibernating this time of year. Elk don’t attack or anything, do they?” Starsky got that anxious expression he wore when confronted with the natural world.

Elk could be damned dangerous, but if Hutch ever wanted to walk this trail with Starsky, he’d better keep that fact to himself. “No, Starsk. Elk won’t attack. Come on, let’s get you into some dry clothes. You’re shivering.”

By the time they got back inside, Starsky was chilled.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to dress for the snow?” Hutch grumbled, as he peeled off Starsky’s damp clothing.

“No one told me the Abominable Snowman was gonna smother me in frozen water. I don’t think they make clothes for that kinda situation,” Starsky insisted through chattering teeth.

“What’s that noise?” Hutch asked as he tugged Starsky’s wet ski sweater off. He could hear a low-grade rumbling.

“Jacuzzi,” Starsky muttered. “You were out there so long, I had time to get our goods packed away and turn on the Jacuzzi and the heaters. Good thing, too. With luck, I might thaw out before dinner.”

“So, where is it, anyway?” He and Starsky both struggled with his damp leather boots and skintight jeans.

“Upstairs. Master bath. I’m freezin’, Hutch, let’s go!”

As Starsky stripped the last of his wet clothes and headed upstairs for the large heated bath, Hutch paused on the threshold of the master bath. “Christ, Starsky, this place is a pasha’s wet dream!” The room had a cedar-lined sauna, the Jacuzzi tub, and a standard shower for the banal task of washing. It also had a closet full of plush towels and washcloths, and side-by-side sinks. The exterior wall behind the tub was all glass, with the same magnificent view they could see downstairs.

Hutch hesitated. Stripping in front of that window was going to feel like complete public exposure.

“Your fallin’ behind,” Starsky complained as he eased himself into the swirling water. “Oh, man, that feels good!”

“You are such an exhibitionist,” Hutch grumbled, quickly yanking off his clothes and leaving them in a heap. “You really believe this is one-way glass?” He tentatively dipped a toe into the water. The temperature was bone-melting warm; sliding in beside Starsky, he sighed.

“Sure,” Starsky said amiably. “This is the honeymoon cabin. You think young virginal brides would bang their nuptial night away in full view of the skiers? Boy, this feels good. I swear, Hutch, my marrow was slushy.”

“We need to hit the ski shop and find you better insulated clothing. Especially if you’re gonna brave the slopes like you’ve been promising.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Blondie. Falling down a mountainside with two pieces of waxed boards on my feet, traveling at 80 miles an hour without 3,000 pounds of Detroit steel around me sounds right up my alley. But I want red skis.”

Hutch laughed. “I have a feeling you’ll do just fine. Getting warm?”

“After you tried to freeze me to death, yeah. No thanks to you.”

“You fired first,” Hutch reminded him. “You’re on my turf now. Better remember that.”

Starsky gave him that crooked grin that always threatened to unseat his heart. “Know what, Hutch?”

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve really roughhoused with me since the hit.”

Hutch frowned. “No, it’s not. We’ve roughhoused plenty.”

Starsky shook his head. “Not like that. You’ve always held your strength in check, like you were afraid I would break or somethin’. Even when I tried to aggravate you, you never fully gave in. But today, you forgot all that. It was worth nearly freezin’ my dick off.”

Hutch thought about it, disturbed. Was Starsky right? Had he been treating him as though he were still fragile, still healing, until today? He never wanted to make Starsky feel like anything less than his partner, the one man he could rely on to watch his back. The one man he trusted completely.

Staring at Starsky, he could see the tracings of scars left by bullets and surgeons. But they were faded, covered by Starsky’s chest hair. They would always be there, but they just weren’t that noticeable anymore. Or maybe Hutch had finally stopped focusing on them.

Suddenly, Starsky gave him a sly look, rolled the shoulder nearest him, and said in a mock-sultry voice, “Why, Officer, are you undressing me with your eyes?”

Hutch blinked, consternated. “Starsky. You’re naked. How much more undressed could I imagine you?”

As though that were his cue, Starsky slid over and pressed himself against Hutch’s body. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty imaginative.” Starsky’s arms encircled his waist, pulling them closer.

Hutch slid his own arms around his partner without thinking. Starsky was as slick as an eel from the hot water and the scented bath oil. Hutch’s cock responded without thinking either, his erection instantly at full bloom. Nuzzling his lover’s ear, Hutch murmured, “You’re enough to rouse a statue.”

Starsky chuckled, slipping and sliding against Hutch while secure in their embrace.

Feeling Starsky’s hard-on delighted Hutch. The months of medically induced impotence had long been gone, though Hutch had been more patient about that than Starsky. It had been enough for Hutch to know that Starsky would live…and later, that he could regain his health…and then after that, that he could go back to the work he loved. It seemed too much to hope they could have moments like this, too. Moments of love unfettered by the outside world, a world that seemed forever bent on destroying them.

Not if I have anything to say about it. Fiercely, Hutch pulled Starsky to him, then found his mouth.

He didn’t have to search for it. It met him willingly, eagerly, giving him that which always amazed him–Starsky’s love. It was the greatest miracle, the one he treasured all the more because it had come to them so late in their relationship. It had happened all of a sudden, bursting like an inferno that had been kept carefully under control. Now that it had been set free, it threatened to consume them.

Hutch’s arms tightened more, pulling a grunt from Starsky, but his lover’s matching grip answered in kind. Their kiss was wet, sweet, on fire. As if all their passion were centered in their mouths, their kiss continued unfettered, uncontrolled, while the dance of their bodies stayed careful and slow, a slick glide of smooth skin against furred torso. One muscular frame undulated against another, causing ripples of tender sensation that stoked the fire of their kiss.

The Jacuzzi pulsed and swirled around them. Impulsively, Hutch lifted Starsky and pushed him back against one of the jets, testing the pressure with his hand. He positioned Starsky where the pulsating jet would throb against the lush curve of his ass.

“Too much?” he gasped into Starsky’s panting, open mouth.

“No,” Starsky breathed back. “‘S good. Feels fine….”

He hoisted Starsky up higher, and Starsky cooperated by wrapping his legs tightly around Hutch’s hips.

“So good…” he murmured as Hutch made them sway back and forth against the jets. The swirling water pummeled Hutch’s testicles with a frantic rhythm that made his blood pound.

Gripping Starsky’s ass, Hutch separated his cheeks, giving the jets access to Starsky’s hypersensitive anus.

Starsky shouted, throwing his head back as he stropped his erection frantically against Hutch’s belly. “God, that’s good!”

Hutch rubbed his own erection between them, feeling Starsky’s wiry-furred balls massage him tormentingly. His mouth found its mate again, and the kiss resumed more passionately. You’re mine, Hutch thought, flooded with so much desire and need he felt drunk. I own you. I can do whatever I want with you.

Starsky nodded, as though agreeing. Pulling away, he gasped against Hutch’s lips, “Yours. All yours, boy. Whatever you want. Whatever–”

Then Hutch took his mouth again, swallowing that promise. And all I want…is to please you.

Moving away from the jets before the intense sensation became too much, Hutch slid his left hand along the crack of Starsky’s ass so he could tease his anus. His right hand took hold of the glistening cock that kept stropping his belly. Starsky shuddered as his legs tightened around Hutch’s hips, and his arms gripped his torso.

“Shhh,” Hutch soothed as he tickled and tormented Starsky’s sensitive orifice. “Relax, just relax.”

“Oh, that’s really funny, Blondie,” Starsky gasped, his hips flexing involuntarily as he rocked between Hutch’s right fist and his gentle fingers. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“What goes around comes around,” Hutch said, chuckling. “Everything you do drives me crazy. The way you walk. The way you talk. The way you ambush me with snowballs when I least expect it.” In spite of his excitement, Starsky grinned at Hutch’s insincere complaints. “The way you ambush me with…your beauty. God, I love you, Starsk.”

Starsky stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I love you, too, babe. So much that…some days it almost hurts. And I want you like crazy.”

Hutch felt disarmed by Starsky’s rare confession.

“I need you, Hutch. I can’t believe how much.” Starsky reached between them to grip the heavy club of Hutch’s sex and gave it a loving squeeze.

Hutch gasped at the flood of sensations that threatened to overwhelm him.

“So, come on, big boy, huh?” Starsky murmured teasingly, stroking Hutch to a fever pitch. “Let’s do it, okay? Today. Now. Come on.”

Hutch blinked, unsure of what Starsky was asking.

As though understanding Hutch’s hesitancy, Starsky pressed his face against Hutch’s to whisper in his ear. Rubbing his thumb against Hutch’s inflamed crown, Starsky’s breathed, “Let’s fuck, baby. I need you.”

Hutch’s cock jumped and his anus clenched in reaction. “Sure…you want me to turn around?”

Starsky pulled away to look into Hutch’s eyes. He smiled at his confusion. “No, babe. Not that way. I want you to fuck me.”

The moment Starsky said that, a movement outside the huge window caught Hutch’s peripheral vision. Instinctively, he clutched Starsky tight and swung him around in the tub so Hutch’s back was to the window, his body between Starsky and the outside. He looked over his shoulder, searching.

Starsky grabbed his chin and forced him to turn back, to ignore the outdoors. “It was a bird, that’s all. Just a bird.” His voice was soft, low, reassuring.

Hutch experienced the rush of adrenaline that happened whenever his concern for Starsky’s safety made him react like that. He was still excited, his heart hammering away, his erection straining. But he was also suddenly, inexplicably, stressed.

“Come on,” Starsky pressed. “Let’s do it. I mean it, Hutch. It’s been too long. This is the perfect time. I’m all relaxed and mellow, and the oil’s made everything all slippery….”

Hutch closed his eyes, assaulted by his perplexing emotions. Images of automatic weapon fire erupted behind his closed lids. Bullets flying. The Torino. Starsky’s body hitting the ground. His own voice shouting, “Starsky, get down. STARSKY, STARSKY–“

“Hey!” Starsky snapped, giving him a pinch on the ass.

The sudden small shock of pain made him jerk his eyes open. The parking lot dissolved as his gaze filled with Starsky’s worried expression.

“You still with me, Hutch?”

Even with his eyes open, Hutch could still see the bullets penetrating Starsky’s body, puncturing him, nearly killing him… His body’s suffered massive damage–

“I can’t, Starsk,” he blurted without conscious thought. “Not yet.”

Starsky’s body sagged with disappointment. “You gotta let this go, Hutch. You’ve gotta put it behind us. I’m healed! And I’m ready for you.”

“But I’m not,” he confessed. “I just can’t. It’s like…it feels…like some kind of assault. Like it’s too violent.” He was stumbling over his words, and everything was all mixed up in his head. He was hurting Starsky, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I can’t help the way I feel. I’ll get over it at some point. Just not…right now.”

Starsky seemed about to argue, then must have to come to some kind of acceptance. Rubbing his knuckles against Hutch’s cheek, he acquiesced. “Okay, lover. I hear you. Just know that I’m ready for you. Anytime. Anywhere. I mean it.”

Hutch nodded, hugging Starsky tightly, upset that he’d disappointed him. It meant Gunther had won some kind of victory even though he sat in prison. That angered him, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Let’s take it easy right now,” Hutch said softly. “Go slow. We’ve got all week.” It felt like an empty promise. They’d had months since the shooting, and still, Hutch couldn’t get past this barrier. Aching to get the mood back to where it had been, he said teasingly, “Besides…I need to be sure your legs are strong enough for skiing.”

“Bastard,” Starsky swore. He seemed to pick up on Hutch’s attempt to restore their playful sexual mood. With a wry smile, he said, “Gonna ski rings around you, snow-boy. Y’oughta keep me in a weakened condition just so I don’t make you look bad.”

Hutch returned the smile, loving Starsky’s forgiving nature. “You’re the only man I know who’ll threaten someone who could drown you without any effort. But I know how to shut you up.”

Their mouths met again in mutual agreement. This was their restorative. When Starsky couldn’t respond sexually, they still had this–the sweet dance of lips and tongues. For Hutch, it had been more than enough to sustain him. Feeling the breath and taste of his lover fill his mouth and soul, his passion flared anew, and the awkward moment fell away.

Hutch renewed his stroke on Starsky’s cock with increasing pressure. He felt an answering response from his lover, as Starsky gripped him even tighter, knowing just how to handle him. The shocking sensation of those long slender fingers, and the realization of how much Starsky wanted him, nearly undid Hutch’s resolve, especially when Starsky started humping against him. Hutch shoved him up hard against the side of the Jacuzzi, using the tub wall to support him. With a gentle, slow anal massage as counterpoint, he gripped Starsky’s cock and pumped. Starsky’s legs went slack and he gasped, but he kept his own grasp firm on Hutch’s hard-on, giving him no mercy. Soon, water was sloshing everywhere as they began their climb to orgasm. Gasping their names into each other’s mouths, they stroked and petted and kissed and tongued each other into a frenzy.

Holding Starsky up, supporting him with his physical strength, made Hutch feel masculine, powerful. He didn’t have to hold back with Starsky. His lover was healthy and as strong as Hutch himself, able to take whatever Hutch dished out. More than that, Starsky loved it when he held nothing back, just as Hutch loved it when Starsky did the same. Maybe, if he kept repeating that, the reality of the man Starsky was today would finally overlay the images of Starsky dying on the tarmac of the police garage.

The grip pulling him to joy was Starsky’s gun hand, his strongest hand, and if those long elegant fingers gave an illusion of softness, the power of that hand’s grip dismissed that.

With a familiar groan, Starsky came, but managed to maintain the rhythm of his stroke in spite of his own pleasure. His shuddering orgasm ignited Hutch’s last nerve, and he joined his lover, calling Starsky’s name like a litany. He needed to reassure himself that this was no dream, that they were here together, loving each other, in love.

They clung together as Starsky eased his legs from Hutch’s waist, but kept their close body contact while slowly coming down from the intense high of their orgasm. Starsky was whispering to him, but the gurgling water didn’t let him make out what he said. It didn’t matter. He knew the words. He said it every time.

Love you, Hutch. Only you. Only you.

Hutch hugged him hard and wondered if they could just stay here, or if they would drown when they fell asleep.

***

It was dark by the time they emerged from the bath. Starsky was still in there brushing his teeth, humming a happy tune through a froth of toothpaste. Hutch was enjoying the comfort of the big fluffy robe provided by the resort while he dried his hair. Standing by the king-sized bed in the loft, he stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and wondered if his feeling of exposure would let him relax enough to sleep. In the distance, he could see skiers going down the trails under lights. Nearby, the surrounding darkness of the wilderness looked mysterious, secretive. He stared at the nature trail. There were no lights there, but the snow afforded some visibility, reflecting back the ambient light from the cabin.

As he tried to enjoy the view without calculating how many places a sniper could conceal himself, he once again saw the white stag step out from the woods. The animal gathered all the available light, gleaming like a beacon in the dark. Intellectually, Hutch knew the animal couldn’t see him behind the one-way glass, but he froze anyway, not wanting to startle it.

“Starsk,” he said quietly, “are you almost done in there?”

Starsky mumbled something Hutch couldn’t make out.

“Get your ass out here, will you? I want you to see something.” The stag didn’t move, but inexplicably looked up, blinking once, slowly, his dark-on-dark eyes fastening on Hutch’s. Hutch felt as transfixed as he had in the parking lot.

When he didn’t hear anything from Starsky, Hutch called again, impatiently. “Starsky, will you come on?”

“I’m already seein’ it.” Starsky’s voice surprised him.

He turned to find his lover five feet behind him. But Starsky wasn’t looking out the window; Starsky was staring at him.

“Doesn’t matter how often I’ve seen it,” Starsky murmured, his voice surprisingly husky. “I never take it for granted. How beautiful you are. And with all that backlighting, it’s like you’re glowing, like you’ve got this big halo of light all over your body. Damn, Hutch.”

Starsky’s unexpected burst of sentimentality derailed Hutch. He wasn’t used to Starsky getting so romantic. But when did they have time to get romantic? Not in their frantic day-to-day, that’s for sure.

