Starsky vs. Mother Nature

Nekkid Starsky in a sleeping bag and other goodies.

“This is why civilized people stay in houses. With roofs and central heat and air conditioning and toilets that flush and water that comes out of taps when you turn them on.”

Starsky glared at his partner, who was humming under his breath as he hung up the pile of wet clothes and bedding from an impromptu clothesline he’d strung up between two pine trees.

“Starsk, this stuff will be dry in no time. It’s just a few wet things, and wet things dry. It’s basic physics. I’ll explain it to you sometime.” Hutch grinned as he felt Starsky’s glare on the back of his neck turn up a notch or two. The only thing more entertaining than a wet, naked Starsky was a pissed off, wet naked Starsky who couldn’t get out of their remaining dry sleeping bag and take revenge on him.

“I’ll explain it to you sometime,” Starsky mocked him scowling miserably as he drew the warm flannel interior of the sleeping bag around his shoulders.

“Did you say something?” Hutch asked, turning around with a solicitous expression at the ready. “You’re not cold are you, babe? Because I can throw some more wood on the fire if you’re cold.” He turned around to hide his smirk.

“I’m fine. I just can’t figure out how I tripped crossing the creek on that log. I tell you, Hutch, Mother Nature hates my guts. She knows I’m out of my element and she’s telling me to get my city-bred ass back to my own turf.” Starsky sighed and shifted inside the bag where he sat cross-legged in front of a small fire. “With my luck, I’ll have to pee, a Girl Scout troupe will hike by, and you’ll have to arrest me for indecent exposure.”

“Girl Scouts should be so lucky.” Hutch finished hanging up the last of the wet things and came over to squat down by Starsky’s side.

“Don’t worry, if anyone comes by, I’ll protect your modesty with my life.” Hutch slid a hand through the still damp curls and pulled Starsky in for a kiss.

“There isn’t a soul within miles of us, anyway,” he added, pressing his mouth against Starsky’s nearest ear, then nipping the lobe.

“You’re just trying to get in my sleeping bag.” But Starsky sighed and leaned into the nuzzling and nibbling.

“That’s MY sleeping bag, if you want to get technical about it.” Hutch replied, between tastes, and slid his hands down Starsky’s arms, ending up at his sides. Starsky wiggled against the slide of fingertips. “I can get in it anytime I like.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” Starsky whispered into his ear, and wiggled some more.

“Be still,” murmured Hutch against his neck. “Am I going to have sit on you?”

“I’m ticklish, Blondie.” An involuntary laugh escaped him. “But you can sit on me if you want to.” Invitingly purred.

Hutch abruptly sat back on his heels. “I have to finish hanging out your wet things. If they’re not dry by this afternoon, it’s not going to be a lot of fun for either of us, since you were carrying all the clothes.” He rose and went back over to the line, picked up a pair of soaking wet blue jeans and started wringing them out.

“Speaking of fun, when does that part start?” Starsky grumbled. “So far, this is about as much fun as an ice pick jammed under my fingernail.”

Hutch turned and threw a wet T-shirt at him.

“Damn, that’s cold, you bastard!” Starsky shot up out of the bag, which started to slide down his hips. He frantically grabbed at it. “You know, sometimes you’re really mean.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me who fell in the creek with his backpack on, dummy.” Hutch replied in “I’m the reasonable one” tone of voice that made Starsky want to strangle him.

“I still can’t figure out how that happened.” Starsky sat back down on the ground, pulling the bag around him, cupping his cheek in one hand.

“There wasn’t anything to trip on, but I caught my foot on something.”

Hutch started to whistle; steadily wringing out Starsky’s wet clothes and hanging them from the clothesline.

“I was walking in front of you,” Starsky muttered to himself, “and you were behind me. And all of a sudden, something caught on my ankle, and down I go.”

Hutch began to whistle louder. Starsky looked up and drew his brows together suspiciously.

“Hutch, where’s that walking stick you had?”

“Walking stick?” Hutch echoed. He turned around and shrugged elaborately. “I guess I dropped it when I fished you out of the creek, buddy.”

“You’re a miserable liar, Hutchinson!” Starsky jumped to his feet, grabbing at the sleeping bag. “So don’t even try it! I can read you like a book. A pop-up book!”

Hutch strode over and stuck his forefinger in Starsky’s face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and exactly what are you accusing me of?” The heated words were punctuated with stabs of the finger.

“You tripped me with that goddammed stick of yours, you klutz!” Starsky yelled in Hutch’s face.

“Who you calling a klutz, moron?” Hutch asked, his voice growing low and dangerous sounding.

“You, you klutz, you trip over your own feet every five minutes!”

“Why, I’ll have you know I was a star athlete in college!” Hutch jabbed the finger again, this time into Starsky’s bare chest.

“In what, the four hundred meter stumble?” Starsky yelled back.

“Take that back or I’m taking back my sleeping bag,” Hutch growled.

“Fine! Take your damned sleeping bag, see if I give a shit!” Starsky shinnied out of the bag and stalked off naked to the Torino, parked nearby.

Hutch stared at his partner’s bare and enticingly flexing backside steadily retreating and no retort came to mind. Starsky got in the car, rolled up the windows, locked the doors and glared at him, displaying the middle finger of his left hand.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Hutch groaned. He strode over to the car and tapped on the window.

“You can’t go anywhere like that!” he shouted through the glass.

“Fuck off!” Starsky mouthed at him and turned his back to the side window, sitting sideways on the car’s front seats.

“Fine, fine, be that way,” Hutch grumbled and went back over to hang up the rest of the wet clothes. “Damn hardhead.”

When he had finally finished, he went back over to the Torino, but the heat of the car, even though parked in the shade of a large pine tree, had lulled his partner to sleep, curly head thrown back against the door.

“Well, let’s hope no Girl Scouts come along,” Hutch thought wryly to himself and decided to go fishing for an hour. “When he wakes up, he’ll be over it, his clothes will be dry, and we’ll have lunch.”

Hutch got his gear out of the tent, and strode off down a nearby path.

Starsky awoke after an hour or so, and realized his first problem was he had to pee. His second was being naked on a vinyl seat.

“Oh, geez, this is gonna hurt!” he groaned as he carefully peeled himself off the seat. “I’m being skinned alive!” He threw open the door of the Torino and slowly slid to his feet.

Then he realized his third problem was still being naked. A squirrel chittered angrily above him from the pine tree.

“Yeah, yeah, right, shut up, you’re just jealous.” He mumbled and shivered a little as he relieved himself behind the nearby pine.

“You know, I really ought to arrest you for public indecency, boy.” A voice said behind him. Starsky jumped, hands automatically trying to cover the most vulnerable part of his anatomy.

“I sure hope that’s not the squirrel.” Starsky looked up briefly.

Hutch laughed. “Relax, it’s just me.” He slid his arms around Starsky from behind. “I think you need to get back in my sleeping bag, you’re um, exciting the local wildlife.”

“I hope that includes you, Blondie.” Starsky leaned back into the warm embrace.

“Not mad at me anymore?” Hutch whispered into Starsky’s ear, nuzzling it.

“Nah, I guess things could be worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah, it could be my shirt over there that that big black bird is taking a dump on.”

The End.