Sweet Relief

Originally published in the 2025 SHareCon Advent Calendar, appearing behind the door for December 13. The extended version of this story may be found here: Sweet Relief.

It was funny at the time. Maybe because they were all a bit high on life; the two detectives were obviously under the influence. Huggy had hung the live-flame lantern to the fire sprinkler above Starsky’s hospital bed—and it was Hutch who first suspected the inevitable outcome.

Starsky was feeling extra-sentimental because his closest friends had come to his hospital room that night to feed him a homemade meal, share a bottle of fine wine with him, and celebrate his miraculous recovery from a near-death experience. His euphoria was also due to the four painkillers he’d taken, especially when they were coupled with Hutch’s presence—and his partner’s contagious laughter.

But it wasn’t funny when the overhead pendant sprinkler abruptly burst and showered the room in cold water. They were drenched, and Starsky soon-after got chills.

The extinguisher also triggered an alarm at the nurse’s station—which brought Stefanie and Kathryn, two familiar middle-aged nurses, on the run; they, too, burst into the room, frantic and then confused—no fire; four men—and only calmed down when Huggy explained his stupid mistake.

“You boys aren’t supposed to be in here!” Nurse Stefanie yelled at them; she was in no mood for their antics or the obvious fact that they’d snuck into the hospital past the watchful eye of in-house security. “I want you all out now!”

“Me, too?” Starsky pretended to wonder. With Dobey’s and Huggy’s help, Hutch had pulled Starsky’s bed—with Starsky in it—out from under the waterfall and to the opposite side of the room. Starsky didn’t mind the idea that he might get to leave—go home with Hutch for the night, climb into dry loungewear, snuggle into a warm, real bed, invite Hutch to join him there, and pick up where they’d left off. He was burned out on weeks in the hospital.

Nurse Kathryn escorted Huggy and Dobey into the hallway and ordered them to go home; she made them take the food and wine with them, too. But she didn’t have similar luck chasing Hutch away. He flashed his badge, pled his case as a permanent fixture in Starsky’s life, and was backed up by Nurse Stefanie who didn’t see the harm in his staying a short while longer. “He practically lives here already,” she noted.

She even took advantage of Hutch, ordering him to help her and Nurse Kathryn move Starsky onto a wheeled stretcher they snatched from the hallway—and then transfer him into a new room several floors up. But first they gathered Starsky’s clothes, shoes, books, and toiletries, and piled them at the foot of the gurney.

“Weeee!” Starsky squealed, flashing his eyebrows at Hutch when they were finally on the way to their destination. “You should get on this thing with me,” he insisted, patting the mattress. He rather liked the earlier feel of Hutch in the bed beside him and was disappointed when the water-dump forced his partner out from under the blanket.

But Hutch apparently didn’t share Starsky’s desire. “I wouldn’t dream of making these fine young ladies push us around the hospital,” he told Starsky. He winked at his partner to say he flattered the women so they would forgive him for violating visitor hours. “Not that they couldn’t do it by themselves,” he quickly added, further sugarcoating the praise he heaped on them, “but it wouldn’t be chivalrous.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing, pal.”

“I say this as a grown man, Starsk: I have a pretty good idea.”

Starsky rolled his eyes.

They entered the new room where a freshly made bed and dry pajamas awaited Starsky, but first the nurses needed to get him out of his wet ones. Hutch stood nearby while they helped Starsky to sit up and then unbuttoned his navy blue pajama top.

“This will be funny someday,” Starsky predicted. He sat on the gurney with his legs dangling off the side and allowed them to maneuver his arms into an identical, but clean, dry, navy blue pajama top with light blue striping.

His nurses were not amused.

“It feels like I’m two years old again puttin’ on my jammies,” Starsky giggled. Secretly he wished Hutch was changing him out of his wet clothes. Momentarily, he fantasized about it while keeping his eyes on Hutch’s face and those blue eyes—until Nurse Stefanie told him to ‘Hold still!’ so she could straighten the shirt over his bandages.