“What did you want me to see?” Starsky finally asked, not taking his eyes off Hutch.

For a second, Hutch couldn’t remember, then jerked back to the moment with a start. “Damn!” He turned his head to where he’d last seen the stag, but he was gone. “The…uh…the elk. It was here…near the cabin. I wanted you to see him.”

“You think it was the same one?” Starsky finally pulled his eyes away from Hutch and looked at the darkened wilderness.

“I’m sure of it.” Hutch realized too late that he’d said the wrong thing.

Starsky gazed at him, puzzled. “How can you be sure? They all look alike. Or does this one have a weird set of horns, or what?”

“Antlers, Starsk, they’re called antlers. No…uh…nothing wrong with his rack….”

“So…how can you be sure–?”

“I just am, okay? He’s…uh…really big…and, uh… In a minute, he’d start stuttering, so he abruptly shut up. “Doesn’t matter. He’s gone now. I just…wanted you to see him.”

Starsky gave him one of those maddening, you’re-acting-awfully-weird-but-I-love-you-anyway looks and said, “Okay, fine, but I don’t wanna hear you telling me later how he followed you home and can you keep him.”

Hutch had to laugh. He glanced out the window to confirm that the white stag was indeed gone. Am I going crazy? Not wanting to explore that train of thought, he let Starsky lure him to bed and put thoughts of the enigmatic animal out of his mind to concentrate on the enigmatic animal he slept with nightly.

***

Hutch didn’t realize that Starsky was in full-blown pout until they’d left the resort’s ski rental shop. Granted, early morning wasn’t his partner’s favorite time of day, but that all-too-familiar expression clearly went beyond the needing-another-cup-of-coffee stage. Besides, he’d seemed plenty alert as they picked out snappy new ski wear for him that would keep him warm while playing outside. But now, Starsky was eyeing his newly rented red-and-white skis and scowling. Hutch was dismayed. They were, after all, red, so what was the problem?

Before he could ask, Starsky said, “How come my skis are shorter than yours?”

That’s what he’s annoyed about? Hutch was startled enough to blurt out, “I can’t believe this! You’ve never been a size queen before–”

Starsky shot him a look that made him close his mouth with a snap. “Very funny. There are some things in life you just gotta accept. I can’t do anything about the fact that you’re taller than me. I can’t do anything about the fact that you’re hung–”

Hutch coughed loudly and glanced around. There were enough families nearby that they should be discreet.

“Yeah, okay,” Starsky conceded. “Anyway, let’s just say I can’t do anything about the fact that you’ve got the advantage there, too. And, usually, you don’t lord it over me about those things. So, how come you deliberately arranged to give me skis that are substantially shorter than yours, huh? Think your partner can’t hack it in the snow? Givin’ me little kiddy skis–”

“Well, it’s true yours are shorter,” Hutch said with an innocent expression, “but they’re also wider.”

Starsky’s frown deepened.

Hutch held up his hands placatingly. “Starsky, it’s not what you think, I swear. The only reason you have shorter skis is because you’re new at this sport. Shorter skis will give you better control. But with your natural athletic ability, if we keep skiing after this weekend, it won’t be long before–”

“I can have the grown-up skis?” Starsky interrupted. “Like yours?”

“You know very well I grew up in Minnesota–”

“Yeah, yeah, where the snow was twelve feet deep and you skied five miles to school every day, uphill both ways.”

Hutch tried to hide a grin.

“And you were a champion downhill skier, and–”

“Hey,” Hutch said in a desperate attempt to sidetrack him, “we’re wasting time. And you haven’t had your first lesson, yet.”

“Okay. Okay.” He looked around. “So, where’s my ski instructor?”

“I’m your ski instructor. You didn’t think I was going to trust your training to some cute little snow bunny?”

Starsky had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, I just thought, that is, Janice mentioned this morning that she teaches–”

“Forget it,” Hutch snapped, secretly pleased to distract Starsky from his feelings of inadequacy over ski length. “Come on. Let me show you how to put those on, and then we’ll get started.”

As they clumped through the snow in the hard boots, Hutch was explaining the intricacies of handling skis when Starsky spotted a sign near the training area.

“Bunny slope? Is that for the kids? They don’t force bunnies to ski, do they? I bet they’d have really short skis!”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “The bunny slope is a training area, Starsk. That’s where they instruct beginners.”

Starsky halted in his tracks. “You’re kidding, right? It’s bad enough you’ve got me in junior-version skis, but you’re gonna teach me on the bunny slope?”

Hutch sighed, trying to remember why he once thought this was a good idea. “It’s just a name! Everyone starts on the bunny slope. Even me.”

“Even you?” Starsky looked skeptical. “I thought you were born with skis on.”

“If that were true it might explain my relationship with my mother, but, yes, I started on the bunny slope like everyone else.”

There was a pause while Hutch put on his skis and prayed to the snow gods that Starsky didn’t ask–

“So, how old were you when you were on the bunny slope?”

I knew there were no gods. “I was three.”

“Oh, a mere thirty-five years younger than I am now! Hu-u-u-u-tch….”

***

Some time later, Hutch helped pull Starsky to his feet again. “Come on…you’re doing great for your first time….”

“The hell I am,” Starsky said, panting. “How can I be doing ‘great’ if all you’ll let me do is the snow plow on the bunny slope?”

“Starsky, you’re a beginner! Everyone starts–”

“Don’t give me that! I’m tellin’ you I’m psychologically disadvantaged because of my little stumpy skis and the hours you’re keepin’ me here on the bunny slope.”

The way he said the word made it sound like curse.

“That’s bad enough,” Starsky went on, brushing snow from his newly purchased outerwear, “but my teacher is holding me back because of his overprotective streak.” That made Hutch flinch. “What, you think Gunther’s goons would never look for us on the bunny slope? Well, I guess maybe they wouldn’t. But that’s beside the point!”

“Starsk, I swear I’m not–”

“I’m tired of doin’ the snow plow. I’m tired of the friggin’ bunny slope. And I’m tired of you tryin’ to wrap me in cotton. Now, either you take me out on the grown-up slopes, or so help me, I’ll go find Janice and–”

“Okay, okay,” Hutch conceded before they got into a full-blown lovers’ quarrel in one of the most public areas of the resort. “We’ll hit the lifts and we’ll go out on the beginner slopes.”

“Begin–”

Hutch wagged a threatening finger at him. “That’s my compromise. If you listen to me out there and do well, then we’ll hit the intermediate slopes. But only if you follow instructions.”

“I’m not spending the whole weekend doin’ the snow plow, Hutch!”

He sighed. “Starsky, expert skiers get killed if they hit an obstacle going fast. The least that can happen is a bad injury. Tangle with a tree, and if you survive it, you could be permanently lame–”

He realized Starsky had tuned him out when he deliberately walked toward the ski lift for the advanced slopes.

“Starsky, that’s the wrong line!”

***

“Wow, it’s pretty up here, Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, as he looked out over the descent stretching before him, and the wider panorama of the ski resort. Below them, sat the lodge that hosted the restaurant, lounge, and bar for what Hutch always called “après-ski fun.” Starsky already knew what his idea of “après-ski fun” would be, and it sure wasn’t something that could be done in a public lodge. The people milling around the lodge looked small, but not ant-like. They weren’t that far away and the slope wasn’t very challenging. Still, the scenery was nice, and Hutch had managed to find a spot on the hillside that was private, not far from the edge of the woods.

“If this is what it looks like on the beginner slope,” Starsky added, “I can’t wait to see what the view is like on the advanced run.” Catching the tail end of one of Hutch’s better eye rolls, he added sarcastically, “Not that I’ll ever find out in this lifetime….”

“Starsk,” Hutch grumbled ominously, before something caught his attention in the crowd below them. “What the–?”

By habit, a habit that had kept them both alive through the years, Starsky followed his partner’s gaze. All he could see were dozens of skiers engaged in current and après-ski activities. “Whatsa matter?” he asked in a low voice, straining to see whatever it was that had caught Hutch’s attention.

His partner cleared his voice, then looked sheepish. “Uh…nothing; it was noth–”

Starsky shot him a cranky look. He hated it when Hutch stalled; it usually meant he was hiding something.

“I…uh…I thought…I saw something…” Hutch mumbled, guiltily.

“Something?” Starsky pressed.

“Okay, okay,” Hutch snapped, the guilt quickly transforming into annoyance. “I saw something glinting…something…metal….”

“Like a…ski pole, perhaps?” Starsky asked. “Or the millions of shiny zippers on these Michelin tire-man suits? Or the buckles on these Spanish Inquisition boots?”

That distracted Hutch. “Spanish Inquisition?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you ever see the Hunchback of Notre Dame with Charles Laughton? The evil cardinal has the hots for the gypsy Esmeralda. She’s a dancer, see, so he tortures her by putting her delicate little dancer’s feet in these metal boots with spikes in ’em to make her confess to sins she didn’t commit. This way, he can burn her at the stake for making him have lustful thoughts. But just before he can do the deed, the hunchback swings down from Notre Dame, snatches Esmeralda from the pyre, carries her back up to the cathedral belfry and shouts, ‘Sanctuary! Sanctuary!’ and the crowd goes wild! It’s a great flick. You never saw it, Hutch? We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

Hutch stared at him, open-mouthed. After blinking once or twice, then glancing at the ski boots, he asked, “Is this your way of telling me your delicate little dancer’s feet hurt, Esmeralda?”

“No,” Starsky assured him. “Except for making me walk funny, they’re pretty comfy. But they do kinda look like the boots they used on Esmeralda.” He didn’t mention that Hutch had apparently forgotten all about the glint of metal he thought he’d seen. Starsky remembered trying to spot a glint of metal in the thick brush of a cliffside, when not seeing it might mean Hutch’s life. He knew that feeling, that need to see the invisible to save your partner. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like carrying around that feeling all the time, every day, off duty and on. He desperately wanted to take that feeling away from Hutch, but felt helpless as to how.

He shook off the concern, wanting to get back to their vacation. “Okay, Hutch, let’s get on with this skiing business. What’s the next thing you gotta teach me before we can–?”

A loud crack exploded behind them, and before Starsky could react, Hutch had slammed him to the ground, covering him with his body. Buried under the full force of a Hutchinson avalanche, Starsky was pinned helplessly, entangled with skis and struggling against the weight of his partner. Hutch was struggling, too. Starsky could feel him squirming to reach under his arm for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Hutch! Hutch!” Starsky shouted, trying to get the flailing man’s attention.

“Keep down!” Hutch demanded, his head swinging left and right, searching for their assailant.

Starsky managed to peer over Hutch’s shoulder at the tree line behind them. He could see a heavy limb on the ground, still bouncing from its impact. He sagged back into the snow with a sigh. “Hutch, ease up. A big tree branch just broke off, probably from the weight of the snow. That’s all it was.”

“Don’t give me that!” Hutch snarled, on hyper alert. “I know a rifle shot when I hear one. And you’re in that damned yellow jacket. You might as well have a target on your back!”

Starsky fought to free his arms, then grabbed Hutch’s collar in both hands and gave him a shake. “Will you get a grip? You can see the branch right over there. Go and look. Then look at the crowd and tell me if anyone’s reacting to a ‘rifle shot’?”

Hutch stilled, then moved off of Starsky cautiously. Peering at the crowd, he scanned the area, but no one acted as if they’d heard weapon-fire. Still moving cautiously, Hutch rose, signaling to Starsky to stay put.

The wisest course at this point was to wait until Hutch had convinced himself there was no threat. From Starsky’s supine position, he watched Hutch unlatch his skies and approach the broken limb. Crouching, he examined the ragged edge, frowning.

He’s convinced he’ll find evidence of a bullet, that someone fired on us and overshot the target. Starsky couldn’t suppress his worry. Maybe bringing Hutch to a strange place was too stressful. He’d seen guys like this after ‘Nam who couldn’t stand being in a new environment without having flashbacks. Is it that bad for you, Hutch? It was ironic that Hutch was having more problems adjusting to life after Gunther’s hit than Starsky was. But Hutch had to live through the whole thing, watching me get shot, watching me nearly die–I wasn’t aware of much after taking those bullets ’til I woke up in the hospital and saw him swinging that nurse around.

Hutch suddenly let the branch drop from his hand. He remained crouched in the snow, his head hanging, and rubbed a weary hand over his face.

Starsky unlatched his skies, got to his feet, and clumped over to his partner. He rested a hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Am I losing it, Starsk? Do I need to go out on psychiatric disability?” Hutch murmured.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Hutch. It did sound like a shot–”

Hutch shook his head. “You don’t get it. I saw the rifle barrel, I’m telling you. I saw the sunlight glint off it, saw it aim before I heard the shot. But if I really did see that, why didn’t the crowd scatter? Why didn’t they react at all? You’re right about that. No one reacted at all. And I can’t find anything on the branch to indicate it had cracked from the force of a bullet. I’m losing it.”

“You’re not losing it!” Starsky said impatiently. “You’re just a little wired. On the street, reaction time like that can save our asses. Don’t knock it. There’s guys half our age on the force that couldn’t react that fast. You just…need to relax a little, babe.”

Hutch looked up at him, gratitude and sorrow in his expression.

“You want something to worry about?” Starsky threatened. “I’m goin’ down this run right now as fast as I can.”

Hutch rose to the bait as Starsky knew he would. “You promised me you’d do as I say while you’re still learning–”

“Screw that,” Starsky argued, walking away quickly so Hutch couldn’t see his smirk. “I wanna feel the wind whipping at my face as I barrel down the hill at 80 miles an hour.”

“The elevation on this slope isn’t steep enough–”

“I saw how those racers were doing it, tucking in tight, the way they held their skis….” He snapped his boots into the red skies and made sure they were secured.

“Starsky, you’re not experienced enough–will you wait for me?”

“Try and catch me if you can, Blondie!” Starsky crowed, pushing off with his poles. He didn’t have time to worry about his fears of falling or colliding with anyone else. He focused on getting Hutch to worry enough about him to forget what had happened.

“Starsky, I mean it, you’d better wait for me!”

Starsky leaned into his skis and felt the pull of gravity as he pushed off with the poles. “GERONIMO!” he yelled, knowing that Hutch would scramble to catch up.

***

“Man, that was some crash!” the ski patroller said, as he and his partner helped Starsky and Hutch untangle themselves.

“Move slowly now,” the other patroller warned. “Are either of you in pain? Think anything’s broken?”

“Oh, someone’s gonna be in pain when I get up,” Hutch grumbled as he struggled to unlock his limbs from Starsky’s. Beneath him, he could feel the jiggling bounce of Starsky’s rib cage. Was he struggling for breath? Was he hurt? He waited impatiently as the ski patrollers helped unlatch his skis, then rolled off his partner. But once on his knees, he realized Starsky was laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?” he growled.

The two ski patrollers glanced at each other in confusion.

Starsky could barely catch his breath. “You,” he said. “Is that the only way you could think of to stop me? Run into me?” He dissolved again into helpless mirth.

“You were going too damn fast!” Hutch yelled. “It was dangerous. You don’t have that much control over those skis, dammit, and– Will you stop laughing at me?”

That only made Starsky laugh harder.

Concerned, the taller of the two ski patrollers asked, “Is he okay? Do we need to call for a sled?”

“Maybe,” Hutch said, glowering. “Because I’m gonna kill him in a minute.”

Hooting softly as he tried to get his mirth under control, Starsky wiped his eyes with the back of a gloved hand. “It’s a good thing you never tried to catch the Torino that way!” That set Starsky off into another set of giggles.

The ski patrollers shrugged. “You two sure you’re not hurt? This looks like a hell of a yard sale.”

“Yard sale?” Hutch asked, perplexed.

The ski patroller waved a hand over the immediate vicinity. There were skis, gloves, poles, and hats strewn every which way from their collision. Hence the term, “yard sale,” Hutch realized.

Starsky finally got a grip on himself. He raised a hand for someone to help him up, and one of the patrollers obliged. Hutch got to his feet without aid.

“Are you okay?” Hutch asked begrudgingly.

“Other than being covered head to foot in white stuff, I’m fine,” Starsky assured him, still snickering.

