The 12 and 0 Experience

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WARNING: Hutch is abused as a youth, but refuses to act as some “professional victim,” blaming his abuse for all the problems in his life like so many do. A dark Starsky and Hutch AU story entailing the effects of pain, abuse, and addictive behavior.

 

Author’s Note: I wrote His years ago, at a low point in my life. It’s AU of course, and was intended to be a “one and done” piece that said what I wanted to say, so I set it aside and forgot about it.

I ran across it again about eighteen months ago and found myself asking “What if?” I started writing and realized I didn’t see Hutch as some “professional victim” blaming his abuse for all the problems in his life like so many do. He was a strong, intelligent, driven individual who created a life for himself in spite of it.

And Starsky was his partner who thought he understood when he learned about it—but didn’t. Who genuinely cared, but who only managed to become Hutch’s kryptonite over time. It went from there.

A reader expecting clear, definitive causes and fixes should skip this. Hutch makes it very clear he will never discuss his first abuser and Starsky will never get all the answers he wants. But over time, together and apart, they learn enough about themselves and each other to attempt a genuine relationship, despite the bumps along the way.

Enjoy!

–Jessica Celliers

  January 2025

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Chapter 1 – His

I’m craving blonde tonight.

He froze. The words he read in the tattered journal echoed in his head, sliding over him like dirty oil, a noxious, entitled voice callously saying blonde like it was choosing takeout from a perverted menu—and knowing he’d get it.

It wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but he was unconcerned. The place was scheduled to be quietly destroyed next week; to be packed with dirt and the door welded shut because it was cheaper than digging everything up.

He played the light around while he wandered the empty room. Everything else had been carted away. But once the evidence on it had been bagged and tagged, the rusty, 2-legged table was ignored because it was fastened to the wall. No one had noticed the piece of metal welded to the underside. The journal had been wedged in the gap above the metal plate.

He shoved it into the backpack he carried and made his way to rivets in a corner of the room. He took a deep breath and pressed the rivet at eye level. There was a loud click and a metal panel moved. He pushed harder and it slid aside with a rusty creak.

The hidden room looked exactly the way he’d left it—a pair of meat hooks in the ceiling, a double bed with an iron frame shoved against the far wall. Next to it was a table laden with various devices used for torture.

And a decomposing body sprawled on the floor.

He braced himself and entered, ignoring it all. What he wanted was cached in the wall on his left and he wasted no time opening it.

They were still there. Six video tapes, each labeled with a pair of initials, one of them marked S&H. He gathered all six and slipped them into the backpack, then left the room without looking back. He made sure the panel locked into place and headed for the bunker door. There was one more task, then he was done.

He’d spent six weeks in that hidden hellhole, being groomed by a monster. A leonine figure who’d probed his body with knowing fingers. Who’d driven him to sexual release through pain. Who’d forced him to feel things he didn’t want to feel.

Nice. Very, very nice. So responsive to my touch.

And he had been. He shuddered at the memories.

I want to be balls deep in your sweet body. Hear you beg to belong to me alone while I pound your ass.

Again, fingers invaded him. Learning his body. Where to press, where to stroke to gain a desired response.

It won’t happen, dear boy. I’m not capable of that since my mutilation. But don’t worry. There are other ways you can pleasure me. And we will explore them all in time.

It didn’t matter that he tried to fight. What mattered was he stopped.

He remembered the sting of a needle in his neck, while a tongue that tasted of cigars explored his mouth. Then he remembered nothing at all.

* * * * *

“What the hell is going on here? Ohmygod! Who did this to you?”

There was panic in Starsky’s voice as he was freed from his bonds and he didn’t know what to say. They’d been partners for a while now and intimate for almost a year, but he hadn’t dared to share his secret with Starsky. Starsky had little tolerance for addiction, and this was worse than drugs.

Another voice intruded. “Want me to call an ambulance, mister?” He knew this voice—the owner of the derelict motel he used when he indulged his need for pain.

