Talkin’ Dirty Pool

Seeing the trailing edges of white sticky liquid drying into the already torn and abused felt, Hutch got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea how they were going to explain this one to Huggy —“Starsky insisted the table needed a dramatic white stripe?”— but the thought of two one-way tickets to Bolivia was becoming more and more appealing.

Hutch knew he should be more panic-stricken than he was, but when he looked down at the beautiful, nearly nude body stretched out beside him, sweaty and spent from the passion of their encounter, it was hard to feel regretful. Deciding he could put off thinking too seriously about the consequences of this little pool match for at least a few more minutes, he bent down to plant a trail of tender kisses up Starsky’s spine, halting at the base of his neck, which he nuzzled gently.

“Hey, you okay?” he whispered against the damp skin.

“Mmmmmmmm.” That sated sound was the only response from the limp form on the table.

Hutch moved his lips against a curl-covered ear and spoke softly. “I love you.”

“M’too,” was the answering mumble.

Hutch stroked the side of Starsky’s face that wasn’t pressed against the felt. Starsky’s eyes remained closed, his lips slightly parted. Though Hutch loved every one of the animated movements and gestures of this man who seemed to be in a constant state of perpetual motion, his heart always melted at the sight of this quiet, subdued Starsky. He often woke up early just to watch his lover sleep, mesmerized by his peaceful beauty.

“Hey, blondie…you plannin’ to take these cuffs off anytime soon, or are you just gonna leave me chained here forever?”

The thought of his not-always-so-cooperative lover perpetually stretched out and helplessly awaiting his pleasure against the color he seemed made for was not an unpleasant one. He found himself considering the purchase of red satin sheets for home. Hutch smiled. “I don’t know. I kinda like you like this…all laid out to do with as I please.”

Starsky chuckled lightly. “I thought you just did that. Don’t you ever get enough?”

“Of you? Never.”

“Good.”

There was something about the tone of the word and the devious smile that accompanied it that gnawed at the back of Hutch’s mind. Shrugging off the momentary concern, he slid off the pool table and began fumbling around to pull the pants pooled ludicrously around his ankles back up over his rump. Tucking his semi-tired member back inside, he zipped half-way up before digging through his pockets for the handcuff key. Walking back towards the foot of the pool table, Hutch glanced around at the disaster area they had made of Huggy’s bar.

“I guess I better let you loose, though,” Hutch teased as he fit the key into the cuff binding Starsky’s left wrist. “Otherwise, how are you going to clean up this mess you made?” He laughed lightly, hoping Starsky would go along with the humor of it all.

He expected any of a myriad of responses to the taunt, but the accepting smile and quiet laugh were a pleasant surprise. He must’ve done a better job of satisfying his lover than he thought. Half the time, Starsky’s first orgasm left him wired, ready for even more action. His stamina, at times, could be scary. Of course, it was late, and they’d had a really long day at work… Believing his lover was more exhausted from their strenuous encounter than he had thought, Hutch quickly moved to release the other handcuff. When Starsky continued to lie still despite his new freedom, Hutch became concerned.

“You sure you’re okay?” Leaving the cuffs still attached to the pool table, he reached for the wrists that were scuffed up but otherwise seemed unbruised, and gently massaged them.

“I’m fine, Hutch,” Starsky insisted. There was no trace of distress in his voice.

“Here, let me help you up.” Hutch clasped Starsky’s hands in his.

Again his partner didn’t move. Hutch waited patiently for several long minutes before Starsky finally stirred and began to inch himself up onto his knees. Hutch had to release his grip on his lover’s hands to allow Starsky to shift himself into a sitting position. His movements were stilted as he tried to stretch his abused arms and legs, but he didn’t seem to be in any real pain. Still, Hutch couldn’t keep himself from worrying. His greatest fear was that one day he was going to go too far and his reckless sexual appetite for this man might actually end up hurting him.

“I’m okay,” Starsky assured him, reading the look burning in his eyes. “I’m not made of glass, y’know. I thought you learned a long time ago that I can take it as good as you can dish it out. Just like you can when I go a little bananas.”

That mischievous grin was back and its appearance comforted Hutch. He moved to the side of the table to help Starsky down. Finding it too awkward to wrestle with the jeans entangling his feet, Starsky unceremoniously kicked them off. Leave it to Starsky to have few qualms about marching around a public bar in the nude. He moved easily into Hutch’s embrace when his feet hit the floor. Wrapping his arms around Hutch’s waist, Starsky held on tightly as he pressed his lips against the blond’s ear.

“Mmmm, Hutch, that was—incredible.” The sound that followed those words was a purr.