“Starsky, you promised you’d listen to me. Taking off like that and going straight downhill as fast as you could was dangerous.”

Starsky cocked his head to one side, after plopping his ski cap back on at a rakish angle. “Aw, come on, don’t be such a spoilsport. I was doing great ’til you deliberately ran in front of me.”

“At least I managed to slow you down before we collided.”

The ski patrollers watched with open amusement now. “Uh…look, if you guys aren’t hurt, we’re going back on patrol. Try to stay out of trouble, will ya?”

They remembered their manners then, shook hands with the patrollers, and thanked them for their help.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Starsky poked Hutch with an elbow. “Hey, Dad, that was fun! Can we do it again?”

Hutch shot him a murderous look.

***

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Hutch said as he perused the resort’s dinner menu. The dining room was comfortably warm, and the wine they’d been served was doing a fine job of mellowing him out. They’d stayed on the slopes way too long, Hutch thought. He was tired and achy and feeling his age.

Starsky ignored his stall and kept right on with the only topic he was interested in. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m a much better skier than you expected me to be.” He was all smug smirk, deliberately trying to get under Hutch’s skin.

Hutch peered at his partner over his wine glass. Starsky radiated vitality; he was glowing. His face had some sunburn, his hair was wild and windswept, and he kept jiggling in his seat, as though the hours they’d spent on the slope hadn’t done a thing to wear him out.

Where does he get this energy? He’s the same age I am, and a few months ago he was all shot up. But Starsky had always been that way. Part of it had to be the unbridled enthusiasm he brought to any new endeavor. Whether it was fishing, or chess, or undercover work as an Argentinean dance instructor, Starsky put all his effort into it.

“You’re wrong about that, partner,” Hutch said. That caught Starsky’s attention. “I don’t mind admitting that you have an aptitude for skiing. It doesn’t even surprise me. You’re a terrific dancer, and you, uh…” He glanced around the crowded dining room, worried about their privacy. “…have always had a special aptitude for handling your body. It’s unusual for someone skiing for the first time at our age to pick it up so quickly, but you’re already athletic.”

Starsky looked suspicious. “You’re being too nice to me. Next, you’ll insist on ordering for me, then tell the waitress in Spanish to bring me an octopus or something.”

Hutch laughed. “No octopus. I promise. I’m just feeling good, so it’s making an honest man out of me. I had a good time with you today.” In spite of freaking out completely over an imaginary sniper, then causing a collision that could’ve broken both our necks because I panicked over your rate of descent.

Starsky’s suspicious look deepened. “Seriously? You had fun?”

“Seriously. I did.” Hutch took another sip of his wine.

“Then we can go on the advanced slopes tomorrow, right?”

That was the conversation he’d been trying to derail. “Intermediate,” he insisted.

“Aw, come on, Hutch. I’m telling you I can handle the advanced–”

“It’s too big a leap. Some people spend years on the intermediate slopes before–”

“But they don’t have you for a teacher,” he said slyly.

“Forget it. Flattery will get you nowhere.” He put his glass down. “It isn’t just the elevation or the steep descent, Starsk. The whole terrain is different. The skiers are more advanced, and they’re going to expect you to be, too. They’re not going to expect to be dodging around someone new to the game. The skiing surface is different and really fast, and then there are the moguls–”

That seemed to snag Starsky’s attention. He looked totally perplexed. “You mean, the advanced slopes have all these movie executives skiing on them? That doesn’t make any sense, Hutch. We’ve seen those guys. Most of ’em are kinda old and heavy and outta shape– What the hell are they doing out on the slopes in the first place, never mind up on the advanced run. I thought most of ’em vacationed in Palm Beach and places like that, where it’s warm.”

Hutch felt like he’d stepped into one of Starsky’s Twilight Zone conversations. “No, no, Starsk, not movie moguls. Skiing moguls are–”

“Well, hello there, Mr. Starsky,” said a silky female voice.

Both men looked up to find Janice, from the front desk, smiling at them. Well, in truth, she was smiling at Starsky, but she was a well-trained employee and made sure she made eye contact with Hutch every now and then.

Starsky immediately sat up straighter as the pretty girl paid attention to him. “Hello yourself, Janice,” he said, grinning his most charming Cheshire cat smile. “Nice to see you again.”

“Did you have a good day on the slopes?” she asked, nodding to indicate Hutch as well.

“It was great,” Starsky said. “Weather was perfect, the snow was well groomed, and,” he gave her a knowing look, “the scenery was just beautiful.”

The woman blushed a little under Starsky’s attention. Hutch gave him a kick under the table, making him jump.

“Was this your first day on the slopes?” she asked. She was having trouble, now, remembering to give Hutch some of her attention as Starsky focused his laser-like gaze on her. Hutch had seen him mesmerize more than one woman with those eyes–and at least one gun-toting, six-foot cop as well.

“Yes,” Hutch said, answering her question.

“No,” said Starsky at the same time. They glared at each other.

“Hutch, here,” Starsky said, to deflect their lack of agreement, “is an expert skier. He’s from Minnesota.” He said this last as if that explained everything.

“Is that right?” she said amiably, giving Hutch a smile he found hard to interpret. “And what about you, Mr. Starsky? Are you an expert skier?”

It seemed Starsky was about to give one of his bullshit answers, but he paused, then caught Hutch’s eye. Finally, he said, “Actually, no. This was my first day. Hutch is teaching me.”

She seemed surprised by his sudden modesty and glanced again at Hutch. “Really? You’re not teasing me?”

Now it was Starsky’s turn to be surprised. “No, that’s the truth. Never put on a ski before in my life. Why?”

“Because the ski patrol guys who witnessed your ‘accident’ out on the slopes were convinced you were both professional stuntmen rehearsing a new bit for some movie or something. They said only a couple of professionals could’ve staged a collision like you two had and walked away from it unhurt.”

Hutch nearly snorted up his wine and had to cough into his napkin to recover.

Starsky got that twinkle again. “Well…they’re partly right. We have been professional stunt men–”

“As policemen,” Hutch interjected, before Starsky got carried away with his story, “we’re required to remain fit. Starsky’s always had a lot of athletic ability, so it was no surprise he picked up the basics of skiing pretty fast.”

Janice tuned him out as soon as he finished speaking. “I’ve always admired men who were physically fit. You must be in pretty good shape.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Hutch murmured. That made Starsky laugh and kick him back under the table.

Their dinners suddenly appeared with a coterie of well-dressed waitstaff.

“Well, let me not interrupt your dinner,” Janice said. “It was nice seeing you…both again. I hope you have a great time while you’re here.” Her tone said, If you really want a good time call Janice.

As she moved away from the table, she glanced over her shoulder at Starsky who gave her a little finger wave good-bye.

“Down, boy,” Hutch admonished. “She’s too young for you, probably way too expensive, and besides, your boyfriend packs a mean attitude and a gun.”

Starsky grinned at him. “So, I have a lot of ‘athletic ability,’ huh? And I’ve picked up skiing really fast? So, we can hit the advanced slopes tomorrow, right?”

Hutch rolled his eyes and wondered if Starsky had paid that woman to come flirt with him just to get Hutch’s ire up. “I said you picked up the basics. The basics, Starsk. We can stay pretty busy on the intermediate slopes–”

“Aw, come on, Hutch. I’m telling you, I can handle it!” He tucked his elbows in tight and gripped imaginary ski poles, moving his body in the chair as though schussing down the slopes. “I’m ready to mow those old movie executives down one by one.”

Hutch sighed and started digging into his meal. Fearing he’d lost this one already, he protested feebly, “They’re not movie moguls, Starsk, they’re– Never mind; we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

***

As Hutch brushed his teeth before bed, he tried to remember why he’d refused to fuck Starsky yesterday. It seemed so distant, as though it had happened to someone else. The man he’d joined on the slopes today was so vigorous, so full of life, so ready for anything, what reason could he possibly have to turn him down?

His cock stirred. Was he finally ready for this part of their loving again? It was becoming a problem between them. Starsky was open, willing, wanting. He was the one holding back.

At the start of their affair, Starsky had been hesitant to consummate their love, as old taboos reared up. He worried about what it would mean to his manhood, how he might have to redefine himself if he and Hutch took such a drastic step. But Hutch couldn’t wait to take Starsky inside himself, to own that part of him even for a short time. His intense desire for it, the pleasure it brought him, and his lack of inhibition about it helped Starsky overcome his own reticence. Hutch had been patient and gentle, never asking for more than Starsky was willing to give. Those awkward first weeks were in the past; now, it was doubly ironic that Starsky was not just willing, but damned eager to resume what his health had prevented them from enjoying. Only Hutch’s strange new reticence was stopping them.

So, it would be up to Hutch to get over it and move on. Starsky had let him know it was past time.

He thought of Starsky’s recklessness on the slopes, his boundless energy, his fearlessness. What kind of partner was he if he couldn’t match his lover’s vitality? If he couldn’t really cover his back?

He finished brushing his teeth.

They could try it tonight, Hutch decided. He didn’t have to fear failure, because there was no such thing as failure between the two of them. If it didn’t work out, they would simply try again tomorrow. Wasn’t that what this vacation was for? For them to reconnect as lovers, as life partners? So much of their life had to remain hidden out of necessity in Bay City. Hutch would never forgive himself if he continued to deny Starsky the one thing he’d asked for in this idyllic setting. The setting Starsky had chosen just to please Hutch.

Feeling resolved in his heart, but fluttery in his gut, Hutch’s erection had softened, as if it doubted the wisdom of his conviction.

“Hey, Starsk, you remember last night, in the Jacuzzi?” he said softly, as he exited the bathroom.

He was answered by a soft snore. Starsky was prone in the bed, unconscious.

Hutch stared at him. “I guess even you can get worn out, huh, partner?” He felt overwhelmed with tenderness as he ran a hand over Starsky’s curls. His lover never stirred. Hutch pulled the down comforter over his sleeping form and was grateful there was still enough space in bed for him.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he murmured. “I’m beat, too. There’ll be other nights. We’ll get there, partner.” Tucking the covers around Starsky, Hutch promised, “I won’t let you down.”

He stood up to walk around the bed and climb in on his side, then felt a flush of goose bumps cover his arms. Glancing up at the glass wall, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the white stag standing at the edge of the woods. Leaving the bed, he approached the glass until he was standing against it.

He can’t see me. He can’t, he thought.

But the animal looked directly at him, then nodded his heavy rack as though acknowledging Hutch’s presence.

Hutch’s heart pounded. He can see me!

Placing his palms against the glass, he said in a normal voice, “What do you want from me? Why are here?”

There was no answer from the stag. He pawed the ground once, twice, then bowed his head again.

“Am I supposed to come with you? Follow you? Or just call for the men in white coats? What’s your message?”

The stag just watched him, looking serene and mysterious. He was the most beautiful, most frightening thing Hutch had ever seen.

Hutch rested his forehead against the glass, but never broke eye contact with the stag. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what you want.”

A quiet voice behind him said petulantly. “I want you to come to bed. Hutch? Why aren’t you in bed, yet?”

He turned away from the window, knowing the minute he did, the stag would be gone. “I’ll be right there, Starsk.” As he expected, when he turned back, there was no sign of the animal. There were no hoof prints, no paw marks in the snow. You’re losing it. Cracking up. Ready for a Section Eight. Keep it up, and Dobey will be giving Starsky a new partner. Snap out of it.

“Hutch….”

“Here I am,” he said, slipping under the covers.

Starsky attached himself to him immediately. “Hold me. I’m chilly.”

As soon as he slid his arms around his lover, Starsky fell back into a deep sleep. Hutch held him tight, reveling in the strength of his heartbeat and the steady pulse of his breath. This is all I want, all I’ll ever need, he thought, before sleep claimed him.

***

He woke up to an assault, surrounded by liquid heat and pressure and a delicate but demanding touch. He was on fire, burning up, his skin glowing with warmth and shining with sweat. Starsky was loving him, demanding he yield his passion, even while asleep. There was no hope he could resist.

As he grew more aware, he realized that his rigid, straining cock was already deep in Starsky’s mouth, in his throat, that his lover was devouring him, starving for him. Still sleep fogged, it took Hutch a moment to realize he was humping into that ravening mouth, fucking rhythmically. At the same time, Starsky was busy rolling, teasing, and pulling his balls with one hand, while his other slid underneath Hutch to pet and tickle the crack of his ass.

With a gasp, Hutch spread his legs, unconsciously recognizing the need to give Starsky access to everything that belonged to him.

I’m yours…Hutch thought dreamily, his brain still fuzzy with sleep. You own me. Do whatever you want with me. I belong to you.

He was still too close to the border of sleep and wakefulness to verbalize, but he didn’t need to. Starsky was laying claim to him. He didn’t need permission. They both knew that.

Starsky kept deep-throating his cock, something he’d struggled with before finally learning how. But in those weeks when Starsky couldn’t respond sexually due to medication, he’d honed this skill to a fine art. He knew it made Hutch insane to feel his big, heavy cock slide past the barriers of a lifetime and plunge to the hilt into Starsky’s throat. Now, Starsky was using that experience wickedly. His strong throat muscles tightened and massaged Hutch’s aching, burning cock, making him harder, bigger, making him hump deeper inside him.

Inside Starsky. Inside Starsky. Oh, God, I’m inside Starsky.

It became a mantra in his head as he pumped while Starsky swallowed and swallowed. He’d interrupt the pattern long enough to let Hutch’s cock slip out wetly to the tip so Starsky could catch his breath, then he’d take him in deep, all the way, again, again, again.

Hutch’s blood was boiling, his hips rocking, his whole body trembling. He gripped the sheets in both fists as Starsky worked him, making him hotter, more excited. As his mouth made magic on Hutch’s most sensitive flesh, Starsky’s hand never stopped torturing his balls, teasing, tormenting, threatening, rolling and pulling, then massaging just perfectly this side of pleasure/pain/pleasure. Hutch heard himself moan.

I’m inside Starsky. Inside Starsky.

Dimly, Hutch was aware that Starsky was reminding him in the most potent way possible what it could be like if he only let himself go. He took advantage of Hutch’s sleepy vulnerability to help him recall the magnificent pleasure Starsky’s body could give him.

While Starsky’s left hand played Hutch’s balls like an instrument, his right teased its way along his crack, trailing slippery lubricant, until one finger tantalized Hutch’s anus so tormentingly it forced him into an excited wakefulness. Then the finger penetrated him.

Hutch strained to come, but Starsky wasn’t ready for that. He tightened his grip at the top of Hutch’s balls and pulled down, making him shout and tremble.

Releasing Hutch’s cock, Starsky let it fall from his mouth and slap Hutch’s belly. “Not yet, big boy. I’ll tell you when.”

“Starsk,” Hutch muttered helplessly. “Starsk!”

“You belong to me,” Starsky reminded him bluntly. “I own you. I can do whatever I want with you.”

If Starsky didn’t have that death grip on Hutch’s balls, he would have come just from hearing that.

Starsky knew that. Hutch could tell by the way he was controlling him.

You’re the only one I’d ever let control me in bed, or anywhere else. The only one. You own me.

“Get ready, Hutch,” Starsky warned, moving that finger deep within him.

Starsky’s hand was full of gel, warm and slick, so when the second finger penetrated him, it filled him with the slippery stuff. Starsky rubbed it up inside him, methodically, deliberately, his every motion telling Hutch as bluntly as he could, I’m preparing you for what I want to do. And I’ll do it when I’m ready.

Hutch shivered in anticipation, and groaned.

“Not yet, baby blue,” Starsky crooned. “Not yet.”

Starsky moved his hand and returned with more gel, using three fingers to spread it inside Hutch, opening him, loosening him, lubricating him deep. Then Starsky found his prostate.

Hutch shouted when Starsky worked his sensitive nerves, using his slick fingers to rub him into an uncontrollable ecstasy. “I’m gonna come!” he warned. “I’ve gotta–”

“No, you don’t,” Starsky said confidently, and proved it by tightening his grip on Hutch’s balls. “My party. I say when. Isn’t that right?”