“I think the last time you were a two-year-old was, when? a couple of days ago,” Hutch teased him, pretending to remember. He stood facing Starsky with his hands on his hips. “Nothing new here except someone other than your mother is babying you this time.” Hutch rarely catered to Starsky’s childish behavior.

When it came time to remove Starsky’s pajama bottoms, Nurse Stefanie pushed Hutch away. “Would you mind turning around, Officer?”

“He’s okay,” Starsky said before Hutch could answer her. “Ain’t nuthin’ he hasn’t seen before.” In reality, he couldn’t remember a time when they were nude from the waist down with each other—at least not with any concerted effort to closely examine the other’s phallus—but Starsky had hoped to use the opportunity to innocently flash the man. He didn’t succeed. “Besides, I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” he argued when no one would comment on his innuendo. “I don’t care who sees what.”

Hutch half-turned away. “Don’t flatter yourself, buddy boy. It ain’t all that.”

“Yeah? How would you know?”

“Same way I know you’re not a good kisser.”

Starsky grunted. “Tell me again how you know that?”

He wished Hutch knew. Since his emergence from the days-long coma, Starsky had been feeling emotional and needy—for Hutch—and his neediness hadn’t died down in weeks. It was definitely for real. His partner was the first person he saw when he came out of a seemingly endless unconsciousness and he would never forget who was there for him around the clock—and had been, for years.

But more than that, Starsky really appreciated his new lease on life, and he didn’t want to spend it with anyone but Ken Hutchinson. His affection for Hutch had deepened—all the way into wanting physical and romantic contact with him, despite a years-earlier discomfort with man-on-man love. Starsky had emerged from his coma burned out on what he was supposed to think and feel, deciding to be his own man going forward.

“You boys are silly,” Nurse Stefanie said, shaking her head at them. She allowed Starsky to stand with the aid of the other nurse and, together, they pulled Starsky’s wet pajama bottoms off of him and redressed him in a fresh pair.

Starsky hoped Hutch would at least steal a glance at his briefly exposed, albeit flaccid, penis—and be titillated by it—but Hutch didn’t.

Starsky also understood the nurses’ reluctance to let him stand and dress himself; he’d only recently begun physical therapy. In fact, he would stop having to wear bandages and leave the medical hospital the following morning to take up residence at the rehab center for a stay of no less than several weeks. But more than anything, Starsky just wanted to go home.

He watched while Hutch put himself to use: storing Starsky’s clothes in the small dresser, stacking his books on the nightstand, taking his few toiletries into the bathroom, and then he prepared the bed, fluffed the pillows against its headboard, and turned on a nearby table lamp. When Hutch was finished, he and the nurses carefully moved Starsky onto the dry bed.

“I’ll let you lovely ladies do the honors,” Hutch said as he stepped out of the way to allow the nurses to position Starsky more comfortably on the mattress and to tuck him in.

Once situated, they turned their attention to Hutch. “You can leave now,” Nurse Kathryn said, not rudely. “It’s late and Davey needs his sleep.”

“And you should get into some dry clothes yourself,” Nurse Stefanie told Hutch. “Otherwise you’ll catch cold and end up in the hospital alongside your partner.” She teased him, of course, but her point was made.

“I promise I’ll be out of here in ten minutes,” Hutch swore. He obviously wanted to say goodbye in private.

“If I don’t see you walk past me on your way downstairs in 15 minutes,” she threatened him, “I’m sending security in after you.”

Starsky stuck his tongue out at her when she turned her back to leave the room.

“Now, now,” Hutch gently reprimanded him after both nurses left them to themselves, taking the gurney with them. “Don’t bite the hands that dress you.”

“Whatever,” Starsky mumbled. The night hadn’t gone the way he hoped. “But you’re not really leaving me tonight, are you?” He didn’t have the courage to tell Hutch how differently he’d been feeling toward him, but it also didn’t stop him from trying to manipulate Hutch into as many moments of closeness as he could wrangle.