“No. NO!” He grabbed his lover’s arm. “Please, Starsk, no ambulance. Just take me home.”

He held still for the quick exam Starsky gave him. No obvious trauma, no broken bones. Just cuts and burns and extensive bruising. The fear in Starsky’s eyes gave way to anger. “All right, but we’re going to talk. Where’s your car?”

“A few blocks from the station. I met up with—a guy I know—and we came here. He drove.”

“Hmm” Starsky helped him up from the bed, got him dressed and out to the Torino, while the owner gathered up devices scattered around the room and carried them to the car. Starsky threw them into the trunk, slid behind the wheel and drove away without a word.

* * * * *

“I don’t understand. If you weren’t happy, why didn’t you say so? You didn’t have to sneak off for some damn affair.”

“I am happy, Starsk. It wasn’t an affair. It wasn’t sex. It was pain. I need it. I always have. I don’t know why. It started as self-abuse, but it wasn’t enough and I sought out those who inflicted it.”

“So those ‘reunions’ a couple of times a year with your buddy in town on business…?”

“Yeah. When the craving gets bad, I meet up with someone willing to hurt me and we spend a weekend in that motel. The owner doesn’t ask any questions if I scream. But this time, we let it go too far.”

“So I get a call from some goddamn stranger, telling me where to find the body because he thinks you’re dead!”

There was nothing he could say to make this any better and he needed to stop talking. “I’m sorry, Starsk. You were never supposed to know.”

“But now I do and this has to stop.”

“No.” He was never going to be able to stop, to give up the pain.

There was a heavy silence for a time, then—

“I don’t understand, but I can’t risk losing you to this. Teach me what you need and I’ll do it. Maybe it’s something we can learn to share and I won’t go too far.”

* * * * *

He was in agony, face-down on filthy sheets this time, tied spread-eagled to the bed frame, Starsky’s cock in his ass. He groaned as Starsky fucked him, rough and uncaring.

Fuck harder this time! If he doesn’t bleed, you will.

That voice. He screamed as Starsky stiffened and came, screamed again when Starsky was pulled from his body and thrown to the floor. He could hear kicks and punches being delivered, but Starsky didn’t make a sound.

He did, though, whimpering as it happened again. As the monster strapped a metal cock to its damaged body, climbed onto the bed and gathered him close. Feeling and fondling, biting and clawing, but this time in anger.

You don’t fool me. You enjoy what he does to you. And he enjoys doing it. Fucking your mouth. Fucking your ass. Don’t lie to me, baby. You’re more than partners. You’re lovers, too. Do you ever fuck him? Or are you his bitch?

He shuddered as fingers probed him again, feeling the wetness Starsky left in him. The poisonous voice growled in his ear.

You know about the others. I had to have something after I was—disabled. They abused each other for my pleasure and when I was done with them, I let them go. It isn’t my fault they died. Murder, suicide, their deaths were on them. They chose. I didn’t care enough to kill them.

But you. Such a challenge! You’re so intense. So eager. I don’t care about your partner. I’ve decided to keep you. You’re my bitch now.

No. NO. His throat closed on the word, afraid for Starsky, if he refused. Afraid for himself if he didn’t. He screamed when the cock was rammed into him, its unyielding size bringing a whole new level of pain. Hands reached around and milked his cock.

Sweet little bitch. I had this made especially for you. And there can be other toys. If you want more, prove it. Come in my hands while I fuck you.

He did want more, but he resisted. It didn’t matter. The hands knew how to play him and he came hard, moaning in pleasure.

That’s my good boy. So obedient. We have fun times ahead. You’ll see.

The cock was removed and wet fingers shoved his own cum into him.

“I’ll kill him first. Leave him alone.”

Starsky’s voice. Low and vicious from the body on the floor. The grating laughter made his skin crawl and he shuddered.