Hutch was past speaking. He thrashed his head, swung his arms up and gripped the wooden rails of the headboard. He had to come. He had to come. He had to come in Starsky’s mouth!

Starsky’s fingers fucked him senselessly, the waves of pleasure nearly destroying him. He yearned to be back in Starsky’s mouth, but knew from experience that wouldn’t happen again.

“Oh, you’re ready, all right,” Starsky said suddenly, shifting his weight around.

Hutch struggled to open his eyes as he felt Starsky’s hand leave his ass and the grip on his testicles loosen. His cock felt cool where the morning air blew against his wet skin.

“Yeah,” Starsky said, more to himself than to Hutch. He got to his knees, pulling and tugging at Hutch’s long legs.

Hutch could see Starsky’s heavy, dark sex swollen and tight swinging from his groin. He ached for it, to kiss it, touch it, and more than anything to have it buried deep inside him.

“You’re ready for the advanced slope now, aren’t you, Hutch?” He struggled with Hutch’s legs, lifting, prodding them, finally fitting them over his shoulders.

Yes! thought Hutch, his heart pounding as he struggled to take in enough air. He was lightheaded already. Yes, yes, yes….

Only when Starsky had him positioned where he wanted, did he grab Hutch’s cock and grip it tight, so tight Hutch had to bite his lip to keep from shouting again. He clutched the head rails with all his strength.

“You’d better hold on, boy,” Starsky swore, staring at him. “Hold on good and tight. Ready or not….”

He would never be ready for this, no matter how many times they did it, no matter how prepared he was, no matter how fast or slow it happened. It was always a shock, the most wonderful, exciting, amazing shock.

Starsky slid into him hard, as if he were unable to control himself, as if he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of Hutch’s body a single second longer. Starsky’s breath left him in a huff as he penetrated Hutch to the hilt in one swift move.

Hutch groaned, gripping the head rail, his eyes rolling up, as he struggled to endure the very thing he craved.

“Don’t come!” Starsky ordered, clutching the base of Hutch’s cock. “Do not come.”

Hutch lurched, his entire body clamping down in shock and pleasure at the deep penetration. He wasn’t awake enough, he wasn’t ready, he couldn’t adjust fast enough as he was overcome by sensations.

He could not possibly obey Starsky’s order as his body surged toward orgasm. Let me! Let me! Starsky, I’ve gotta–

The death grip Starsky had on Hutch’s cock finally registered. He felt as if his orgasm slammed into a brick wall and came to a searing, agonizing halt.

“Yes!” Starsky crowed, pulling back, then surging into him again.

It’s gonna be a long morning, Hutch thought dimly as Starsky began to fuck, riding Hutch with everything he had. Hutch moaned helplessly, carried along on the tide of Starsky’s passion, yielding to him with joy, wanting it more than anything.

“Is it good?” Starsky demanded as he pounded into Hutch. “Tell me. Is it? Is it good?”

Hutch wanted to scream, wanted to weep. Is it good? How inadequate could language get? Was paradise good? Was nirvana a pleasant experience? This was transcendent; it was as far removed from Hutch’s sexual experiences with women as tantric orgasm was from necking in the backseat of a car. Is it good?

“Is it?” Starsky demanded, fucking harder, faster.

I can’t take this, Hutch thought, nearly panicked. I can’t. It’ll kill me.

“Tell me, dammit!” Starsky ordered.

“Yes…” he gasped, barely able to breathe. “God, yes! Incredible. Impossible. Ahhh, Starsky…!”

Starsky leaned all the way over him, driving in deep with a frantic rhythm. Just as Hutch became convinced Starsky’s cock would hit his heart, Starsky murmured in his ear, “Could be yours, baby. All this. Fucking this hard. This deep. In me.”

That was more than Hutch could take. He came so hard it hurt. His cock throbbed, spreading warmth and slickness between them. As if that were the last thing Starsky could endure, he stiffened, coming deep inside Hutch, growling in pleasure, while stroking the last spasms out of Hutch’s cock as if to torment him with his own joy.

Minutes later, they were glued together, panting, spent, trembling all over.

When Hutch could regain his breath, he croaked, “That was cheating.”

Starsky laughed a little. “So, sue me. Or better yet, fuck me.”

“If I had a single nerve ending left, you bastard, I’d…sue you for all you’re worth.”

Starsky laughed harder. “That would be an interesting court case. Can you see the expression on the judge’s face?”

The mental image made Hutch snicker.

Suddenly, Starsky took Hutch’s head in his hands and, still smiling, gazed down at him. His expression was intense. “I love you so much. And I want you. I’m not gonna keep takin’ no for an answer.”

Hutch felt those words deep in his heart. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He just didn’t trust himself to make promises he wasn’t sure his brain was going to let him deliver. I love you, too, Starsky. Trust that. Trust me.

They lay in bed, holding each other for a long time.

They fell into a deep asleep, and when they finally awoke, Starsky felt renewed. He hoped Hutch did, too, and his heart felt so full, he couldn’t help giving his blond partner a big grin and a spine-cracking hug.

Feeling restless and ravenously hungry, Starsky suddenly bounded out of bed. “I gotta get outta here, Hutch, or so help me, I’ll have to have you again.”

“So, who’s stopping you?” Hutch taunted, throwing off the covers and stretching his long form to its full length, as if showing off his wares. His long, heavy cock had the nerve to swell a little, so he rocked his hips back and forth to emphasize.

“I know all your wiles, Hutchinson. You’re just trying to keep me off the advanced slopes!”

Hutch batted his eyes in a futile attempt to look innocent. “I have wiles? Why, Officer Starsky, what a groundless accusation.” He wiggled his hips harder, making his cock sway enticingly.

“Forget it, you wicked tempter! I’m hittin’ the shower, then me and my short skis are gettin’ some breakfast–”

“Tell your skis to skip the scrapple. They should stick to yogurt and toast if they want to keep their form.”

Starsky scowled. “I’ve gotta restore all the energy you sapped outta me this morning–”

“I sapped out of you? That’s an interesting twist on this morning’s sporting event!”

Starsky pointed an accusatory finger at Hutch. “You know you did. You teased and tormented me until I lost all control–”

Hutch looked outraged. Leaning up on his elbows, he protested, “I was asleep! Minding my own business!”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Anyway, I’m hittin’ the shower, and–”

“Without me?” Hutch batted his eyes flirtatiously. It reeked of insincerity, but Starsky had to admit, it worked well enough. His cock started to nod.

“There you go with those wiles again. You stay here and out of the shower. That’s an order!”

Hutch put on his best “Mr. Marlene” voice. “I do so love it when you get masterful.”

Starsky was already behind the bathroom door. “I mean it, Hutch. I’m lockin’ the door. I’m getting dressed in here, too.”

He could hear Hutch laughing as he turned on the shower and forced himself to think of things that had nothing to do with Hutch’s body, Hutch’s cock, Hutch’s mouth….

***

Hutch was about to get into the shower after Starsky got dressed, so Starsky told him he’d meet him at breakfast. It was Sunday, and the resort would have a huge all-you-can-eat brunch. After this morning’s romp, Starsky felt like he could devour the whole thing all by himself.

You’d better stop thinking about that unless you want to throw a very visible rod in front of the breakfast crowd.

He couldn’t help grinning as he sauntered out of their cabin and made his way to the main building. And I’d better wipe this smirk off my face, or everyone in there will know what we were doing this morning. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could.

He recalled the menu advertised in the brochure he’d been reading before he made their reservations. There was food offered at brunch that he’d never heard of, but Hutch would know. He’d explain what was what and help Starsky pick out what he might really enjoy as opposed to what he might just like to sample out of curiosity.

He was whistling by the time he entered the lobby. The restaurant was down the hall from the desk and lounge area where they’d checked in. There was hardly anyone in the lobby now, just Janice, Richy, and one other guest–some vacationing businessman, probably–but Starsky wasn’t surprised by that. The brunch buffet was famous in the area, so both guests and locals would be in there, stuffing their faces full of that fabulous grub. Distantly, he could hear the clatter of plates and the murmuring of what sounded like a pretty good crowd from the long hallway that led to the restaurant. The meals they’d had here had been so fabulous, he and Hutch hadn’t been inclined to try any other restaurant.

“Hey, good morning, Mr. Starsky!” Janice was standing in front of the desk, straightening the literature and stacking a selection of Sunday newspapers.

“Good morning to you, Janice. You’re looking lovely today.” She was wearing the same hotel uniform she’d been wearing every time Starsky had seen her, but she was a pretty woman, so it was easy to compliment her.

She grinned back, giving him a flirtatious look. He was sorry Hutch wasn’t here. Janice could teach him a thing or two about flirting.

“Is Mr. Hutchinson on the slopes already?” Richy asked expectantly. He was behind the counter watching their exchange.

Starsky would have loved to say, The elegant, oversexed, Mr. Hutchinson is still recovering from being fucked into next week by yours truly, but decided to be discreet. “No, we’ll both be going over there after breakfast. Hutch is running a little late. He’ll meet me here in a few minutes.”

Richy suddenly got the oddest look on his face. Not one of eager anticipation like Starsky expected after telling him his crush of the season was about to arrive, but something out of place, something uncomfortable.

Before he could ask what the problem was, a voice behind him said, “Thanks for the information, Starsky. That’s just what I needed to know.”

Confused, he turned just as the businessman he didn’t recognize darted around him to get behind Janice. Before Starsky could react, he realized too late that Richy’s expression was due to the gun the man was suddenly holding tightly against Janice’s temple. He slung an arm around her neck to anchor her in place.

She went pale, her eyes wide, staring at Starsky for answers.

He froze, his mind going into overdrive. His sexual lassitude had caused his slow response, and now he was having trouble trying to figure out what was going on and why.

I’ve seen this guy…yeah…right here in the lobby. When we first checked in and a few other times. This was the businessman Hutch had been scoping out. I wonder if Hutch had subconsciously recognized the guy. But who is he? What does he want?

“Look, Mr. Gunderson,” Richy said, his voice quavering, “you don’t have to hurt anybody. I’ll give you all the money in the cash register.”

Janice looked at her co-worker with gratitude.

Gunderson? He registered as Gunderson? That’s gotta be a code. Gunderson. Gunther-son. Ah, shit.

Starsky focused on the scene. He couldn’t afford any distractions.

Good, kid. Talk to him. Give me time to think.

Hutch could show up any minute in the same lazy mood. The way the tableau would appear from his point of view, it would seem as if people were standing around the lobby talking. Hutch wouldn’t be able to see Janice being held by this goon because Gunderson’s back was to the entrance. This bastard could spin around and plug Hutch before he ever knew what was happening.

And I made him lock the guns in the Torino’s trunk, which is parked by our cabin. We’re unarmed.

“Nice try, Richy,” Gunderson said, never looking at the boy, “but I’ve already made my money on this one. Keep your cash register. This is just between Starsky, his partner Hutch, and me. You two cupcakes are just along for the ride.”

“What’s your story, wiseguy?” Starsky asked. “I don’t know you. I never busted you. Never saw you before.”

“Exactly why I got tapped for the job,” he explained. “You don’t know me. But Mr. Gunther does. He paid me handsomely to finish the job he started. And a plush job it’s been. You two lovebirds have been incredibly cooperative. Never straying far from your cabin except to ski and eat. You never miss breakfast or dinner, so it wasn’t hard to decide which meal to ambush you at. Morning sex makes everyone a little dopey, doesn’t it, Starsky?”

Trying to glance past Gunderson without making him aware of the direction of his gaze, Starsky couldn’t help but worry. Where the hell is Hutch? And how the hell am I supposed to warn him?

***

Hutch finished pulling the ski sweater over his head, sending his hair exploding into a halo of static electricity. His ass ached, his legs felt weak, and in his present condition, he knew Starsky would be able to ski rings around him, but frankly, he couldn’t care less. He hadn’t felt this good since–

Since the shooting.

His lassitude was so great that he had almost no reaction to that thought.

The shooting. Something terrible they had gone through. Gone through and survived. Just like the Italian restaurant, or the time Hutch was pushed off the cliff, or any of their other close calls over the years. That one was just a lot closer than most. But not close enough. Starsky survived it so well he could ski like a maniac, wrestle with Hutch, sprint over the snow, challenge him over any physical issue, eat like a stevedore, and fuck like a man on fire.

In a moment of clarity, Hutch realized that Starsky didn’t need Hutch to protect him. He was fully capable of protecting himself and Hutch, too. Starsky wasn’t sick anymore, he wasn’t helpless, he was truly Hutch’s equal. Hutch’s partner. And it was time Hutch let him be that again in every way possible. For both their sakes.

Easier said than done… The best he could do was try. He made a vow to try harder.

He thought of the ferocity with which Starsky had made love to him that morning. The memory sent tingles down his spine.

Could be yours, baby. All this. Fucking this hard. This deep.

Hutch shuddered as he recalled that promise given so readily. He had to be the luckiest bastard in the world.

And the stupidest if I don’t take him up on it.

One challenge at a time. As he slipped his ski jacket on, he wondered how much bargaining he’d have to do today to keep Starsky off the advanced slope. I can’t fuck him if he’s got a broken leg.

Hutch’s mind was on little else than his lover when he stepped out of the cabin into the bright mid-morning sunlight. It was dazzling, and as he reached for his sunglasses to ward off the glare, he turned his head and found himself nearly nose to nose with the white stag. It startled him so much he took a few steps back, suddenly afraid. Standing this close made him realize just how big the animal was as his huge rack towered over Hutch. Elk could be dangerous, and if the big male decided to attack, he could easily kill a man.

As he backed up, the stag took a slow step forward, lowering his head.

Hutch was so surprised he had to catch his breath. The stag was close enough that he could smell his woodsy animal scent.

This can’t be a hallucination, can it? If I can smell him? Then he remembered experiments he’d read about where the subjects had memories triggered by brain stimulation and reported being able to smell things during events from their memory. I am losing my mind. I’m going crazy. Maybe having a stroke.

The stag moved forward again, still with his head lowered, as if trying to appear non-threatening. Convinced he was dealing with a hallucination, Hutch forced himself to hold his ground. His heart was pounding and he’d broken into a cold sweat. Maybe it’s a heart attack.

The stag moved closer yet, stretching out his neck until his dark nose barely touched the back of Hutch’s hand.

It felt just like it looked: fleshy, soft, wet, cool. Real. Entirely real.

Entranced by the animal’s obvious attempt at contact, Hutch offered his palm, the way he would to a friendly horse. The elk nosed his palm, then rubbed his chin against it, until Hutch found himself scratching the animal’s throat. Before he knew it, he had both hands buried in the soft, dense fur, scratching the stag’s neck and a soft spot behind his ears. The animal sighed in pleasure, even closing his eyes as Hutch petted and scratched.

As fascinated as he was at the unique experience, Hutch found himself asking again, “What do you want from me? Why are you here? What are you trying to tell me?”

He remembered his grandmother saying, “The White Stag is a spirit animal and only appears when he has a message to bring. In the old country, hunters would chase the stag to capture happiness….”

“But I already have happiness,” he said to the animal. “I have Starsky.” That’s why I haven’t had to chase the stag, he realized. But then, why is he here? Did I need a reminder that I already had happiness? That can’t be it.

Suddenly, the stag lifted his head high, looking somewhere over Hutch’s shoulder. Trying to find what had caught his attention, Hutch couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He kept one hand on the stag, needing to feel his solidity to reassure himself of his own sanity.

The stag looked at him, gazing deeply into his eyes, as if trying to communicate. Hutch was lost, unable to interpret the message and feeling frustrated.

Suddenly, the stag wheeled around on his hind legs and trotted off toward the nature path. Hutch watched him go, as perplexed as always, until the stag skidded to a halt, then turned around to stare at him over his shoulder. He tossed his head in the direction he’d been heading, trotted back toward Hutch, then tossed his head again.

If this were an episode of Lassie, Timmy’s parents would know he’d fallen in the well again.

There was no mistaking the animal’s actions. He was trying to get Hutch to follow him.