“You’re incredible,” Hutch whispered, enjoying the feel of his lover’s naked body pressed so tightly against his. The strange setting—seeing Starsky so incongruously bare here in Huggy’s bar—made it all the more erotic, and Hutch was amazed to feel his cock go semi-hard. His hands roved his lover’s sweat-moist skin, sliding over the lush ass, stroking the long spine. He could smell Starsky’s musk even over the familiar bar-smells of the Pits, and the scent made him harden even more. Would there ever come a day when he would feel he had gotten his fill of this man?

Not in this lifetime.

Starsky’s left hand cupped Hutch’s chin, pulling his head back just as sensuous lips covered his mouth in a numbing kiss.

When their lips finally parted, Starsky smiled straight into Hutch’s eyes. “That was the only thing that was missing. Tasting that beautiful mouth of yours. Other than that, it was sheer nirvana. Remember that, Hutch. I got no complaints about the sex.”

Hutch peered at the face he knew so well, puzzling over that last comment. There was something there that he just couldn’t quite put his finger on. Before he had a chance to think about it too deeply, though, Starsky’s mouth was on his again, his bare body rubbing against Hutch blatantly. This kiss lingered twice as long as the last and when it was over, Hutch was having a hard time thinking clearly about anything. He was erect again—not semi, not half-way, not partially. He was hard. And hot. How did Starsky do this to him?

His partner pulled back from him then, but the light was still alive in his eyes. “Man, I sure have worked up a thirst. Why don’t you go get us a couple of beers while I survey the damage around here?”

“Sure, no problem.” Hutch smiled as he leaned forward to grab one last, sweet kiss. He could wait, he told himself. Even though Starsky was half-hard himself. They had too much to do. And he wanted to get his lover in bed next time, take his time. It had been awhile since they’d loved away an entire weekend, but Hutch knew they were ready for it, needed it—he saw them spending hours just kissing, touching, stimulating one another, then finally, fucking each other raw, lying in sated delirium in each others’ arms just so they could kiss and love some more. His eyes lingered for a moment over the body that he could never look at enough. Tearing his gaze away at last, he turned and headed towards the bar, a satisfied feeling of well-being and delicious anticipation permeating his entire body.

So, he was in no way prepared for the bulldozer that came up behind him.

Starsky’s forceful shove sent him sailing towards the bar where he landed chest-first, arms splayed across its surface. Before he could even figure out what had hit him, Starsky grabbed his hips and pulled him back. Fighting for both balance and escape, Hutch’s flailing arms and grasping hands cleared the surface of the bar in one klutzy swoop as a line of glasses and coasters the waitresses had left for the kitchen staff crashed to the floor.

His body careened towards the tables, his arm catching one of them and turning it and its contents over with him as he landed in an undignified lump on the floor. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked up to see Starsky hovering over him with a determined leer. His partner was more than half-hard now, way more. His hands were balled into fists, the tension in his body plainly evident as he thrust a finger in Hutch’s direction.

“If you think for one second your cheating, sneaky, underhanded, go-back-on-your-word ass is getting out of helping me clean up this mess, you have another thing coming.”

Starsky’s eyes darted around, settling on a nearby pool cue that lay on the floor. As he reached to grab it, Hutch scrambled to his feet, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Now hang on a second, Starsk. Just calm down. You admitted yourself that you were the one who cheated…”

Hutch tried backing away but he stumbled over the table leg and lost his balance. Swinging his arms wildly to keep from crashing to the floor again, he had little chance to defend himself from the advancing Starsky.

“I was coerced into saying that,” Starsky reminded him, as he darted around behind the blond, “…something you’re gonna learn about firsthand.”

Starsky could move like lightning when he was after something, and unfortunately for Hutch, he was the prey this time. The dark-haired detective got in close to Hutch’s back, then swung the cue stick across the blond’s chest, grabbing both ends of it to pin the taller man’s upper arms. Pulling back hard on the stick, Starsky yanked Hutch against his furred chest then took a few steps back, dragging the startled blond along with him.

Trying to get his wits about him in the frenzy of the ambush, Hutch shifted his weight, pushing forward against the wooden barrier that was confining him to his revenge-driven partner. With a loud snap, the cue stick shattered under the force. Starsky heard it, though. As the pieces of stick tumbled to the floor, the smaller man reversed himself, driving forward against Hutch, throwing his weight against his lover and toppling the awkward cop chest-first across the nearest table, which rocked precariously from the combined weight of the combatants.

The wind knocked out of him, Hutch landed face down across the table, his partner’s bulk pinning him across it.

“By the time I’m through with you,” Starsky goaded in Hutch’s ear, “you’ll be beggin’ me to let you clean this whole place by yourself, just so I’ll let you come.”