“I do have to get out of these wet clothes,” Hutch explained. He looked around the room. “Not much space to add another bed in here and too much work to clear the area,” he noted after studying the layout of dressers, floor lamps, and chairs. “And it’s late.” He stepped beside the bed and looked down on Starsky. They’d sobered since the fire sprinkler fiasco. “We both should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Starsky grudgingly replied; he was overcome with disappointment, but didn’t let it show. “You’ll come back in the morning?”

“Haven’t I always?”

“Yeah, but…”

“When is your rehab transfer?”

“Not until 11. Have breakfast with me, okay?”

“I’ll bring breakfast,” Hutch promised. “Pancakes?”

“And everything that comes with them.”

“You’ve got it, buddy,” Hutch said, squeezing Starsky’s arm. Before Starsky could take a hold of Hutch in affectionate reply, Hutch turned toward the door; bad timing on Starsky’s part. “You still have a few minutes,” Starsky reminded him. “Why are you in a hurry to leave?”

“I should get out of these wet socks,” Hutch figured. “I was fine until I stood up and the water ran down my jeans into my shoes.”

“You’re not planning to drive home in your condition,” Starsky warned him, trying again to stall Hutch—and despite the fact that Hutch had arrived at the hospital earlier that night already a bit inebriated. “I don’t think you should be behind the wheel.”

“I’ll be sober enough by the time I get to the parking lot,” Hutch assured him. “Worry about yourself, Starsk. You still have a long road of recovery ahead of you.”

“Yeah, but, can’t I go home now? You can take me to my appointment in the morning. I don’t see why I have to stay here anymore.”

Hutch reached the door and faced Starsky. “I know it’s hard, but it won’t be much longer. We can look into me staying overnight sometimes at the rehab center.” He turned off the overhead lights, leaving the table lamp on, and opened the door.

Starsky panicked. “Hey, Hutch?”

Hutch paused, looked back at him, and made softer eye contact. “Yeah, buddy?”

“Give me a goodnight kiss?”

It was an impulsive ask, making Starsky’s heart pound, but he was anxious to lay his hopes to rest—one way or another. Hutch’s action or reaction would determine where their relationship went next—whether it remained tried-and-true as-is, or turned a corner into brand new.

If Hutch laughed at Starsky’s request and left the room, Starsky would know that he alone was feeling something uniquely special for his partner—and it wasn’t reciprocated.

If Hutch returned to the bed and kissed Starsky on the top of his head, it would be a parental, paternal, loving kiss; Hutch reaffirming his commitment to look out for Starsky.

If Hutch kissed Starsky on the cheek, it would be a friendly, playful, affectionate message that he was sending; echoing Starsky’s out-of-the-blue suggestion for a goodnight kiss, about friendship and loyalty.

But if Hutch kissed Starsky on the lips, then Starsky would know where they stood going forward, what they wanted together, and that he wasn’t alone in his newly found desires; his near-death experience would have affected them both in the same way. They’d always been of one mind, one heart. Was it still the case on this night? Starsky was about to get his answer and he was both excited and terrified at the same time.

Hutch didn’t laugh at Starsky and leave the room; he let the door close and returned to Starsky’s bedside.

He didn’t kiss the top of Starsky’s head. He wasn’t feeling paternal.

He didn’t kiss Starsky’s cheek; he wasn’t feeling friendly, playful, and affectionate.

Hutch bent over and kissed Starsky on the lips. Starsky really didn’t expect it; he bolted on the inside, as surprised as he was thrilled.

The contact was also softer and much warmer than Starsky thought it would be—as if Hutch had long wanted to share such a moment with him; his tender side had completely surfaced. Starsky could smell Hutch, too, his skin and his sweat and his cologne, and he could feel his own heart pounding away in his chest. He was aware of the supple flesh-to-flesh feel at his lips as he inhaled out of pure apprehension and desire, and then he waited—for something more?