I don’t need to follow you. I’ve found happiness. Unless I’ve completely misinterpreted this whole thing, and I’m an enchanted virgin prince and….

The stag bolted forward suddenly, racing up to Hutch, skidding to a halt right before him and spraying him with snow.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Hutch said, wiping the snow from his face. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

As soon as Hutch said that, the stag sprinted for the woods, and Hutch was hard pressed to keep up.

After a mad dash down the snowy path, he almost lost sight of the stag, then realized the animal would wait for him. Finally, the stag slowed to a walk as they neared the end of the path. As Hutch drew alongside him, the animal halted. Looking around, Hutch realized that the nature path wound through the woods in a semi circle until it ended up at the rear of the resort’s main building. From here, he could see the restaurant, and the diners milling around the buffet tables. He tried to spy Starsky’s distinctive ski sweater. His partner should be on his second course, by now. The restaurant had huge windows to allow the patrons an unimpeded view of the beautiful panoramas. If the stag stepped out of the cover of the woods, he would be seen. They remained in the trees.

“Why the hell can’t I find him?” Hutch wondered. He tried to tell himself it was time to let his paranoia go, to stop looking for Gunther’s bad guys under every nook and cranny, but he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t find Starsky in the dining room. It didn’t matter how many people were there. If Starsky were present, Hutch would have seen him.

He asked the stag, “Is this why you brought me here? Because Starsky’s…” Fallen down the well? I am going crazy.

As if suddenly irritated with Hutch’s constant doubts, the stag shoved him hard with his shoulder, nearly knocking him over. The stag snorted loudly and tossed his head.

Recovering, Hutch held up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, I get it. So, where is Starsky? Do you know?” Hutch’s mind was racing. Is he hurt? Did he fall? How much trouble could he get into between here and the cabin? Did he eat himself into a stupor?

The stag turned back into the woods and started picking his way through a narrow place between the trees. Hutch followed.

Deer trail, he realized. The snow cover camouflaged it, but the stag knew the way. They followed it around the building until it opened up on the landscaping near the front door. The stag couldn’t go any farther without exposure. He halted, and Hutch moved up beside him. The elk held incredibly still, the way only a wild animal could, and Hutch imitated him. One hand resting on the stag’s high withers, Hutch stared at the same focal point the stag was eyeing, trying to see whatever it was the stag’s wild eyes could see.

There was a small window on the side of the lobby that showed a truncated view of the interior, near the desk. Hutch was able to see Richy, Janice, a businessman he’d seen in the lobby a few times…and finally Starsky. The relief he felt lasted mere seconds.

Then the tableau started making sense: the businessman’s intimate proximity to the girl, Richy’s rigid stance, and the odd expression he wore that Hutch could just make out. But most telling was Starsky’s rigid posture.

That’s the way he looks just before he draws his gun. His face, the way he’s talking without hardly opening his mouth, as if he’s hesitant to move…the girl, the way she’s staring straight at Starsky, her eyes wide… She’s a hostage!

The reality of what was happening burst onto his consciousness with a sickening jolt.

He gripped the stag’s shoulder, his whole body tensing up. “I’ve gotta get in there!” he hissed at the animal.

The stag lowered his head, his huge rack a sudden impediment to Hutch’s progress. The animal’s dark eye met his. Hutch could see himself in the big black orb, his stricken expression, his fear.

Get a grip, Hutchinson. You’re a cop! If you go barging in there without a plan, you’ll get them all killed. He’s gotta be waiting for you; otherwise, he would’ve killed Starsky already. He wants you both. Maybe wants to shoot Starsky in front of you. That would be right up Gunther’s sick alley. But even if this is just a random robbery, you’ve got to think this through. You’ve gotta have a plan.

He felt a wave of nausea as he reached for his gun to find nothing there. The Python’s in the Torino! There’s no time to go back for it. Dammit, Starsky!

He strained to see his partner, desperately aching to communicate with him. Look over here, will ya? Starsky, look at me!

He clutched at the white fur along the stag’s neck, as he drilled a stare into that room. The stag was staring, too. Then, Hutch saw Starsky’s eyes glance in his direction, turn away, then glance back quickly as if he suddenly realized who was there. Starsky lifted his head and said something to the man standing in front of him. The lift of his head was enough to tell Hutch that Starsky had seen him.

Hang on, partner, I’m coming.

Frantically, Hutch looked around the grounds for something, anything he could use for weapon. There was nothing. No frying pans. No heavy telephones. Nothing but snow.

The stag snorted, then suddenly began pawing the ground. In seconds, he turned up a fist-size stone of white quartz, then another.

Landscaping stone under the snow cover, Hutch realized. In the summer, the landscaping would be elaborate to impress visitors coming to enjoy the lake. Hutch remembered his snowball fight with Starsky. He started digging beside the stag, filling his pockets with the weighty stones they unearthed. When he had enough, he stood and waited for Starsky to glance his way. When he did, he tossed one of the stones in the air so his partner could see it.

Starsky blinked once, very deliberately.

Hope that means yes, Hutch thought.

Dropping into a crouch, he crept quickly up to the building. The stag stayed behind, but by this time, he was an afterthought to Hutch. The only thing on his mind was Starsky’s safety, then after that, the innocent people near him. There was also an entire restaurant full of people to consider. If they emerged at the wrong time, they would be in danger, too. Hutch had to move fast but not recklessly. He tried not to think of an Italian restaurant and a night of pouring rain. He needed to keep his mind clear.

That was harder now that he couldn’t see Starsky.

He moved closer to the side of the building. He couldn’t hear his partner talking to the bad guy, but someone inside was crying softly. Maybe the girl. Could be Richy. Definitely wasn’t Starsky.

Don’t get distracted.

He turned back to the woods, expecting the stag to be gone. To his amazement, the animal was there still, staring at the small window where the drama was unfolding. Maybe you are real. And if you are, maybe you’re watching out for my happiness. So, know this. If anything happens to that man in there, I won’t be following you ever again. Got that? Without Starsky, there is no happiness for me. If you’ve got any pull in this matter, just keep that in mind.

Taking a deep breath, Hutch prepared himself.

***

Starsky’s heart was slamming so hard he could barely hear. Hutch was outside. Hutch was outside. He tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong. He had to be hyper-alert, ready to back up Hutch’s play–whatever the hell that might be.

You’ve got no gun, babe, but I’d pit your brain against anyone any day of the week.

The hardest part was not looking for Hutch, just focusing his peripheral vision, not his direct line of sight. But Hutch had already ducked down, so there was no point in searching for him. Hutch would hang low until he was ready. The least Starsky could do was try to keep this asshole’s attention focused forward.

“Look, Gunderson,” he said quietly, “let the girl go. All you want is me and Hutch, and you’ve already got me. These kids aren’t involved. They’re innocents. I’ll bet Gunther isn’t paying extra for additional mayhem.”

Janice was gripping the gunman’s forearm where it pressed against her throat. Starsky thought it was pretty amazing the way she was keeping her cool, though she was starting to crack. Every time Starsky said anything, the gunman tightened his grip on her throat and ground the muzzle of the gun tighter against her temple. That had to hurt.

Gunderson chuckled and pulled the girl harder against him, making her grimace. “Oh, no,” he said. “I don’t care about Mr. Froot Loops, over there,” he indicated Richy behind the counter, “but Miss Tight Buns here is coming with me when I blow this pop stand. Just for insurance, and maybe some fun and games on the road.” He pressed his mouth against her ear, making her grimace. “Isn’t that right, Miss Pretty and Perky? Won’t we have some fun together?” He gripped her even closer then slid his hand down and squeezed her breast hard. She cried out.

Starsky had to force himself to stay in place. He’s trying to make you lose your cool, trying to distract you. You can’t worry about her right now. He’s gonna kill Hutch if you don’t keep your wits about you.

He swallowed as Janice started crying. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Richy tense up. Don’t blow it now, kid. I need you to stay in place and not get in the way.

Suddenly, there was a shout and something big came crashing through the side window, as loud as a bomb. It smashed into a lamp, shattering it.

Startled, the gunman swung his gun away from Janice toward the lamp, firing into the nearest couch.

Starsky yelled, “JANICE, MOVE!” as another missile smashed through a different window, slamming into a glass-fronted bookcase, shattering it as well. Gunderson fired two rounds into the books.

As Starsky darted forward toward the girl and the gunman, Janice slammed a spike-heeled shoe down on Gunderson’s foot. He cried out in shock and swung to hit her with the gun, but his grip had loosened enough to let her pull away.

Starsky heard Richy yell, “Janice! Behind the desk!” as the boy flung something heavy at the gunman. Janice leaped for the counter. Richy grabbed her and pulled her over, and the two of them ducked behind the front desk.

The object–a marble-based pen set, Starsky thought–clipped Gunderson on the forehead just as another missile crashed through the front door glass. Gunderson fired at Starsky, or at least where Starsky had been. But he was in mid-flight, as he lunged to tackle the gunman. The shot went wild, over his shoulder.

As he hit Gunderson high around the chest and reached for his weapon hand, Hutch exploded through the front doors, crashing through the glass, hitting the floor and rolling.

Hutch landed close to Starsky as he and Gunderson hit the floor. The three men floundered together, as Starsky struggled to control the gun. Hutch flung himself on top of Gunderson’s thrashing body. The three of them were swimming against the slick marble floor awash in shattered glass and debris. Hutch scrambled to find his place in the battle without interfering with Starsky, who was still clutching Gunderson’s gun hand. As Starsky fought to keep the gun aimed away from the desk, or the doors leading toward the restaurant, Hutch lent his strength to the fray. The gun went off again; this time, the bullet fired out the small broken window toward the woods.

Hutch seemed stricken by that and was momentarily distracted, as though he feared the weapon might have hit someone outside. Starsky had no idea if anyone was out there that might be injured by the wild shot.

“Drop it, you son-of-a-bitch!” Starsky shouted. He was losing patience with the fight.

The gunman, with the strength of the truly desperate, fought to bring the gun to bear on either of the two cops.

Dimly, Starsky became aware that patrons of restaurant were coming in to see what the noise was about.

“Get them out of here!” Hutch shouted at Richy and the distraught Janice. “Get everybody out and down!” The two desk clerks snapped to obey, coming out from behind the desk and running toward the restaurant, ushering everyone back inside, away from the melee.

We wouldn’t be having all this trouble subduing this guy, Starsky thought, irritated, if we hadn’t worn our asses out skiing yesterday and fucking like sixteen-year-olds this morning.

Annoyed with the length of time this was taking, Starsky heaved himself forward and sank his teeth into the gunman’s thumb. The man shrieked as Starsky crunched bone. But finally, the gun clattered to the ground.

Once the man was disarmed, Hutch hauled off and punched him with a powerful roundhouse. But it took a second blow to take Gunderson out. Finally, he lost consciousness and sagged against the floor.

Both cops collapsed over the man, panting.

“You got the gun?” Hutch asked Starsky wearily, as they moved off the unconscious assailant. Hutch rolled Gunderson onto his stomach.

“I got it,” Starsky said, palming the weapon, putting the safety on, then slipping the gun into the back of his jeans.

Pulling Gunderson’s arms behind his back, Hutch patted himself before realizing he didn’t have any handcuffs. “It doesn’t matter how much we pack, I never seem to have what I need. Can you find something to secure him with?” Hutch was gasping for air as he sat on the man’s back, keeping Gunderson’s wrists pinned against his spine.

“I got that, too,” Starsky said, as he walked over to the wall and yanked an extension cord off the shattered lamp. It was then that he noticed the missiles Hutch had been throwing were stones. Where the hell did he find those in all that snow? “You okay, partner?”

Only then did the two men allow their eyes to meet.

“Me? I’m fine,” Hutch said, trying not to show how winded he was.

Starsky felt like he’d been wrung out completely, but tried to hide it. If Hutch could keep up his end for appearances’ sake, Starsky owed him the same.

“What’s this asshole’s problem?” Hutch asked, giving the unconscious Gunderson a nudge, after tying his arms together. If Hutch had bound them a little too tightly, well, he’d done the best he could considering they only had an extension cord to work with.

Starsky suddenly felt tongue-tied as he realized that Hutch’s greatest fear had actually been realized. He didn’t know how to tell him. This could set Hutch back for months, just when Starsky thought they were making some real progress in putting his paranoia behind them. Some vacation.

When Starsky didn’t answer Hutch, he looked up and asked again, “What was this all about, Starsk?”

Starsky knelt beside him and put a comforting hand on Hutch’s shoulder. He hated to think that bastard Gunther would win–that he could ruin all the progress he and Hutch had made with these days of fun and lazy loving. It wasn’t fair.

Hutch looked confused.

Starsky knew he’d have to tell him the truth. He finally wet his mouth and said very calmly, “Now take it easy, Hutch. We handled it. Just like we always do. Right?”

Hutch nodded in agreement. “Sure. We took care of it. So…what’s your point? Who is this guy? What’s his beef?”

“Well…it’s just that…I mean…look, Hutch. Try not to get too upset about this, but…Gunther sent this guy.”

Starsky watched as an ethereal calm seemed to settle over Hutch. Instead of the hyper-frantic reaction Starsky had expected, Hutch’s response was one of total acceptance. The one thing he’d been dreading all this time had finally come to pass, the thing he’d kept warning Starsky about, the fear he’d carried like a cancer inside him.

But they had faced the dragon and slain him. Starsky figured that when the courts found out about this, they would put so many restrictions on Gunther and his lawyers the guy wouldn’t be able to send out a note written in crayon without microscopic scrutiny. He wanted to say all that to Hutch, to help him realize that they couldn’t live every day in fear, anticipating disaster. He wanted to reassure him, find some way to make him understand…but Hutch just kept looking at him with that enigmatic expression.

Exasperated, Starsky finally said, “Come on, Hutch, say something!”

Hutch looked at Starsky with the serenity of an ancient yogic master. Very deliberately, he said simply, “I told you so.”

***

Hutch didn’t have a chance to go outside to look for the stag until the local police came to take the hit man away. He finally found a minute to slip out of the lobby, ostensibly to catch some fresh air. He walked around the area where he and the stag had uncovered the stones. There had been a stiff breeze in the interim and a lot of snow had drifted over their footprints. It was impossible to determine if the impressions in the snow were from a single man or a man and an animal.

He was relieved not to find the body of the stag with a bullet hole through his head. When Gunderson had fired through the side window, he should have had a direct shot at the big animal. But Hutch couldn’t find any blood either.

The stag was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t matter to Hutch. He knew what was real and what wasn’t.

Thank you, he thought at the woods. Thank you for everything.

***

When he returned to the lobby, Starsky was arguing loudly with the local gendarmes.

“You don’t need to tell me what my responsibility is, Captain,” Starsky said angrily. “I’ve been a cop long enough to know. And I promise we will fulfill our obligations. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to any local police station to fill out any damn police reports on an empty stomach–I’m on vacation, dammit!”

Hutch interceded in an attempt to crank things down a bit, and the cops gave them the courtesy of allowing them, finally, to get something to eat. Hutch’s own appetite was huge, and for once, he knew he would rival Starsky in food consumption.

He had to stock up. He was going to need his energy later.

***

After the police hauled the hit man away and Dobey had been briefed about the incident–roaring in his inimitable way that he was never allowing the pair to take vacation time again in their lifetimes, and the resort’s owners had been reassured that there would be no repeat performances of hit men in their lobby, and Starsky had held Janice’s hands and kissed her cheek and told her how brave she’d been, and Hutch had given Richy a hug and told him how stalwart and quick thinking he’d been, and after they’d eaten the largest breakfast either of them had ever seen–after all of that, they sat quietly over a cup of coffee as Starsky filled Hutch in on what had happened before he got there.

“He got the drop on me,” Starsky admitted baldly.

Hutch was surprised. “How?”

“He had our number, Hutch. He’d been watching us. He knew we were skiing, that we were pushing ourselves, having fun on our vacation. And he knew we ate at the restaurant twice a day. And he figured that we were lovers. Since we were on vacation, he was depending on the fact that we’d fuck in the morning.”