The words were punctuated by the length of hard, hot steel pressing forebodingly between his rear cheeks. Hutch felt a shiver course through him as his knees wobbled unsteadily. His arms lurched, as he grasped the table edge for balance. Starsky rode him as confidently as any bull-busting bronc rider.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby blue,” Starsky warned him, the soft hair on his chest rubbing against Hutch’s broad back. God, he loved the way that felt—No! He couldn’t give in! Not now! He couldn’t yield to Starsky’s one-upmanship. He’d have to hold out, stay strong, be firm– Actually, right now being firm was one of his biggest problems.

Which Starsky quickly figured out. Hutch felt that wicked left hand trail provocatively beneath him, felt those terrible fingertips, those givers of torment and delight, play around his half-zipped fly. He shut his eyes in trembling anticipation. His erection was already up like a damned flagpole, twisted uncomfortably in his jeans. He was aching. Swollen. Needy. And Starsky—damn him—knew it. But he could hold out! Of course he could. He was a grown man! He was– he was– helpless!

“You’re sweatin’ already, blue eyes,” Starsky crooned right in his ear. “Worryin’ ’bout what am I gonna do, how it’s gonna go. There’s that part o’ you that hates it when I have the upper hand, and yet loves it all at the same time.” Then that devil tongue reached out, ran a wet signature around the very edge of Hutch’s blush-red ear, and the tremble ran straight from that nerve clear down to his balls, which drew up hard.

Oh shit, he thought, feeling the sweat bead along his brow, you’re in for it now.

“That’s right,” Starsky murmured, still rubbing his bare, swollen cock slowly, suggestively against Hutch’s denim-clad rear, “you love it.” He licked the ear again, slowly, in between the taunting phrases whispered against the wet flesh, just so Starsky’s hot breath could blow against that ear. “You hate being dominated, but you love being under me.” Tender licks eased the painful truth. “You hate when I beat you at your own game, but you love it when the payoff makes me hard for you.” A gentle nibble made a course of precum bubble up through his painful cock and he felt himself blush harder as it soaked through his jeans. Magnetically, Starsky’s toying fingers were drawn to the same spot. “Mmmmmm. Getting wet for me. I like that. Love it, in fact. Wish I could lick it clean–”

Hutch gasped, the imagery making his cock pulse and his eyes roll up. “You can!” he whispered back, forgetting his dignity, forgetting his plans to hold out, resist. “Please, Starsk…your mouth!”

“Uhn-uh, big boy, can’t happen. I let you up, I’ll be back in restraints before I catch my breath. No way, schweetheart. Too bad, too, ’cause I could make you helpless just by doin’ that. Lickin’ your jeans clean.” He ran his fingers over the wet crown, tracing the outline of the head the way he would with his tongue. At the same time his tongue tip wrote a vivid scenario against the shell of Hutch’s ear. The blond moaned helplessly and pushed back against the heavy cock pressed against him. “Wrappin’ my mouth around that monster of yours. Coolin’ off alla that heat with my tongue.” Starsky lapped at the ear harder, wetter, going deeper even as his grasped Hutch’s erection tight through his jeans. The blond lurched at the increasing sensation, making the table dance beneath him. Starsky never budged.

“Yeah, you love that, you love watchin’ me do it, perchin’ on my knees in front of you, takin’ alla you into my mouth–”

“Damn you!” Hutch swore, his imagination cranking everything up ten notches. “Just do it! I won’t move, won’t try to get away–”

“No,” Starsky hissed in his ear. “Just think about me doin’ it. Wish for it. Imagine it.” Starsky wet his left palm with his tongue, as his right hand finally eased Hutch’s zipper the rest of the way down. Even holding him prisoner, though, Starsky’s consideration never wavered. He hooked his thumb inside the zipper as his other fingers eased it down, making sure the metal teeth didn’t snag Hutch’s tender flesh. That simple gesture of love made Hutch’s heart swell, and he shut his eyes, unable to understand how things could still be so intense with them even after all this time. He felt so lucky.

Then his cock surged free of its confinement, and he felt even luckier. Starsky’s wet palm stroked him so slow, so sweet, he sagged in sheer abandon.

“You like that?” Starsky purred in the ear he kept tormenting.

Hutch could only moan. What other answer was there?

Starsky’s right hand came from the rear between his legs, rubbing the tight mound of his testicles through his pants and Hutch could do nothing but spread his legs wider, all the better to feel, all the better to receive…

“Yeah, you love it all right,” Starsky murmured, clearly loving the doing just as much.

What’s wrong with that? Hutch thought dazedly, gripping the table edge for stability. I love everything you do to me. Everything. I’m a pushover for you and you know it. Damn you, Starsky. But there was no heat in it now, only the heat of his passion.

Starsky’s lips trailed over Hutch’s jaw and throat to the back of his neck. Hutch could only sigh and push back against the hardness that wanted him, even as he thrust gently into the wet palm that loved him so perfectly, so easily.