The kiss was short-lived and naturally ended—as if they often shared a goodnight kiss, like a long-time married couple; hello/goodbye. Hutch leaned back to look into Starsky’s eyes—and seemed to ask the same question. Would there be something else? Did he want an even deeper connection?

He apparently did.

That next kiss, more heart-driven than the first, lasted much longer, and became quite sensual and intimate as they took turns fervently sucking each other’s lips and tongues in between gentle kisses. Starsky held Hutch’s face in both hands to heighten the arousal the kissing caused him; he didn’t want to ever let go. He felt flushed, too, breaking a light sweat just as Hutch inevitably ended the contact.

Hutch straightened, gazed down on Starsky, ruffled his hair, and affectionately winked at him; there was a genuine smile in his blue eyes and on his face.

“I was hoping you’d do that,” Starsky admitted, not leaving eye contact, and not feeling ashamed or embarrassed, either. In contrast, he felt choked up with emotion as he quickly held onto Hutch’s hand so Hutch wouldn’t leave him too soon.

Hutch shyly smiled back at him. “I was hoping that’s what you were hoping.”

They were speechless, each momentarily lost in his own thoughts and feelings—about what such a kiss meant for them individually, and what it would mean for them together. They didn’t need to say more than what was already being spoken in the silence.

“I’d better get out of here,” Hutch eventually said, reluctantly pulling away. “Nurses are on the rampage. I hope you sleep good tonight.”

Starsky didn’t think he’d ever sleep again; his mind was wide awake, his body on fire. “We have a lot to do, Hutch,” he said when Hutch reached the door.

“I know,” Hutch softly replied. He blew Starsky a kiss—and then slowly left the room, abandoning Starsky to himself.

But Starsky didn’t care. His life had just changed, filling an emptiness in his soul.

Seconds later, Nurse Stefanie opened the door; she must have run into Hutch in the hallway. “I’m glad to see your partner has behaved,” she told him. “I’ll be back later with your pain meds.”

Starsky couldn’t imagine ever feeling pain again. He’d just fallen in love for the second time in his life. The first time was a decade earlier when he met Hutch and knew they were destined to be partners. All those years it had just been a feeling, a bond, an unspoken attraction to each other, a commitment like no other. But on this night, the night they kissed, Starsky fell in love with Hutch. There had never been anything like it in his life; Starsky had finally come home.

He rolled away from the door to stare at the bare wall, not seeing it. All he wanted to envision were the moments and experiences that lay ahead for them. Hutch really had given him a goodnight kiss—just the way Starsky fantasized about it, desired it, needed it. It wasn’t because Hutch was drunk, was it? Hutch wouldn’t sober up and arrive in the morning with pancakes and no memory of their kiss, would he? He couldn’t possibly forget that kiss!

Starsky decided to bathe in the fantasy that Hutch was quite aware of what he had done, that he wanted such intimacy, too, and needed to be closer still to Starsky, especially after nearly losing him. They’d always been of one heart, one mind—that night was no different. Starsky was betting on it.

He could barely sleep, faking it when Nurse Stefanie returned to his room with painkillers, so he wouldn’t have to take them. She called his name a few times and then left without forcing him to ‘wake up.’ She would be back later, he assumed, but Starsky wasn’t ready to be numbed. He wanted to feel every nuance and relive every memory of that kiss—Hutch’s beautiful face, his gentle smile, his willingness, his wet, sexy mouth, his knowing what lay ahead for them.

But somewhere in the night, Starsky did fall asleep. The lamp was still on in the room. Nurse Stefanie hadn’t returned. He was satisfyingly exhausted—mostly from an emotional high. “We have a lot to do,” he’d told Hutch, and Hutch said he knew; they were of the same mind.

There would be more kissing, more lip-sucking, new caressing, full nudity and erotic arousal. Uninhibited sex. Tongues and penises and orgasms with each other. The joining of their bodies, not just their hearts. A lifetime love he’d only dreamt about. Those thoughts aroused Starsky, but he was so afraid of being caught with an erection by Nurse Stefanie that he fought it off each time it emerged—until unpreventable sleep overtook him.