Hutch was stunned. He hadn’t expected anything like that.

Starsky shrugged. “Gunther might’ve figured it out. The old guy was pretty smart. And he’d had us followed any number of times. Besides, the hit man was here when we signed in. He probably overheard Richy saying the name of our cabin. It would’ve been easy to look it up in the hotel’s guest book and find out it only had one bed. Anyway, he banked on us having morning sex and coming in for a late breakfast. If we’d ordered room service, he would’ve simply postponed his move. But he knew me well enough to know I couldn’t resist the all-you-can-eat buffet.” Starsky sipped his coffee.

Hutch did the same, anticipating the rest of the story.

“So, he waited for me to walk in, acting like he was hanging around, just another businessman on vacation. Janice and Richy engaged me in conversation, which kept my attention off him.”

Hutch smiled wryly. “Yeah, that Richy’s hard to resist. Very easy on the eyes.”

“Okay, okay,” Starsky conceded. “Richy was behind the desk. Janice was in front of it. Easy target.”

“Too bad she didn’t know karate. Might’ve been a shorter story.” Hutch laughed.

“Hey, at least she’d taken a course in self defense given by the local police department. That’s why she stabbed his foot with her heel. Big help. Anyway, once he had Janice, my hands were tied. I was feeling pretty desperate. He was waiting for you to walk in. He was gonna shoot me in front of you, then hold you hostage by threatening the girl long enough for you to watch me die. Then he would plug you. I told him the plan would never work. That once he shot me, you wouldn’t give a shit about the girl, that you’d tear him limb from limb. I started taunting him: ‘You assholes couldn’t kill me with a machine gun, you think a semi-automatic’s gonna do the job?’ Like that. I was just trying to keep him distracted long enough to be able to catch your eye as you came in. I knew you wouldn’t be able to tell he was holding a gun to the girl’s head if you came through the main doors. It didn’t work, though. He was a pro. I couldn’t shake him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you’d waltzed in the way I expected you to.”

There was a pause as the two of them sipped their coffee. Hutch wondered how long Starsky was going to wait before asking–

“So, what happened out there? How come you didn’t come in through the main doors? I nearly gave the game away when I caught that glimpse of you through that side window. That was the last place I expected to see you.”

Hutch collected his thoughts for a moment before answering. “What else did you see when you spotted me?”

Starsky looked baffled. “What do you mean what else did I see? I saw you in your ski jacket, standing, waving at me. You were in a group of trees, in the snow.”

Waving at me…

That had to be when I had my hand on the stag’s neck. He thought I was waving. He couldn’t see the stag.

The brown bark of the trees and the snow clinging to them and the ground could have provided camouflage for the stag, breaking up his outline. Hutch smiled.

“What else was I supposed to see?” Starsky asked, looking confused.

“Nothing,” Hutch said. “I was just worried I was going to catch the other guy’s attention, but he was turned away from that window, keeping his back to the front doors so he could conceal the girl in front of him. In the side window, I was able to see him and the girl. I didn’t see the gun, but I’ve been in enough hostage situations to recognize the way they were standing, and the look of fear on her face. And I could see your eyes, trying to communicate with me without giving me away.”

“Those rocks were a great idea, Hutch. How’d you come up with that? Weren’t they buried under the snow?”

Hutch thought for a moment. “Well, really, it was your idea. The snowball fight? And I found the rocks when…I tripped over them. Just lucky, I guess. It’s not like there were any frying pans around.”

Starsky looked a little sheepish. “I guess you’re really mad about the guns, aren’t you?”

Hutch shrugged magnanimously. “Oh, I don’t know. He was standing way too close to Janice for me to risk a shot. So, even if I had been armed, someone could’ve gotten hurt. You did a great job controlling his gunfire when you tackled him.”

“I was worried there might be people upstairs, but it turned out everyone was at breakfast. I didn’t know that then. That’s why I fought to aim the gun out the window. There was nothing but woods out there.”

Nothing but woods, Hutch thought, wondering again what had happened to the stag. If the stag died, would his happiness die, too? He wouldn’t let himself worry about that, not now, with the enemy vanquished once more, with his partner whole and alive right before him. Nothing could deprive him of happiness at this moment.

“So, you’re not mad about the guns?” Starsky asked again, swirling the dregs of his coffee around the bottom of the cup.

“Well, it was pretty satisfying being able to say ‘I told you so’,” Hutch said. Starsky rolled his eyes. “I figure, we’ve got a couple hours of paper work ahead of us at the police station.” Starsky sighed dramatically. “That, no doubt, will keep us off the slopes for the day, which means I have one less day of fighting with you about the length of your skis and the skill level of the slope you’re determined to kill yourself on.”

Starsky smiled craftily, no doubt already planning the following day’s ski trip.

“So, I’m thinking,” Hutch continued casually, “since we won’t be skiing, we should make other plans. I mean, it’s still our vacation. I thought maybe we could have a quiet day. By the time we get out of the police station, we’ll be in time for an early dinner…then we could take a moonlight stroll. Finally, when we make it back to our cabin…we could spend a little while in the Jacuzzi….”

He had Starsky’s complete attention. As Hutch itemized his plans, his voice grew softer, as though what he were about to say needed privacy. Starsky leaned forward closer and closer to make sure he didn’t miss anything, as Hutch’s voice dropped to a lower, more intimate level.

“And then…” Hutch continued, “once we’re well fed and all relaxed…I’m going to take you to bed…” Starsky leaned even closer as Hutch finally said, “And when I do…I’m going to fuck your tight little ass off.”

Starsky’s whole body flushed, something that rarely happened. He froze, as if unable to believe what he’d just heard. Hutch knew his partner well enough to know that Starsky had just thrown a steel-hard rod and was trying to figure out how he was ever going to stand up without revealing it to everyone.

Hutch sat back with a smug grin. “Hope you like those plans, boy. Because that’s what’s gonna happen. Wrap your head around that for a while.”

Starsky swallowed and shifted in his seat, closing his eyes. “Shut up, will ya? Dammit, Hutch. It’s a good thing we won’t be skiing, ’cause my legs just turned to rubber bands.”

Hutch chuckled. He intended dropping little reminders about Starsky’s pending future just often enough to keep him on a well-tended simmer. He figured by the time they actually hit the sheets, Starsky would be so crazed, he’d get a taste of what it had been like for Hutch when he woke up to Starsky’s loving that morning. He deserved it. And Hutch was going to enjoy every tormenting minute of this long and tedious day.

And every one would be a celebration, a celebration of life and love.

***

Starsky stared at the police report and tried to concentrate, but it was impossible. Ever since Hutch had dropped that bomb on him over breakfast, he couldn’t think about anything else except–I’m going to fuck your tight little ass off. He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn, he couldn’t get that sentence out of his head. How the hell was he ever going to get this report done?

Get a grip, Starsky, he scolded himself. You’re a trained professional, not a lovesick kid or a horny teenager.

Yeah. Sure. Then what was that performance this morning all about?

Great, now he couldn’t even convince himself that he had any self control. And Hutch had always had his number anyway. That’s one of the reasons they’d always been such good partners.

That’s right. Remember your partnership. Your professional partnership. The way it worked this morning with that hit man. You and Hutch. Covering each other’s back…

A vivid image of a nude Hutch blanketing his back flashed through his mind.

STOP!

He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw spangles. Get down to business, Davy. The faster you get this done, the faster you and Hutch–

STOP!

He bit the inside of his lip to help himself concentrate. He never was very good at paperwork. Never wanted to be. But it was a necessary evil. All he had to do was relay the events of what had happened. That’s all.

Frowning, he rested his fingers on the typewriter keys. I went to get some breakfast. That was pretty safe. He typed that up. Right. Breakfast. Don’t think about what had happened before breakfast. Before the shower. When you woke up. The way you pounced on Hutch–

STOP!

I entered the resort’s main building and stopped to talk to Janice and Richy.

He remembered the expression on Richy’s face when Hutch told him he’d been a great help to Starsky, and then gave the kid a hug.

Bet the pants Richy was wearing will have to go to the cleaners. He smirked. Like yours nearly had to when Hutch dropped his bomb at breakfast.

STOP!

Starsky tried to recall the exact events as they had transpired from the moment Gunderson had come up behind Janice and everything started to go so wrong. It was easier to stop focusing on his immediate future when he recalled his immediate past. That whole scene could have been the end of everything. He could’ve lost Hutch…he could’ve died himself…their whole future could’ve–

STOP!

He looked for Hutch in the room, needing to see him. They were in a typical police station, a little more rustic than most, but the usual beat-up desks were everywhere with cops walking around, dragging cuffed perps to lock-up, filing reports, filling out paperwork, and drinking too much coffee. Finally, he spotted Hutch. He was sitting facing Starsky, watching him struggle with his report. No doubt Hutch was already finished. Sprawling in a battered desk chair, he sat with his long legs spread, spinning the chair slightly, focusing on Starsky. That made Starsky smile.

Hutch smiled back. He was playing with a pencil. Tapping the eraser against his mouth.

As Starsky watched his partner swing lazily back and forth in the chair, he noticed that Hutch’s mouth was open slightly. He was bouncing the pencil against his lower lip, while his tongue tip peeked out. Starsky found himself staring at that tongue tip. It occurred to him that the way Hutch was spinning was reminiscent of the way he’d rocked back and forth in bed that morning, showing off, when Starsky was trying to get dressed for breakfast.

Starsky’s cock responded to the display like a trained seal to a fish. He felt all the blood drain out of his face and travel directly to his cock.

I’m gonna kill him!

He jerked his eyes away from his partner and said to the cop nearest him, “Can I work in a separate room, please?”

Hutch’s soft laughter followed him out, as the puzzled cop took Starsky and his unfinished report elsewhere.

***

Hutch was playing him like a well-tuned instrument. Dinner was an exercise in Hutchinson sadism, as every mouthful of food became a promise of things to come. Or maybe a threat. Starsky wasn’t sure. Hutch even played footsie with him under the table, rattling him so much he knocked over his water glass. That made Hutch crack up.

Starsky couldn’t concentrate on his food; he was too wound up. He wanted to bypass dessert and go straight to dessert. Then he remembered that he was dessert. But Hutch wouldn’t be rushed. He dawdled over dinner, ordering appetizers, wine, salads, entrees, and, of course, desserts, just to aggravate him. Starsky had no appetite, but Hutch managed to entice him to nibble off his plate. Things always tasted better when they came off Hutch’s plate anyway. At this point, Starsky would do anything to get Hutch to touch him, and letting him put food in his mouth was enough to crank up his already rampant libido another few notches.

Hutch wouldn’t be talked out of their moonlight walk either. Starsky decided Hutch was damned lucky they were in snow country. It was the only thing keeping him from tackling Hutch right there in the great outdoors. But since Starsky didn’t relish the idea of a frostbitten dick, Hutch was safe while they strolled.

After a half-hour of wandering through the dark landscape, Starsky started whining. He’d had enough, and he knew Hutch couldn’t take his irritating nasal whinge for long. But tonight, Hutch seemed to have developed the patience of a saint. He just gave Starsky a hug, then insisted they walk some more.

When Starsky decided that the length of their nature stroll had gone above and beyond the call of duty, he asked, “Are you looking for something? In the dark?”

Hutch suddenly looked sheepish, as if he’d been caught.

Starsky frowned. “You’re not looking for that reindeer again, are you?”

Hutch got that look on his face and said, “It’s an elk, not a reindeer, and…no…I’m not looking….”

Starsky knew that tone. Hutch was lying to him. “You are. You’re trying to find it out here in the dark, in the snow. You’re keeping me out here ’til the tip of my nose falls off to catch another glimpse of a big deer. How about a compromise? When we get home, I’ll take you to see Bambi. Now, let’s go, before I get so cold my dick needs its own electric blanket just to thaw out.”

Hutch looked over at him with an expression that, even in the dark, could have turned the ground beneath Starsky’s feet to lava. “I suspect a little mouth-to-mouth will solve that problem.”

***

Hutch felt chagrined when Starsky caught him in the lie. But he couldn’t bring himself to explain what had happened with the white stag. Ever since the shooting, Starsky had been worrying about Hutch’s mental state. The last thing he needed to hear was that Hutch was having visual and tactile hallucinations. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the stag while they were walking, just as a reassurance the animal hadn’t been hit by that stray bullet. He knew it was crazy to be anxious over the well-being of something that didn’t exist, but he couldn’t help it. The stag had saved his and Starsky’s lives.

Not telling Starsky about it was eating at him. It felt like lying.

As they returned to their cabin, Hutch resolved to put it from his mind. The stag would come or not, as he chose. Perhaps, because the animal had accomplished his task, he wouldn’t appear again. Hutch wasn’t sure he could keep that kind of a secret from Starsky forever.

Hutch stamped off the snow from his boots and stepped inside the cozy cabin. Preoccupied with thoughts of the stag, as he bent over to remove his wet boots, he was tackled and slammed up against the front door. The surprise attack knocked the wind out of him, and the breath he had left was stolen by Starsky’s ambushing kiss.

Maybe I pushed him too far, Hutch thought, amused, as he found himself wrestling with a totally overwrought lover.

Starsky pulled out of the ravaging kiss long enough to complain. “You think you’re running things here, don’tcha? You think you’re in complete control, ain’t that right?”

Hutch grinned. He loved it when Starsky was both horny and mad. The erection straining against Starsky’s pants was proof that he was good and horny. Eager to throw a little fuel on the fire, Hutch said, “Yeah, that’s pretty much the way I see it.”

Starsky growled and took another aggressive kiss. Hutch responded eagerly, and their mouths and tongues battled wetly.

Hutch slid his hands possessively over Starsky’s ass, and his lover responded by rubbing his groin hard against Hutch’s thigh. He let himself fall into the kiss, relishing this most private act. This was the first thing they did when they got home and the last thing they did before they left. They were almost superstitious about it, waiting until they were fully dressed for work, armed with their weapons, badges in their pockets, before they gave each other that last wrenching kiss. It was as though they believed the kiss to be an invisible armor, protecting them from the dangers they were about to face.

We didn’t kiss before separating this morning, Hutch thought. We made love, but Starsky left while I was still in the shower. Thoughts of how wrong things could have gone filled him with anxiety, which he couldn’t shed. That anxiety fueled his desire. He lifted Starsky by the ass, force-marching him backwards until they hit the couch. They didn’t break the kiss until he toppled Starsky over onto the sofa. Starsky landed so hard, the couch slid a few feet along the slate floor.

Hutch covered Starsky’s body with his own before he had a chance to recover. “I could be wrong, I guess,” he said. He was panting, and it wasn’t that easy to talk. “Maybe I’m not in control.”

Starsky’s expression was half-glazed, which only made Hutch hotter. His kiss put that expression on Starsky’s face. He’d seen Starsky make love to women back when they used to double date or share a woman and ended up in the same bed. He’d never seen that expression on Starsky’s face when he was bedding a woman. That look was for Hutch alone.

“Maybe you’re running things right now,” Hutch said, grinning as he looked at his lover. He ground his aching erection against Starsky’s and watched his eyes roll up. “Do you feel like you’re in control, buddy? Just let me know.” His mouth descended as Starsky rose up to meet him halfway in another punishing kiss.

Finally, Starsky struggled to pull out of the kiss. Hutch fought him for a minute, just to let him know he still wanted more. “Glad you finally admitted who’s running things here,” Starsky gasped. His voice was a croak, but his feisty bravado was intact. Hutch loved that about him. “And since I’m runnin’ things, then I say, let’s get off this damn couch and do this right, up in our bed. Come on, huh?”

Hutch rubbed his now-straining erection against the equally hard one beneath him and smiled at Starsky. “Sure. Let’s do that. Go on. Get up.” He grinned and remained planted on top of his lover.

Starsky nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Get offa me; you weigh a ton.”

“Well, if you’re running things…” Hutch said patiently.

With a roar, Starsky heaved and nearly unseated Hutch, but ultimately was unsuccessful. He sagged back panting, and his voice cracked a little when he started making demands. “I’m tellin’ you, Hutch, you’d better get your ass offa me, get the hell up those stairs, get naked, and get in that bed!”