No, baby, no. I promise he’ll never touch you again. No one takes what’s mine. But I’ll make you a deal. Stay with me willingly and he lives. Don’t, he ends up just like Renny and we’ll visit once a year. You decide.

It was Renny who’d mutilated the monster who held him and Renny had been buried alive. He’d been shown the grave each time he’d been taken outside on a leash and walked like a dog.

I had a mic in the box. I wanted to hear him scream himself insane. And he did, but it wasn’t enough. I should have cut his balls off and shoved them down his throat.

A look he never wanted to see again had crossed the monster’s face.

Now there’s a thought. Maybe we can use that on your big mouthed partner. Or should we save it for the next couple we host?

He’d dropped to his knees retching beside the grave, but his empty stomach brought nothing up.

C’mon, baby. Let’s go back. You’ve more to learn and I’m dying to teach you.

* * * * *

He lost track of time, but not the lessons—S&M, bondage, torture, sex—taught by the monster while Starsky watched. The monster mixed pain and pleasure, sometimes deliberately stopping short and leaving him in agony. Sometimes tipping pain into sexual release. But he wanted it, and after an especially brutal session, he lay docilely and offered his mouth to a probing tongue.

Ahhh, my sweet. I fear I’ve spoiled you with so much attention, but I couldn’t help myself. We’re addicted to each other, you and I. I love marking your flesh. I love making you scream. And you, you love the pain.

You’ll fetch a spectacular price from anyone I share you with because you can’t get enough.

Love. The word was blasphemy, but he was past caring. And when the monster’s mouth took his again, he eagerly sucked the demanding tongue and arched into grasping hands.

Perfect. Yes, you’re ready. Time to go.

He preened, displaying his arousal, moaning when the monster left him tied to the bed and moved toward Starsky.

He’s mine now and he’ll do anything for me. I promised him I wouldn’t touch you, but that doesn’t mean you’ll live.

The malignant voice fueled an overwhelming need and he moaned again to get its attention.

So eager to come for me, aren’t you, baby. But pain and pleasure will have to wait. It’s time for you to choose.

The monster reached out and snagged a wire curled on the table by the bed.

Do to him what Renny did to me and he can live as long as he wants. Don’t, and he suffers Renny’s fate and spends the rest of his life clawing free.

Raucous laughter filled the bunker as he was released and the garrote handed to him. He deliberately teased his own cock with it, then climbed off the bed and knelt before Starsky. Before he reached out, he looked for permission.

Go on, my pet. I’ll allow the touch. Go ahead and decide.

An indulgent hand stroked his hair while he looped the garrote around Starsky’s balls, then deliberately pulled it snug. Starsky groaned. He played with the swelling cock for a moment, then removed the wire and handed it back.

Excellent! Manyon will take care of it. Manyon, get in here!

A hulk with vacant eyes entered the room.

Is everything ready?

The hulk nodded silently.

Then have your fun, but I want him alive when you bring him to me. I want him able to scream when we’re done.

Another pat to his head, then fingers twisted in his hair and yanked him to his feet.

Come along, baby. Renny’s waiting.

Rough hands pulled him naked from the room and led him outside.

* * * * *

The monster chuckled as he passed the unmarked grave.

Head’s up, Renny. Company’s coming. You won’t be alone in these woods anymore.

About fifteen feet beyond was a grave-sized hole, with a headstone of dirt and a long-handled shovel. At the bottom was a wooden box.

He was led to the graveside and pushed against a tree.

Look at you! Hard already! How about a taste of what’s to come?

The monster took him by the throat and squeezed. It hurt so good.

We’ll bury him quickly. We need time to get home and pretty you up. I have friends coming over to get to know you and you’re going to service them two at a time.

But as the monster fondled him, he moved and shoved hard. The monster took a step back and tumbled into the grave. He grabbed the shovel and viciously swung it, knocking the monster out, but he took no chances and swung again.

