Sunday Morning

The guys wake up after a Saturday night to remember. At least Hutch remembers. Starsk is trying hard to forget. But. That’s. Not. Possible.

Beta’d by J.A.’69. Thanks, J.A., for your patience, support, creative mind and a healthy sense of the absurd.

Sunday morning, praise the dawning. It’s just a restless feeling by my side. (Reed, Cale)

It’s Sunday morning. Hutch has finished exercising, and is singing to himself in the shower, feeling good. He steps out and towels off, then wraps the towel around him. He walks into his kitchen, naked from the waist up, and starts to blend two glasses worth of fresh-squeezed orange juice in the food processor. He stops for a moment; adds a carrot, some parsley, a dash of nutmeg. Finally he pours the mixture into the glasses, placing them on the table.

Starsky slowly ambles into the kitchen, still groggy from the night before. He’s barefoot and wearing Hutch’s orange terry cloth bathrobe. He grumbles as he plugs in the coffeemaker and turns it on to heat up what remains of last night’s coffee. Grabs a stale donut from the counter. Munches on it sleepily. Then:

“Do you remember what I did last night, Hutch? The whole thing is kind of a blur.”

Hutch can’t believe what he’s hearing. In fact, he’s too dumbstruck even to protest the way-too-instant, but suddenly trivial, coffee and breakfast disaster rapidly unfolding in front of him. He doesn’t know how to say what he feels, but somehow knows he’d better say it quick before the moment is gone:

“Sure you remember, Starsk! And it’s ok. Anyways, we didn’t just fuck, we made love. And besides, you fuck like you dance which is awesome! And you said I gave you the best blow job of your life. Ever. You weren’t bad yourself you know. Even though you didn’t want to do it at first because you thought you would be. Because you never did it before.

And you looked right into my eyes and really saw me when you said it… ‘I love you.’ Don’t you remember Starsk? And I said I loved you too. Then you kissed me dude. Actually kissed me. And I tasted me – on your tongue. We really connected. It was real good. And you know I want more.”

The room’s so quiet Hutch can hear the wall clock ticking. It’s getting louder and louder. Along with his heart. In fact, it’s almost unbearable. He wants to speak, to fill the awkward silence. But he fixes his gaze on Starsky. Forcing himself to stop. To wait.

And Starsky can’t hide it, that brief moment of recognition, acceptance, pure pleasure. Followed quickly by a wave of shame and grief. His face goes red and he hides his eyes under his mop of curly hair, still tangled from sleep and a night of raw animal passion. His anal orifice feels as if a handball has been wedged into in it. Sore from continuous poundings. From his partner. His best buddy. The Blintz. No. No. No.

He gets quiet and his eyes turn steely. Cold. And he squares his shoulders and says, “No man. That never happened. I don’t remember that at all. You sure you’re feeling all right? You need to think about getting some therapy, ok? You shouldn’t be having these feelings for me, it’s not healthy. Ok? Not cool.”

And he’s holding back the tears because of what he can’t say. What he really wants to say more, is “Hutch, babe. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And you’ll probably never know at all. But dude, we’re cops so this can’t happen. So it didn’t, OK? Remember that, if anyone asks. I know it’ll always be my fault we can’t be together but I couldn’t let that happen. The sex was great. But how I feel for you… it’s too much. I’m sorry. ”

And what he wants to say most is “Hutch babe, I love you too. It’s ok. And I want more. I want to be with you.” But he doesn’t. Instead he looks out the window- at the driveway, and carefully studies the outline of his Torino against the darkening sky.

And Hutch’s lower lip quivers with humiliation. Blinking back the tears, he too looks out the window- into the distance, at the clouds rolling in, obscuring the sun. At the rows of headlights highlighting the fine mist just starting to fall. At the freedom of the open road.

-FIN-