Standing on the Shore

Shores
Beyond the water, there is always land.
Even the sea binds;
And if one cannot always see the shore,
The shore is always there.
So it is with emotion:
Every kindness, every fleeting thought of love—
And every hatred too—
Will reach its shore.
Even if one cannot always see,
The shore is always there.
—Leslie P. Garcia
copyright 2007

 

“I watched you, once.”

Hutch looked up from the book he had been reading aloud, gently surprised. “Watched me what?”

Starsky looked up to the ceiling, looking sleepy, maybe more due to his meds than the hour. “Make love.”

Hutch placed the bookmark and carefully closed the novel, setting it on the nightstand. “You’ve watched me make love to you, Starsk.”

“No, I mean, to a woman.”

Intrigued, Hutch slid down to his pillow and tucked one hand under his cheek, gazing at the tired face softened by the gentle light. “I’m torn between wanting to know what, who and why you saw, and wanting to know why you’re telling me about it.”

“The book reminded me.” It was some western that Starsky liked, and Hutch had just read a passage wherein the cowboy had been bedding a lady.

“And?” Hutch asked.

Starsky drew in a deep breath and blew it out toward the ceiling. “Remember how I used to come over and talk to you, late at night?”

“More like early morning, but yes,” Hutch answered. “Did I ever tell you how much those times meant to me?”

“Not as much as they did to me,” Starsky answered, smiling, turning his head just far enough for Hutch to meet his eyes. “You never sent me away, or complained if I woke you.”

“You’re my best friend, Starsk. I wouldn’t send you away. Besides,” Hutch reached out to take Starsky’s hand, “you talking to me like that made me feel – special. Important to you.”

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand, taking another deep, catching breath. “You were. You are. I think, back then, sometimes, talking in the dark seemed easier, when it was all quiet outside and my mind – it’s like it could open up.”

Hutch nodded, saying nothing about the fact that they were in the dark right now, but instead waited for Starsky to continue, stroking his thumb back and forth across the back of Starsky’s hand.

“That’s when I really started to love you,” Starsky murmured. “And then that one night…”

“Yeah?” Hutch asked softly.

“I knew I wanted you.”

*~*~*

November’s night air chilled him, even through his leather jacket and two shirts. He shoved his hands deeply into his pockets as he stared up at Hutch’s windows. The few stars the city lights allowed blinked above the top of the building and around him, the world held itself silently, listening.

Two-thirty in the morning, and he should be in his own bed, but his confused doubts about his latest girl were on his mind and he couldn’t sleep.

He leaned back against the Torino’s door. One of the windows held a faint light, which could mean Hutch was awake, or could mean he simply hadn’t turned it off. His car was parked along the curb so it seemed he was, at least, home.

Starsky pushed himself off his car and quietly entered the building, respecting the silent night by tiptoeing up the stairs and avoiding the steps he knew creaked. From his pocket he took his key ring and opened the carved door.

The apartment held the same quiet as the night, but felt much warmer. The green lamp burned on the desk.

He shed his jacket, wincing as it creaked, and laid it across the back of the sofa.

The sleeping alcove was only a few feet and he turned around that half-wall only to step back again.

Hutch wasn’t alone.

Starsky silently cursed. He usually knew when Hutch had a date. His partner had said nothing about meeting anyone tonight.

That’s what he got for assuming.

Knowing he should leave, but finding himself intrigued by the soft noises coming from the bed, he instead leaned against the edge of the wall, peering around.

Errant light filtering through the window and the light glowing from the living room allowed just enough illumination that Starsky could make out the bodies on the bed. At that moment, Hutch raised himself over his bedmate, and Starsky watched as slender fingers worked the t-shirt Hutch often slept in up his torso, exposing creamy skin inch by inch.

The long back arched, undulating gently, Hutch’s body lowering to the smaller one beneath, perhaps not even quite touching it, eventually moving one arm and then the other to remove his clothing. His head dipped to kiss and nuzzle, so very gentle, and Starsky was enraptured.

The couple were so quiet, and so close, so intimate. In a world all their own.

He didn’t care who it was sharing Hutch’s bed just then – instead he imagined his own body stretched beneath that long, lean form, the recipient of such tenderness.

The thought shocked him.

His hands pulling the shirt from Hutch’s body, his fingertips exploring Hutch’s chest, stroking against tiny nipples.

His nose filling with the scent of arousal, Hutch’s arousal, and his own.

His lips yearning for Hutch’s head to dip low and take them with his own, teasing gently.

Starsky’s eyes flew open, unaware he’d even closed them, and his hand moved to soothe the raging erection pressing painfully against his fly. He could have left then, closed the door behind him and been gone.