He slammed the shovel into the dirt and tipped the box lid into the hole. Once the body was covered, he grabbed the shovel and feverishly moved dirt to bury the box and close the grave.

It took less time than he thought it would.

The light was failing when he finished, but in the quiet, he imagined he heard screaming, and he leaned on the shovel, strangely content. He dragged a few branches over to mark the spot, then picked up the shovel. “See you next year.”

Time to check on Starsky.

* * * * *

He found what he expected to – a naked Manyon on the bed, balls deep in a half-dead Starsky, grunting his way to orgasm.

He should have been outraged, but wasn’t. He simply raised the shovel he held and beat Manyon to death.

Minutes later, Manyon and the shovel were on the floor. Starsky was wrapped in dirty bedding, alive, but in bad shape. He picked up his partner and carried him out, laid him on the floor. They needed to get out of here.

He went back into the hidden room and found what he was looking for in the pile of discarded clothes— keys to the monster’s car. He donned Starsky’s jeans and shirt and grabbed the keys.

“Hutch?”

He heard the hoarse whisper, but closed the steel panel to lock the other room away before he responded.

“I’m here.” He went down on one knee and laid a hand on Starsky’s head. “Be still. I’ll be right back. There’s a car nearby. I’ll pull it around so we can find help.”

“Just drop me off and go. You can’t let him find you.”

“I’ve already taken care of it. Just hang on. We’ll be okay.”

But they weren’t for a long time.

* * * * *

Months passed. They underwent medical treatment and questioning. The department insisted on therapy, but Hutch said very little and Starsky even less. The bunker was examined and evidence collected, but the hidden room was never found.

Neither was the monster.

* * * * *

“Hi, Renny.”

He tossed the greeting at the unmarked grave he passed, heading for the companion grave fifteen feet beyond. It was strewn with leaves and the branches he’d dragged over it to hold the ghost in place.

“I’m back. It’s been a year. Just as you promised Renny. Just as I promised you. Making sure you’re undisturbed.” He looked around, already bored and ready to go. “You won’t be bothered. But I won’t be back. I just wanted to tell you that despite everything you did to us, Starsky and I are doing okay.”

That will change. My mistake was encouraging our addiction to each other and it scared you. You told yourself you had to escape. But you crave it and it will break you. Eventually, you’ll act on it and one of you will kill the other, then himself. Another sad case of murder-suicide, blamed on your ordeal.

You’ll be dead and I’ll be 12 and 0. The voice in his head was slick, gloating. Not a single victim dead by my hand but no one left alive.

He looked down at the grave and sighed. “No, we won’t. You were right about one thing. I do crave it. I love the pain.” He thought about what he’d suffered here and admitted, “You took your time and made it fun. But I was punished for enjoying it too much.” His body throbbed with sudden arousal, eager for next time. “I always do.”

Time to go. To say what he came to say. “I am addicted. But not to you.” He took a shaky breath, then another. “I’m addicted to him. He owns me, body and soul. What you did to me was nothing compared to what he does and I love it. Your mistake was trying to keep me and that couldn’t be allowed.”

“Why are you wandering around here? You kept me waiting.”

There was veiled annoyance in Starsky’s voice that had nothing to do with what happened here and he reminded himself that Starsky didn’t know about the graves they were standing on, or the body in the bunker. He shuddered and turned to face his lover.

Starsky studied him and nodded knowingly. “Being here triggered the craving again.”

“Yeah” he admitted.

Starsky’s attitude suddenly changed. “Did you get them?”

“Yes.” His foot nudged the tapes in the backpack on the grave.

“Good. We’ll watch one when we get home. Maybe we can get some ideas so I can fix that. On your knees, bitch, and open your mouth.”

He dropped to the ground, watching intently as Starsky freed his cock.

“Slowly, babe. Make it good and I’ll treat you to a night of pain.”