Hutch laughed out loud. “I do so love it when you get romantic. Is that your best ‘in complete control’ voice, or are you only now hitting puberty?”

“I hit puberty at eleven,” Starsky insisted, “and lost my virginity at twelve.” He rocked again, but finally had to concede. “Okay. Okay. Those last ten pounds you put on have given you an unfair advantage. Please, get offa me.”

“You know damn well I lost ten pounds, so don’t give me that.” Hutch rolled off Starsky and offered him a hand up.

Starsky accepted it and came off the couch with a groan.

Hutch pulled him into a gentle embrace and kissed him again, tenderly, lovingly, using persuasion and seduction to illicit a new set of groans. Sweet, thought Hutch. Who would’ve thought kissing this tough cop could be this sweet?

When they pulled apart, Starsky’s glazed look was back.

“Go upstairs,” Hutch said quietly. Starsky nodded. “Turn on the Jacuzzi. Get naked. And get in it.”

Starsky blinked. “The Jacuzzi? I’m getting’ gangrene of the dick here. How long are you gonna drag this out?”

Hutch kissed his ear and murmured Starsky’s own words back at him from their last lovemaking session. “My party. I say when. Isn’t that right?”

Starsky took in a shuddering breath. “You bastard. You sadistic, sexy bastard.”

“Take your time, Starsk,” Hutch said pleasantly. “I can wait all night–”

“Sure, you can,” Starsky groused, and pushed away from Hutch, taking the stairs to the loft two at a time.

Hutch heard him banging around; he could hear shoes thudding to the floor and the Jacuzzi whirring on. It would take a little while for it to heat up, more than enough time for Starsky to strip and get restless.

“Don’t let me catch you playing with yourself,” Hutch hollered up the stairs, and when he heard a returning curse and a muffled, “You bastard!” he cracked up.

He walked over to the glass wall and stared at the place where he’d always seen the stag emerge. There was nothing there but woods and glistening snow. The scenery was beautiful and so private, they might as well have been in the far North Country in a remote wilderness cabin. He remembered that Starsky picked this place just for him, to help him heal.

Maybe that’s why I can’t see the stag anymore, Hutch thought. Because I am healed. Starsky and I were in top form today, working together, taking the bad guy down, bringing him to justice. No one got hurt…except for a copy of War and Peace. And ever since it happened, I’ve found a sense of calm about our future. I believe we can do what we need to do on the streets and in our private lives. I don’t need to watch Starsky’s back any more than I did before. He watches mine, and I watch his, just like always–

“Hey, Hutchinson!” Starsky shouted down the stairs. “Did you go to sleep down there? The water’s ready and so am I!”

Hutch turned away from the glass wall and shook his head. Dismissing thoughts of the stag, he strolled up the stairs, shedding clothes as he went.

Once in the water, he had his hands full keeping Starsky at bay. He was like an eel with a hard-on, his hands everywhere on Hutch, his mouth soft and wet and inviting. It would be so easy to give in and let Starsky have his way, but Hutch had his own plans.

“Come on, Hutch,” Starsky implored, stroking him in the way that made Hutch insane. “Quit holdin’ out on me. You’ve got me jumping through hoops here. I’m so wired, I can’t think straight.”

Hutch laughed lightly. “That’s your excuse now?” He pulled Starsky’s hand off of him, brought it up to his mouth, and kissed the palm tenderly. “Turn around.”

Starsky’s eyes sparkled in anticipation, and he obeyed immediately.

That was too easy, Hutch thought, as he pushed Starsky over to the edge of the tub where there were hand grips to assist the less-than-fully-abled. “Hang on to the handles,” he murmured. Again, Starsky complied.

Hutch admired Starsky’s long spine and sculpted back. He was a thing of beauty. And you belong to me. I own you. I can do anything I want with you. Hutch had to close his eyes to corral his rampaging emotions.

Placing both hands on Starsky’s shoulders, Hutch began a methodical massage.

Starsky leaned into it, his body responding as Hutch kneaded the tension out of him. Starsky looked over his shoulder. “You’re having too much fun making me work for this.”

Hutch nodded. “Are you kidding? I’m having the time of my life.”

“You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you? All this buildup means the minute you get me on the sheets and touch me, I’m gonna go off like a Roman candle.”

“Maybe,” Hutch said enigmatically. “We’ll see.”

“You’ve got plans for me, don’tcha?”

“Could be,” Hutch replied. Starsky sighed, exasperated. Hutch just smiled and murmured, “I need you good and relaxed. How else am I gonna fuck your tight little ass?”

Starsky shuddered all over. “You bastard.”

Hutch laughed and moved his massage lower, enjoying working on Starsky’s spine in this slick, wet environment. He moved his hands down the sides of his buttocks without touching his ass, then rubbed the heavy muscles in his legs until Starsky was groaning. Moving closer, his hands massaged Starsky’s chest, finally taking the time to play with his nipples. Once he started doing that, Hutch allowed himself to strop his erection in the crack of Starsky’s ass.

Starsky moaned softly, his head hanging forward, his grip on the handrails tightening. “That’s good, Hutch,” he whispered, “so damn good.”

“Mmmm,” Hutch agreed, pinching Starsky’s small nipples into hard little peaks. He ached to nuzzle them, lick and bite– His hands slid over Starsky’s tight abdomen, then down the join of leg and torso, carefully avoiding testicles and penis. He moved one hand to the back, sliding it down the crack of Starsky’s ass. When his right hand found Starsky’s perineum and his left located his anus, he began massaging those places gently, but with purpose.

Starsky leaned back against Hutch with a gasp, laying his head on Hutch’s shoulder. “Hutch!” He breathed his name on an exhale as though he couldn’t waste the energy on a separate breath.

“Hang on,” said Hutch, continuing his sexual massage. “Don’t let go.”

Starsky gripped the handrails so tight, his arm muscles and shoulders went rigid.

“Relaxed yet?” Hutch asked as he tormented his lover.

“Do I look relaxed?” Starsky asked peevishly. He was breathing like a runner, his chest heaving.

“Oh, that’s too bad. If you don’t relax, then–”

“Make me come, Hutch,” Starsky said. “You want relaxed, that’ll give you relaxed.”

“My party,” Hutch reminded him. “When I say. What goes around comes around.”

Starsky moaned.

But finally Hutch couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted Starsky in a hundred ways, ways he couldn’t have here. It was time for bed.

He pushed away from him reluctantly, hauled himself out of the tub, mindless of the water splashing onto the floor. Once he was out, he helped Starsky, who insisted his legs weren’t working well.

Wrapping Starsky in a huge resort towel, he rubbed him down solicitously until he was dry. The Jacuzzi’s bath oil smelled wonderful, woodsy and fresh. His mouth watered for a taste of Starsky, but he needed a few minutes to get his own libido under rein if he wanted this to last.

He reached over to a bag he’d placed on the sink.

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, as he took the towel and began patting Hutch dry.

“Picked up some supplies after dinner while you were in the john. Just a few necessities from the resort’s gift shop.”

“I was in there yesterday,” Starsky said. “Bought some gifts for Huggy and Dobey and Minnie– Big gift shop. Lotsa weird stuff in there.”

More than you know, partner, Hutch thought smugly. Since the resort has gay owners, the gift shop held some surprises you may not have had time to discover.

He handed Starsky a bottle. “I’ll finish drying myself off. You take this and climb under the sheets. Don’t want you catching cold.”

Starsky looked at the bottle. “What’s this? And what do you want me to do with it?”

“Just keep it between your hands right now. Warm it up. You’ll find out what it is soon enough.”

Grumbling about being in love with a control freak, Starsky did as he was told. Clutching the bottle, he headed for the bed while Hutch finished quickly drying himself. Turning off the Jacuzzi, he collected the small bag and followed Starsky into the bedroom.

But his lover wasn’t under the sheets. He was sprawled elegantly on top of them, displaying his body. He took Hutch’s breath away. The glass wall behind the bed framed Starsky in nature’s beauty. Hutch felt as if he’d captured a satyr and brought him to bed. The scars from Gunther’s shooting faded more every month, and in the dim light of the bedroom they were almost invisible under Starsky’s beautiful pelt of hair.

Starsky smiled, knowing he’d captivated Hutch.

Hutch tried to regain the upper hand. It was always this way when they were deep in the throes of their passion–first one would be ascendant, and then the other would gain the upper hand. It was one of the challenges that made loving Starsky so much fun. But Hutch wasn’t about to have his plans derailed. Swallowing to make sure his voice sounded strong, he demanded, “Where’s the bottle?”

“I’m warming it like you told me.” Starsky’s arms were raised over his head, his hands open and resting on the pillow near the bed’s headboard. The position made his long torso seem even longer, outlining his wonderfully fit form.

“Where?”

“It’s under me,” Starsky said smugly. “Go find it.”

Hutch narrowed his eyes. “My pleasure.”

Climbing over Starsky’s body, he slid his hands under him, up and down his spine, touching all he wanted, not really caring if he found the bottle immediately. Starsky must have been banking on that, because he drew his arms around Hutch’s neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss as Hutch searched slowly but thoroughly for the hidden bottle.

Finally, he located it low under Starsky’s ass, under the fleshy part of his buttock.

“Found it,” Hutch told him giving him one last light kiss.

“What a genius,” Starsky said, with not a little sarcasm.

The bottle was good and warm. Climbing off his lover, Hutch knelt beside him on the big bed. As Starsky stroked his chest teasingly, Hutch squeezed some of the contents of the bottle in his palm.

“Massage oil?” Starsky guessed.

Hutch smiled mysteriously and let the liquid drip from his palm over Starsky’s nipples. He put the bottle on the nightstand and rubbed the oil over Starsky’s pectorals. “Not just massage lubricant,” he explained.

Starsky’s face registered surprise. “It’s gettin’ warm!”

“Yep. It’s water based, so it’s not greasy. It warms the skin on contact and…” He leaned down and put his mouth over Starsky’s closest nipple and suckled gently. The combination of sensations made Starsky gasp. Hutch nipped the swollen bud gently, then said, “…and it’s flavored. Vanilla.” He went back to Starsky’s nipple and started satisfying his hunger.

“Ah, damn, Hutch!” Starsky cried out, burying a hand in Hutch’s long hair.

Hutch continued spreading the lube over Starsky’s chest and abdomen. His lover panted as Hutch sucked and bit gently over the skin the gel was warming. The gel, he’d read, would make Starsky’s skin more sensitive than usual. It must have been working, because his lover was writhing under his mouth, calling his name, pulling his hair.

He moved his lips to the other nipple, which had more time to get sensitized from the gel. Starsky lurched when Hutch took it into his mouth, and that made Hutch’s own cock jump.

Within minutes, Starsky was reduced to a gasping, heaving, pleading lover. He was moving all over the bed, touching Hutch everywhere, responding so beautifully it made Hutch wild.

Pulling his own self-control back together, Hutch reached for the lubricant.

Starsky seemed almost panicky. “Babe, you put that stuff on my dick, and I’m gonna lose it completely. I need you so bad, but…I’m seconds away from meltdown, and that’s the truth.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Hutch admonished. “Can’t have that, can we? That would ruin all my fun! And yours, too. But I think I can fix that. Wait a minute.”

Starsky rolled his eyes as Hutch leaned over the bed for the small bag he’d left on the floor. “What’s next? Ice cubes to slow me down? A stun gun? Or maybe some yoga position you learned from–” Starsky paused as Hutch brought something back in the bed. “What the hell is that?”

Hutch grinned. “You know what it is. You’ve seen them before.”

Starsky blinked. “Is that…? Where the hell did you get a cock ring?”

“It’s not a fancy one, I admit,” Hutch confessed, showing it off. “They didn’t have a big choice in the gift shop–”

“The gift shop?” Starsky blurted. “The gift shop here, at the resort?”

Hutch nodded. “Remember, the owners are gay, a lot of newlyweds come here, and apparently so do a lot of gay couples. They’ve got a whole display of marital aids in the gift shop. But it’s out of the way where the kiddies can’t see it. There’s a small discreet sign about it in the back. You have to ask to see the display, and you have to be over eighteen. You were probably too captivated by the fake Appalachian wind-up toys to notice.”

Starsky narrowed his eyes, then focused on the innocuous piece of leather in Hutch’s hand.

“It’s not like we can shop for this kind of stuff in Bay City where everybody knows us,” Hutch said. “And you’ve been warning me all night that you couldn’t hold it for long–”

“Whose fault is that?”

“It had better be mine,” Hutch assured him. “And…I do believe this is my party. Isn’t it?”

Starsky hesitated two beats before finally saying, “All yours, partner. Your party.” He smiled gently, then met Hutch’s eyes. “You own me, babe. I belong to you. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Damn right about that,” Hutch said, then had to swallow since his heart felt like it was expanding into his throat. How lucky could a man get, he wondered. “Hey, look,” he said, as if wanting to reassure Starsky. “It’s red.”

“I see that. You got any other little treasures in there you wanna tell me about?”

“One thing at a time,” Hutch said mysteriously. “You want to put it on–?”

Starsky shook his head. “Your party. You do it.”

Hutch’s cock felt like it grew another inch. He exhaled in a rush. “Yeah. Okay. Hold still.”

“Right,” Starsky agreed. “Don’t think it’s a good idea to present a moving target for this.”

Hutch leaned over him and opened the leather ring. Its girth could be adjusted to fit snugly around men of different sizes. They’d never used anything like this, and Hutch didn’t want to hurt Starsky. The whole purpose was to enhance their experience. “You’ve gotta tell me if it’s too tight.”

Before he could even slip it over Starsky’s cock, Starsky blurted, “It’s too tight!” making Hutch jump and drop the thing in the bed. Starsky laughed when Hutch slapped the side of his ass.

“Clown,” Hutch grumbled, slipping the ring over the head of Starsky’s cock. Gently, he pulled Starsky’s testicles through the ring, then pushed the leather tight against his body, so it restricted cock and testicles both. Tightening it, he looked at Starsky for guidance. “More?”

Starsky was staring at his groin with the oddest expression on his face. “Wow, that feels…intense. Tighten it a little more.”

Hutch obliged cautiously.

Starsky moaned. “Man…Hutch….”

“Too tight?”

Starsky shook his head. “It’s like…I don’t know…really hot…but…I don’t think I can come like this.”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” He secured the ring. It would only take a quick tug to undo it when it was time. He reached again for the lubricant.

Starsky looked apprehensive. “Hutch…I don’t know about this–”

“Take it easy,” Hutch said. “It’ll be good. If it gets to be too much, we can get in the shower and wash it off.”

Starsky seemed to relax then, but Hutch noticed him gripping the sheets. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Hutch squeezed the warming lube over Starsky’s groin. He rubbed it slowly over his heavy erection and his tightly contained balls, making them slick and shiny. The sweet scent of vanilla made his mouth water, but he wanted to wait until the gel did its job.

Starsky was panting as the gel warmed his sensitive skin, rocking back and forth in the bed as Hutch massaged him. As Hutch spread the gel over the join of his legs and the soft skin of his inner thighs, Starsky started to moan beautifully.

That’s right, sing for me, baby, Hutch thought. As he continued to rub the gel over Starsky’s thighs, he brought his mouth down to capture the tightly bound cock that was begging for attention.

Starsky shouted and instantly buried both hands in Hutch’s hair, tangling his fingers in it, pushing and pulling his hair all at the same time, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted more or wanted it to stop.

The taste of vanilla and Starsky was almost too much for Hutch. He moaned and deep throated his lover, sending Starsky into a frenzy. That’s right, now dance for me, Hutch thought as Starsky rocked in and out of his mouth, desperately needing to fuck. Hutch sucked him with a ferocious hunger, finally pinning his hips to the bed to hold him still so he could do whatever he wanted with his mouth and tongue.

Starsky was incoherent with lust, surging and thrashing, clenching his ass and fighting the restraint of Hutch’s hands.

But Hutch knew Starsky was helpless in his mouth. Helpless and unable to come. Hutch had never felt more powerful. He owned his man. Owned his body–but more importantly, his heart.