But he didn’t.

The blankets on the bed had slipped to drape towards the floor, exposing nude bodies and discarded underwear. Feminine legs, bent at the knee and opened wide, bracketed long, strong ones. Hutch was on his knees, head bent, licking and sucking at her breasts. He rocked gently forward, and the woman lifted her hips slightly with a small moan.

Hutch bent further, ass in the air, face at her groin. She whimpered and tossed and Starsky recalled the taste of a woman. Then he thought of Hutch’s mouth taking his cock, that wide mouth engulfing, sucking, licking, the blond head contrasting against his own dark mass of hair below.

Waves of lust washed over him, and his thoughts anchored on Hutch, ever a solid shore.

Starsky knew the moment Hutch entered her. His hands shook and he covered the sound of his zipper, hiding it within the moans and groans from the bed.

He drew his cock out, incredibly hard and hot in his hand, and his heart pounded so frantically against his ribs that for one distracted moment he wondered if he’d have bruises later.

His gaze locked on the movements on the bed. Slow thrusts punctuated by soft grunts portrayed the act for several minutes, and Starsky found himself stroking his cock in time, watching Hutch’s buttocks clench and release, over and over.

In and out.

Rocking the bed like a boat on water.

Some small corner of his mind shrieked at him, asking him what exactly did he think he was doing? But he couldn’t move, couldn’t leave, too caught up in the sensations. The truth of his feelings battered at him, body and soul.

The woman began to chant, her voice breathless. A brazen moment of jealousy struck Starsky when he heard her begin to call out, “Ken, Ken!”

He should be the one calling out.

Hutch.

Oh, he wanted him. Wanted Hutch with an urgency that startled him, pushing him onto an emotional shore of realization.

And for one tortuous moment, Hutch lifted and turned his head, as if searching in the dim light for him, and Starsky froze.

Within two thrusts Hutch’s head dropped again and Starsky let out a shaky breath, picking up the rhythm once more.

He didn’t worry about being heard once she started in on her cries. He tried to imagine her face but only Hutch’s came to him, mouth hung open in ecstasy, sweat dripping from his hair and trickling down his neck. He longed to be able to reach his tongue up to taste him, to reach his hands to Hutch’s back, flanks, ass.

Hutch changed speed abruptly, darting in and out, and Starsky knew he was close. He gripped his own shaft tighter, rubbing his thumb beneath the head and bending his knees to allow space for his own shallow thrusts.

With a long, drawn out “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…,” Hutch’s body stilled, the smaller one beneath his still pressing upwards until she, too, shouted out her orgasm.

They shifted together a few more times, moaning with each movement, until Hutch finally withdrew, shaking, and collapsed beside her, gathering the small body close to him.

Starsky pulled himself back around the edge of the wall, gritting his teeth. Three more strokes and he climaxed, trying and largely failing to capture the emission in a cupped palm. For a fleeting moment he thought about cleaning it up, but was far too incoherent to truly figure out how to do it.

Through sheer strength of will he remained standing, and still shaking from his climax and thoughts of Hutch fucking him, reached for his jacket and crept for the door, wiping his hand on the back of his jeans as he went.

*~*~*

“Geeze, Starsk,” Hutch muttered, swallowing hard. “You sure are good at the details.”

Starsky chuckled, but still didn’t look at him.

“Hey, Starsk?”

“Mmm?”

“I- I did see you. I knew you were there.”

“You did?” Starsky turned his head then, eyes wide in surprise.

“Yeah. She never knew, though. I- I got a bit turned on by knowing you were watching. And I didn’t want you to go. I- part of me wished you’d join us.”

Starsky turned his eyes back up to the ceiling. “Damn.”

“You’re not sleepy at all, are you?”

“Nope.” Starsky slowly shook his head.

Hutch leaned up on his elbow. Since the shooting, Starsky hadn’t had a hard-on. The list of probable issues had included temporary impotence due to medications, which Starsky had been experiencing.

Had been.

“Starsk, are you…?”

His partner reached for his hand and pulled it carefully towards his groin, settling it on a very distinct firmness.

“Yep.”

“Oh…” Hutch breathed, feeling a ridiculously happy smile break out on his face.

“Be gentle with me, Blondie, ok? It’s like my first time all over again.”

Hutch slid his hand into Starsky’s underwear, thrilling to feel the familiar cock. Then he sat up, pulled the blankets off them, and drew Starsky’s briefs down.

“You want to watch?” he asked, and Starsky laughed, and leaned up to kiss him.

Hutch left the light on.

~end
August 26, 2007

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