A night of pain was deliciously intense and recovery took days. It had been a long time since the last one and it meant he’d earned forgiveness for succumbing to the monster. He trembled in anticipation as Starsky’s cock slid down his throat.

 

Chapter 2 – Commitment (prelude to His)

“Again”

The word was faint and came from the naked body dangling from the basement rafters, but it was laced with intense need. He struck as hard as he could with the thin wire antenna he held.

WHACK!

It raised a bright red welt atop the dozen already marking Hutch’s wet skin and the scream was piercing. He watched as Hutch’s body convulsed and Hutch struggled to breathe as the scream died away. Then—

“Again”

“Don’t be in such a hurry. We’ve got all night for this.” As astonished as he was at Hutch’s tolerance for pain, he was even more stunned at his growing adeptness at inflicting it.

And the fact that they were enjoying it together.

He soothed his own cock through the denim he wore. “I never expected this to excite me,” he murmured. Starsky reached out and probed the welts on Hutch’s flesh with ungentle fingers.

“What about you? Pain turning you on, bitch? You used to sneak off to get it. You used to let others touch you like this. How many did you excite?” He took Hutch’s cock in a possessive grip and squeezed hard.

The soft, panicked gurgles turned him on even more. “How many cocks have you had up your ass?”

Hutch struggled to form words. “Only yours. No one else’s. I craved pain, not sex.”

But Starsky didn’t believe him and the antenna was still in his hand. He used it, taking his time, flaying Hutch mercilessly until Hutch passed out mid-scream.

* * * * *

Hours later he came to, cushioned on Hutch’s body with his cock in Hutch’s ass, unable to deny his brutal behavior. He’d beaten Hutch, stripped himself, cut Hutch down and fucked him raw, enjoying the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced.

He groaned, pulled out of Hutch, rolled off and sat up. Hutch didn’t move.

“Talk to me, Hutch.” He reached out and carefully took Hutch into his arms. “Are you all right?”

Hutch opened eyes bright with pain, but the need was sated. “How did you do that?” he whispered. “You used my—addiction—to pleasure us both. I was in agony, but never came so hard in my life.” Hutch panted softly, but didn’t take his eyes off of him. “I did it for you. I’ll do anything for you. Anything you say. Fuck anyone you want.”

It made the decision easy, with no negotiation. He might never know what triggered the need. But he was learning to recognize and slake it and that was enough for now.

“Anything? Then listen to me. This addiction has changed us both. When the need hits, I’ll take care of it. No one else. Understand? No one else. You’re mine, Hutch. Body and soul, you belong to me alone.”

“I belong to you.”

It wasn’t blind agreement. Hutch was submitting to him absolutely and the sudden rush of empowerment shook him. It was a danger to both of them, one that could get Hutch killed if Starsky kept losing control.

He stroked Hutch’s face. “Listen, babe. We share this addiction now and it is powerful. We need to be extra careful. No broken bones, no permanent scars, no drugs, no others. I won’t share you.” He frowned at what he heard himself saying. “It’s like you said. This is about pain, not sex. What we did tonight, I lost control and went too far….”

“The sex was unprecedented, Starsk. Maybe—”

“Maybe nothing. This can’t happen again. It makes a mess of everything we share.”

There was confusion in Hutch’s eyes and Starsky sighed. “We’ll talk more another day. C’mon, love. After the night of pain you endured at my hands, you deserve my indulgence while you recover.”

He got to his feet and helped Hutch to stand. “Go shower while I clean up down here. I’ll dress your wounds when I’m finished.’

Hutch nodded and leaned against him. “Thank you, Starsk. I know this is hard for you.”

“Go on.”

He watched Hutch climb the stairs, then cleaned up the mess they’d made, still angry with himself for his newfound brutality with Hutch. But Hutch was wrong. Hurting him was easier every time they did this and it had sent them into a direction darker than he’d ever considered. But hurting Hutch for outrageous sexual satisfaction stopped now.