“You love your loving, don’t’cha?” Starsky demanded. “You love to have me do ya, love it when I’m on you. And your lovin’ it makes me crazy. You know that, too, don’t’cha?”

Hutch smiled and let Starsky see it. Sure I love it. I love makin’ you crazed. Just like you’re not happy unless I lose it completely. That’s the only reason you fight it, to push me to lunacy. That’s the way you love me best. To Starsky, he said, “I love it all. You know that. I love you.”

Now Starsky had to moan, a soft, helpless sound, as though it were Hutch pinning him to the table, torturing his cock, using his mouth to inflame and excite. Another surge of precum leaked from his impatient organ and he shuddered. He hated when Starsky got like this, dragging it out forever. He hated it almost as much as he loved it.

“So wet,” Starsky whispered. “Wet for me.” He started tugging at Hutch’s waistband, yanking and pulling the jeans down over the blond’s broad backside. Once he got them past the muscled rear, he let them drop around Hutch’s ankles without notice, trapping his partner’s feet as effectively as leg irons.

Hutch relished the feel of Starsky’s heated groin pressing against his now bare flesh, felt the skin of their legs brushing against each other. It made him wild, made him impossibly hot. He pushed back against Starsky, demanding, imploring.

“So eager,” Starsky taunted, even as he stroked Hutch’s big cock harder. He dripped more precum and Starsky collected it like nectar, then brought his hand back to Hutch’s rear. “So eager, aren’t you?”

Hutch couldn’t lie about his needs, not now, not when they were so close to being fulfilled. “Yes! Yes! Starsk!”

“I love it when you sound like that,” Starsky confessed. “So hot for me. So needy for what only I can give you. Ain’t that right, beautiful blue eyes?” His fingers, drenched with Hutch’s own liquor, stroked teasingly around the blond’s hungry, clenching anus. Like the trained thing it was, his anus relaxed, opened, needing so very much more. “Yeah…” Starsky purred, petting it so very gently, massaging Hutch’s lubricant into it, letting it help his hand slide so seductively around the very gate of his pleasure.

Hutch gasped and writhed on the table, knowing what that hand could do, how helpless it would soon render him. His knuckles were white as he gripped for balance even as his hips moved back and forth in rhythm with the petting hand.

He was so hot he couldn’t stop leaking, and Starsky didn’t waste a drop, using it to stroke Hutch into a frenzy, bringing it back to his ass to make him wet and slick.

“So wet, so wet for me,” Starsky kept purring.

All Hutch could do was sweat, and writhe, and pant, and drip, wanting things he couldn’t articulate, needing something he didn’t dare ask for, remembering somewhere that he should hold out, but for what, he no longer knew. He didn’t want to hold out. He wanted to come. Or maybe he wanted never to come. He didn’t know. He just knew about the now, this second, the instant of this stroke of his cock, this massage of his ass. He only knew that, wanted that, yet, wanted more. And Starsky gave him more.

Gently, he slid the first finger in, and Hutch remembered what he really wanted. And this was only the beautiful preliminary. “Yes!” he breathed, loving the invasion. Starsky inside me. The ultimate delight. Starsky inside me.

“So wet, even inside, just for me,” Starsky told him, and moved the finger in and out and around and in and out… Hutch’s legs turned to butter, his brain to liquid, as he started dissolving inside out.

As Starsky placed a line of kisses along Hutch’s spine, he moved his hand and inserted a second finger. Hutch thought for a second he was going to come and the shudder that racked his body made the table dance. The wicked hand knew it somehow and played it for all it was worth. Oh, god. Oh, god. He’d never be able to last at this rate. He’d come before Starsky could even get it in him. No, no, he didn’t want that. But before he could say anything, Starsky’s probing fingers found his pleasure center and pressed just so against his prostate. Hutch nearly imploded.

“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod,” he gasped against the table, as he felt the surge gathering in his balls.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Starsky whispered against his back. His breath was hot against Hutch’s skin, he was hungry, needy, too. Why was he making him wait?

“So good!” Hutch blurted, unable to stop himself. “Starsk, come on, you gotta fuck me. Come on!”

A wicked chuckle was his only answer. The fingers drove into him, tortured him, stroked his prostate with an electric touch. He was pushing back like a cat in heat. This was not what he needed, not what he wanted. “Starsky!”

Another laugh, then, “You gettin’ close?”

He bit his tongue before spilling the truth. Something warned him to stop in time. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head in denial.

Starsky’s right hand abandoned his cock, as his partner abruptly brought the flat of his palm down hard against Hutch’s bare butt. The crack of the slap was like a gunshot ricocheting around the empty bar. Hutch yelped in surprise and shock and his bereft cock leapt at the sharp sensation.