He pulled off of Starsky’s cock long enough to squeeze more gel onto his left hand. Gripping the head of Starsky’s cock with his right hand, he stroked him slowly, while licking his swollen testicles, sucking them into his mouth one by one, then rolling them with his tongue. His left hand, slick with gel, rubbed the warming liquid up and down Starsky’s crack, then rimmed his anus slowly, deliberately, tormenting his lover with promises of what might be.

Starsky spread his legs wantonly, as wide as he could, muttering a litany of “please, Hutch, please” and other things Hutch couldn’t make out. Hutch kept up the stroking tease, while running his tongue over the soft skin of Starsky’s inner thighs, tasting the sweet vanilla and the musky flavor of his lover.

Rising up on his knees, he gripped the plush globes of Starsky’s ass and lifted him. Instinctively, Starsky slung his legs over Hutch’s shoulders. Using his thumbs to spread Starsky’s buttocks, Hutch dipped his head to rim his lover.

Starsky arched up into his mouth, gripping the headboard for leverage as most of his weight rested on his shoulders. Hutch tried to imagine what being bound by the cock ring had to feel like for Starsky. His tongue worked Starsky over and over as he used his strength to support Starsky’s position. Starsky wasn’t making sense anymore. Right now, he was just struggling to breathe.

Finally, Hutch had to stop. His arms were trembling and his whole body yearned for something he hadn’t had in so long. Something he’d been too afraid to want. He tried to remember why he’d been so reluctant and couldn’t. He looked down at his lover as Starsky struggled to catch his breath. His body gleamed with lubricant and sweat. He was the most beautiful thing Hutch had ever seen. He was as strong and healthy as a wild animal. Why had he ever doubted that?

“Come on, Hutch,” Starsky rasped, his chest heaving. “I’m gonna die if we have any more foreplay.”

Hutch blinked, coming back to the moment. “Does it hurt? The ring?”

“You kiddin’?” Starsky asked. “It’s killin’ me. But it feels great, too. That make any sense?”

Hutch laughed a little and nodded. Of course it did. Starsky logic. “I need you to do something.”

“What now?” Starsky asked, concerned. “I don’t know if the ceiling fixture will support me, but if you insist–”

Hutch grinned, feeling so much joy in loving this man. “I’ve got something for you.” He reached over the bed for the bag.

“Oh, shit, now what?” Starsky said hesitantly.

Hutch pulled out a blue leather cock ring. “It’s for you–”

Starsky’s eyes widened in near panic.

“To put on me,” Hutch finished.

“On you?” Starsky said, surprised.

“You think I’ve got that much self-control?” Hutch asked. “I’d be good for maybe two strokes before I’d go off like Mount Vesuvius. Put it on me. I promised I was gonna fuck your tight ass, and I meant it. Help me out.”

“Gimme that thing,” Starsky said eagerly.

Hutch had to grip his thighs and do math problems in his head–something he never excelled at–to keep from exploding when Starsky slipped the ring over his raging cock. Manipulating his balls through the ring was torture. If it wasn’t for the Pythagorean Theorem, he might not have survived it.

“Too tight?” Starsky asked as he pulled the ring taut.

“More,” Hutch said. Finally, “That’s it! I don’t want to be a soprano tomorrow!” He caught Starsky’s eyes. “I just want to be able to fuck you all night.”

“You bastard,” Starsky hissed.

Hutch picked up the gel and put it in Starsky’s hand. “You’re not done.”

That made Starsky grin. “Oh, you’re just full of surprises tonight.” He squeezed a line of the gel along Hutch’s cock and took great delight in rubbing it in. The warming sensation was a shock to Hutch. It was just the right side of unpleasant, making his skin hypersensitive. Starsky’s touch was electric, making him shudder all over. The intensity was amazing.

He was startled when Starsky leaned down to put his mouth on Hutch’s cock. He yelled at the onslaught of sensations as Starsky’s tongue dance a delightful rhythm over his sensitive crown. The need to come was nearly overwhelming, and yet he couldn’t. After a few moments of intense pleasure, he had to push Starsky away. “You’ll pay for that!” he threatened.

“I sure hope so,” Starsky purred. He lay back in the bed, his arms raised to the headboard, making sure Hutch got a good look at his glistening body and his intensely swollen cock.

Seeing him like that, with the red cock ring binding him, the ring he let Hutch put on him, was nearly Hutch’s undoing. He finally had to close his eyes to get a grip on his passion. With a husky voice, he ordered, “Turn over.”

Starsky hesitated. Raising his hand to Hutch’s cheek, he rubbed his knuckles over his face and murmured, “Want to see your face when you enter me.”

He’s gonna kill me one of these days, Hutch thought, nearly overwhelmed with emotion.

“I want to surround you with my body, hold you in my arms, feel all of you against me,” Hutch said. He glanced up at the glass wall. The darkness made the glass more like a mirror than a window. “Starsk, watch us in the window. You’ll be able to see me there.”

Starsky turned and looked. Smiling, he nodded at Hutch, and rolled over onto his stomach, stretching out.

His willingness and his beauty made Hutch grateful for the cock ring that helped him maintain his control.

Climbing over Starsky on all fours, he lowered himself until he was blanketing him completely. “I’ve got your back, partner,” he whispered, as Starsky reached back to stroke his hair.

The rocked together for a moment, just enjoying the body contact. Then Hutch pulled them over onto their sides. Taking the bottle of lube, he used some on Starsky’s anus and poured more onto the column and head of his cock. He could feel the very air sensitizing his cock as the warming gel heated his flesh.

Starsky gripped the rails of the headboard with both hands. “Hutch, please!” he implored, as if unable to wait a moment longer.

Hutch felt the same. “Hang on,” was all the warning he could bear to give.

Moving behind Starsky, he positioned himself, then gripping Starsky’s cock with a gel-slicked hand, he penetrated him with a strong thrust.

It had been a long time for Starsky, and the force of Hutch’s entry made his body arch away. That enflamed Hutch’s lust to a fever pitch. “No, you don’t,” he growled, and used his grip on Starsky’s cock to rein him back in. He thrust in again, strongly, seating his cock all the way inside.

Starsky cried out, clutching the headboard, his body going bowstring tight. Hutch rode out the incredible sensation of Starsky’s rebelling body clamping down around his burning cock. He managed to keep his wits about him enough to rub Starsky’s erection slowly, gently, teasingly, needing to excite his lover enough to make him relax.

“Let me in, baby, let me in,” he crooned. Starsky was panting hard, trying to make his body obey. Hutch licked at his ear, rubbed his cock, and used his other hand to pinch the nearest nipple.

Starsky writhed and moaned, but his body wasn’t ready to yield yet.

“I knew you’d be so tight,” Hutch whispered. “Doesn’t matter. My party. I own you. You belong to me. I can do whatever I want.”

Starsky moaned low and his body relaxed all at once. “You bastard,” he murmured, affectionately. “I love you, Hutch. So much.”

Hutch pulled Starsky up tight against him, loving the way his body felt against him, the way Hutch could surround him with his arms and legs. He fisted Starsky’s cock, and soon they were rocking in counterpoint, Hutch sliding in and out of his lover with ease, Starsky tightening and releasing Hutch with a maddening rhythm.

“All night,” he murmured to Starsky, “gonna fuck you all night….”

He saw Starsky watching them in the window, and the sense of exposure Hutch had been feeling all along suddenly enhanced his excitement. He loved this man enough to fuck him in front of anyone. “Ought to fuck you in Macy’s window,” he growled, moving deeper into Starsky’s body.

Starsky tightened down hard and gasped.

“Yeah, you’d like that, you exhibitionist,” Hutch said, laughing.

“What? Not in Gimble’s?” Starsky asked.

Hutch rolled Starsky’s tight balls in his palm.

Starsky shouted helplessly. Catching his breath, he asked, “Is it good, baby? Is it good inside me?”

Hutch almost sobbed in joy. “Ah, Starsky…how can you ask…?”

Starsky was still staring at the glass. “Your face, Hutch…you look…so happy.”

Hutch swallowed, then realized he was smiling so hard his face hurt. He kissed Starsky’s neck, his shoulder, his ear. He moved his hands all over Starsky’s skin, pulling him tight against him, feeling him breathing, feeling his heart pound, rejoicing over his life. It was such a gift. He was the luckiest man on earth.

“I am happy,” he said. “Never doubt that. You make me happy. Love you.”

“Yeah?” Starsky said. “Then how ’bout lettin’ me come? I feel like the top of my head’s gonna blow off any minute.”

“Soon, baby,” Hutch promised, and pushed Starsky onto his stomach. “Soon.”

Starsky spread his legs wide, giving Hutch all the room he needed. But what Hutch wanted was leverage. Making sure they never separated, Hutch lifted Starsky up until he was on his knees. Gripping the top rail of the headboard, Starsky pulled himself erect, as Hutch guided him until they were both kneeling almost upright. Hanging on to the top rail, Starsky braced himself as Hutch blanketed his back. He was still gripping Starsky’s cock, as he began rocking harder and faster into him.

Hutch could see Starsky watching them in the glass as Hutch began moving more powerfully. Starsky’s strong arms supported them as Hutch wrapped himself around his lover’s lean form and gave in to his own need.

“Yes!” Starsky crowed as Hutch took him. “Yes! Yes!”

Hutch knew if he was close Starsky was way ahead of him. As he felt his excitement crest, he snapped open Starsky’s cock ring, letting it expand.

Starsky cried out in surprise and Hutch felt his lover’s body clamp down around him as Starsky’s cock spewed in his hand, sending a flood of semen over Hutch’s fingers and across the bed. Hutch reached back to fumble his own ring open and barely got it undone when the powerful ripples of Starsky’s inner muscles tipped him over the edge. His breath caught on a sob as he came, emptying himself into the man supporting his weight, his passion, and his incredible love.

***

I must’ve blacked out for a minute, Hutch thought. Did I come that hard? Starsky was easing him gently down onto the bed. I guess so….

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Starsky asked, tapping his cheek. “I think you’re takin’ this ‘little death’ thing too far. You with me?”

“Uh-huh,” Hutch said groggily. Oh, yeah, that sounded alert. He was face-down in the bed, where Starsky had managed to ease out from under him.

“Come on, roll over,” Starsky urged. “I need to get that thing offa you. It gets tangled in your hairs. A real joy to remove, I gotta tell ya. I may never let you go shopping without me again.”

Hutch chuckled weakly. He palmed Starsky’s cheek. “You okay?”

“Hell, no,” Starsky answered honestly. “I think you fucked me up into my throat, Hutchinson. You rearranged all my insides.” Then he grinned. “But, man, it was great. I really missed that, Hutch.” He kissed him lightly. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me wait so long next time. I was outta practice. I’m thinkin’ I might not want to chance the advance slopes tomorrow. Don’t think my legs are up to it.”

“Good thinking,” said Hutch.

“Can you get up and shower with me? That stuff’s all over us. My chest hair’s all stiff. And I smell like a cupcake.”

Hutch grinned, so happy he wasn’t sure he could stand it. “My little cupcake.”

Starsky smiled. “I’ll slit your throat if you say that in the squadroom.”

“Help me up. I’m wounded,” Hutch said, as Starsky left the bed.

“You’re not wounded, you’re just royally fucked out,” Starsky protested. “I’m wounded. I feel like if I walk too fast, I’m gonna trail all my insides behind me.”

“Now, there’s a romantic image,” Hutch groaned.

Starsky stepped into the bathroom, as Hutch finally rose from the bed. Hutch could hear him turn on the shower and adjust it. He said something, but Hutch didn’t catch it.

As he moved stiffly toward the bathroom after Starsky, something caught the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned, staring out the window toward the nature trail.

The white stag stood in the snow, looking up at him.

Hutch felt a flush of goose bumps rise all over his body. He wanted to call Starsky, but thought he might already be in the shower. He won’t see him. He’ll never know–

“Hutch! What the hell is that?” Starsky was suddenly standing beside him, staring out at the woods.

“You can see him?” Hutch asked, his voice trembling.

“That white deer? I’d have to be blind to miss something that big. I’ve never heard of a white deer before. Look at the size of those horns!” Starsky stared at Hutch in dismay. “Is this the deer you kept seeing? You never said he was white. He’s beautiful!”

Hutch kept looking between the stag and his lover. He didn’t know what to think now that Starsky could see the animal, too.

“Starsk…the white stag, it’s a legendary animal. Like the unicorn. It’s supposed to lead hunters on a chase–the chase brings them happiness. There’s more to the legend than that, but…I’ve got so much to tell you about the stag.”

Just then, another elk stepped out of the forest and came to stand beside the white one. It was also a male, colored naturally, but so dark, he was almost black. The two elk touched noses, then gently rattled their antlers, not in challenge, but as an acknowledgment of each other.

“Are they friends, Hutch?” Starsky asked. “I thought male deer fought over stuff like females and territory.”

Hutch nodded. “Mostly at certain times of the year, but they usually don’t buddy up together. I’ve…never seen anything like that.”

The dark elk leaned over to nuzzle the white stag’s ear, then scratched his withers with his teeth.

They’re us, Hutch suddenly realized. That stag has pursued his own happiness, in defiance of what nature would have him do. That’s got to be the connection between us. He placed a palm against the window, remembering the feel of the soft white fur in his hand.

The dark elk looked up at Hutch and Starsky once more, then turned toward the woods. He gave a short coughing bark, then stepped between the trees and immediately seemed to disappear. The white stag turned to follow him. He paused at the mouth of the forest and looked up over his shoulder at Hutch one last time. He nodded his heavy head, then followed his mate.

Hutch leaned his forehead against the glass. He sensed he would not be seeing the white stag again. Goodbye. And thank you. I’ll never forget–

“It’s like he was saying goodbye to you, Hutch. That’s…amazing. No wonder you were looking for him when we walked through the woods.”

Hutch grappled Starsky into his arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and battled a flood of emotions.

Starsky hugged him gently, patting his back. “Hey, you okay? What’s the matter, babe?”

Hutch swallowed hard, trying to imagine how he would explain everything to Starsky. At least now he could, without having his partner think he needed a different kind of vacation at Cabrillo State. The relief of knowing he wouldn’t have to keep his experience hidden from the man who meant the most to him was a tremendous relief.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then blinked to hold back a rash of tears. He had nothing to cry about, that was for sure. “I’m okay,” he reassured his lover, though the husk in his voice said otherwise. “We’ve just…been through a lot today. And…in spite of this morning, it’s been…just a great vacation, Starsk. You picked the perfect place. I know you picked it for me. I hope it’s been great for you, too.”

Starsky looked deeply into Hutch’s eyes before answering. Finally, as though he found something there that he’d been looking for, he said, “Oh, yeah. I feel like I got a part of you back again that had gotten lost somewhere. I feel like you’re whole again. And that makes us whole. Which is all I ever wanted.”

They embraced for a long moment, until finally, Starsky pulled away and took Hutch by the hand to lead him into the shower. The entire bathroom was steamy and warm and very inviting.

“We’re sleepin’ in, tomorrow,” Starsky decided. “As late as we want. After breakfast, we’ll take another nature walk, since that seems to bring out the animal in you. Then maybe we’ll stay in bed all day, catching up on lost…opportunities. If I can live through it.”

His heart full of joy, Hutch looked forward to all their tomorrows with a sense of delightful anticipation that he hadn’t had in so long.

He remembered when Tahoe had seemed an unattainable goal, one more disappointment in a world becoming bleaker by the day. Coming here helped him let go of fear and embrace the adventure of life, including its risks. Tahoe had taught him to believe again. To believe in Starsky. To believe in himself. And most importantly, to believe in them together. It had taken them a damned long time to get to Tahoe–but now it would always be with them.

“Make all the plans you want, partner,” he said, as they stepped under the warm spray. “As long as we’re together, it’s fine with me.”

“Plan number one,” Starsky said, taking Hutch into his arms, “always starts with a kiss.”

As their lips met, Hutch knew they were both sharing the same thought. I belong to you….

THE END