It had to. Because today had shown him what they were capable of inciting in each other and it could destroy them both.

But at the root of it all, was a soul deep passion that Hutch had submitted to him, that Hutch was forever his.

 

Chapter 3 – 12 and 0

“We’re done, Hutch. No more of this.” Starsky carefully changed the dressing on a wound he’d caused on Hutch’s back during the pain session they’d recently shared. “I should have taken you to the ER. Next time, I could kill you and I won’t risk that.”

There was silence from the bed where Hutch lay passively under Starsky’s hands. “We’re good, Starsk. I trust you.”

Starsky’s heart skipped a beat. “No! It’s out of control! We’re addicted to this and it’s destroying us.” Starsky paused, reluctant to continue. “I-I’m going to find someone to talk to. There’s got to be some kind of therapy out there.”

Hutch sat up slowly, dully agreeing. “All right, Starsk. No more.”

Regret and relief flashed across Starsky’s face. “I was afraid you’d object. But we need help.”

“You do what you need to do.” He carefully pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, then went to look for his shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” His shoes were by the door. He slipped into them and reached for his keys.

“Hutch, you need to talk to someone.”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” To Starsky’s shock, Hutch shut down completely. “I’ll see you at the station.”

“Hutch—”

He walked out without another word.

* * * * *

“What’s going on, Hutch?”

“Not a thing. Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

“If you need—”

“I don’t. You said we’re done, so let’s move on.”

They continued to work together but no longer socialized, didn’t confide. Starsky watched carefully for telltale signs of Hutch’s craving for pain, but Hutch gave away nothing and as weeks passed, Starsky found he’d lost the ability to read his partner at all.

* * * * *

“Is this Dave Starsky?”

A chill ran down his spine at the question on the phone. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Chuck Morton. I run the EZ Rest Motel. We met a couple years back when you picked up your friend. He gave your name as emergency contact when he started checking in again. He’s usually no problem, but he did a lot of screaming this time. It’s quiet now, but his friends just peeled outta here like the building was on fire and no one’s answering the door. I thought I’d best call you before I called the cops.”

He wanted to be sick. “You just did. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll check—”

“You’ll do nothing. I’ll handle it.” He couldn’t believe he was saying that. Hutch could need a doctor. But he could also be…. Starsky shut down the thought and repeated, “I’m on my way.”

* * * * *

Hutch was alive. Like the first time Starsky found him here, he was naked and bound, but beaten and bloody. Barely conscious, he knew Starsky, but had nothing to say. He lay silently while Starsky cut him loose and quickly checked him over, angry to find fucking whore carved into Hutch’s flesh.

“Need an ambulance?” The manager was waiting at the door, relieved there was no body to dispose of.

“No. Let me get him covered and we’ll get outta your way.” Starsky found Hutch’s clothes and carefully dressed him.

“I’ll gather his stuff.” The manager edged into the room and reached for a knife discarded on the floor.

“Just toss it. He doesn’t need it and he won’t be back.” Starsky pulled a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and set it on the nightstand. “That’s for your trouble. Thanks for the call.” He helped Hutch up and headed for the door.

* * * * *

“Take me home.” Hutch sounded tired and pained.

“You need to go to the ER.”

“Home. I won’t ask again.” Hutch didn’t bother to look at him. He just sagged in the passenger’s seat and closed his eyes.

Starsky started the Torino and headed for Hutch’s place, voicing troubled observations. “That manager said ‘friends.’ I know what I saw. You let them beat you half to death and carve on you with knives. Was that before or after they fucked you?”

Hutch didn’t respond.

“It didn’t slake the need, though, did it? I could see it in your eyes when I cut you loose. The craving is still there.”

The only sound Hutch made was softly labored breathing and Starsky wondered if Hutch was still conscious. He reached over and laid his hand on Hutch’s brow.

“Don’t touch me.” The words were faint. “Just get me home.”