It was the warm hand that woke Starsky with a start several hours later.

“Hey, buddy,” Hutch said, squeezing Starsky’s arm. “Wake up. It’s 2 a.m.”

Starsky rolled back to look over his shoulder, and was surprised and confused—but relieved just as much—to see Hutch standing beside his bed. The man was still dressed in his red tee-shirt and dark green baseball jacket, as if he hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes. Beautiful face. Friendly blue eyes. Unkempt blond hair and that stupid mustache. Starsky wasn’t dreaming.

“I stayed away as long as I could,” Hutch confessed in a subdued voice; he obviously didn’t want the nurses to hear him.

Starsky was elated to see Hutch again—and so soon, but he didn’t quite understand it. “Is something wrong?”

“God, no,” Hutch said. “How can anything be wrong tonight?”

“You’re still wet,” Starsky noted when he gripped Hutch’s jacket.

“I never left the parking lot,” Hutch explained, rattling the handlebars on a wheelchair, one Starsky hadn’t noticed until Hutch drew his attention to it. “And then I had to commandeer a ride for you.”

Starsky turned all the way over to have a closer look. He glanced up at Hutch. “What’s going on, hm?”

“We’re taking you out of here,” Hutch said matter-of-factly, as if it should have been obvious. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

That night had just become the happiest of Starsky’s life. “I’m ready to go,” he emphatically said, clumsily sitting up. But he wasn’t sure he was going home for the same reason Hutch would take him home. “Do you remember kissing me or did I dream that?”

“Remember it? I wasn’t that drunk, Starsk. I’ll never forget it. You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you?”

“Not on your life,” Starsky giggled, realizing his fears had been for naught. It would take time to trust his instincts again. “Just checking,” he explained. “I didn’t want those painkillers to blur my vision, if you know what I mean.”

“‘I can see clearly now…’” Hutch sweetly sang, positioning the chair alongside the bed.

Starsky added the next lyric in a singsong voice. “‘…the rain is gone.’”

“Let’s go home, lover boy,” Hutch said as he locked both wheelchair brakes.

“‘I can see all obstacles in my way…’”

Hutch pulled the blanket off of Starsky and helped to turn him on the mattress to better position him for the transfer. “C’mon, sit forward.”

Starsky did as instructed while he continued to sing. ‘“Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind…’”

As they gingerly moved Starsky off the bed, Hutch joined him in song. “‘It’s gonna be a bright, bright, bright sun-shiny day…’”

“But let’s finish this night first,” Hutch suggested.

“Oh, yeah. We’re gonna do that for sure, Hutch.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Whichever is closest. But can we get me up the stairs at either place?”

“If we can’t, we’ll tackle each other in the car.”

Starsky laughed, but not fondly. “That might be hard on my back.”

“Plan B: a hotel room.”

Starsky liked that idea, a lot. “Let’s make it the A plan.” Why waste time?

“You’re right,” Hutch agreed, covering Starsky’s lap and legs with the bed blanket so he wouldn’t get cold. He then headed to the dresser for Starsky’s clothes. “You said so yourself, Starsk: we have a lot to do. We can worry about stairs another day.”

Starsky watched Hutch gather up his things. He was never more excited about the future. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy, Hutch.”

“Not me, either, Starsk,” Hutch said, dumping Starsky’s clothes and other personal items into Starsky’s lap. He then turned the wheelchair toward the door.

When they reached it, Starsky put his foot against the door to keep Hutch from opening it right away. He tilted his head back and looked up at Hutch, hoping to make eye contact so Hutch would know just how sincerely he meant what he’d said. “I’ve never been happier.”

Hutch looked down at him, appearing shy and emotional when they made precious eye contact. “I haven’t been this happy, either, Starsk. Ever. We’re going to make the most of this new life.”

“Damn, Hutch. That’s what I’ve been thinking.” He dropped his foot so Hutch could open the door. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“Like I know how much I love you is how much I know.”

One mind. One heart.