“I can help—”

“Don’t want your help. I’ll handle it.”

“Then why did you have that guy call me?”

“I didn’t. I gave him your number in case something went wrong. In case I was found….” Hutch shifted and groaned quietly. “I won’t make that mistake again. You won’t be bothered next time.”

“Next time?! There won’t be a next time. I—”

“You have no say in this, Starsk. You’re not involved. I don’t belong to you anymore.”

Ahhh…. The statement caught him off-guard, but gave him an inkling of the real problem between them and he drove the rest of the way to Hutch’s place in silence.

* * * * *

He pulled into Hutch’s parking spot. “Where’s your car, Hutch?”

“Not here. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

He turned off the Torino and reached for the door handle, but Hutch opened his and stepped out. “Don’t bother, Starsky. I’ve got this. Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry your evening was ruined.”

He frowned as Hutch made his way to his front door in a stiff, determined gait without looking back. He watched while the door closed behind Hutch, but he grew uneasy waiting for a light to come on inside. None did. Worried now, he got out of the car, went to the door and knocked. “Hutch?”

There was no answer. He remembered what he saw in Hutch’s eyes when he freed him, what Hutch needed and what he was capable of. He broke the sidelight and let himself in.

The only illumination was a nightlight in the kitchen, but the clothes he’d put on Hutch less than an hour ago littered the floor to the open bathroom and the shower was running in the dark.

He turned on a light and found Hutch semi-conscious on the shower floor, a knife embedded in his hand. “Goddamn it, Hutch! What the fuck are you doing?”

He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, then examined Hutch’s hand. When he carefully removed the knife, Hutch moaned. There was less blood than he expected, but he wrapped the hand tightly and pulled Hutch to his feet. “C’mon, babe. I’m taking you to the ER.” He reached for another towel.

“No.” The whisper was faint. Hutch pulled away and slumped against the shower wall.

Starsky exhaled angrily. “Dammit, Hutch! You’ve damaged your hand and you’ve been beaten, bloodied and fucked I don’t know how many times. Your chest is bleeding again. You could have internal injuries.”

Hutch glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.” He sighed and slowly reached for Hutch. “All right then. Let’s get you to bed.” He wrapped Hutch in the second towel and half-dragged him to the bedroom. When he got Hutch to the bed, Hutch laid down and Starsky covered him. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned to the bathroom and pulled first aid supplies from the cabinet. “Just like my place. A little of everything, because our ‘sessions’ got too rough,” he muttered. He carried the supplies back to Hutch.

“How’s the hand?” He set the supplies on the nightstand and turned on the lamp. “Let me see.” Starsky sat on the bed next to Hutch, but didn’t reach for his hand. He examined Hutch’s face instead. “You took care of it like you said you would. Stabbing yourself like that. The need is gone from your eyes.”

Hutch said nothing and Starsky sighed. “Those words carved into your chest won’t scar, but are deep enough that they’ll take a while to heal. They should be cleaned and covered in case they start bleeding again. I’ll do it. Give me your hand. I’ll bandage that, too.”

“I can—”

“Clean and bandage everything one-handed in your condition? I don’t think so. Let me do it, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Hutch looked at him warily and held out his hand. Starsky cleaned and bandaged it and the wounds on his chest, then urged three aspirin on Hutch. “I didn’t see any obvious tearing from the sex when I freed you, but you won’t let me examine you closely. You should have a doctor look to be sure. Maybe check you later for STDs. But you’re gonna hurt bad in the morning.”

Hutch dry-swallowed the pills. “It’s just pain. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, I know. Get some sleep. Call out if you need anything. I’ll be on the couch.”

“You said you’d leave me alone.”

“I will. But I’m staying here, just in case. I’ll see you in the morning.” He stood up. “Do you want me to leave the light on?”

“No.”

Starsky turned it off and left the room.

* * * * *

“What’s all this?” Hutch wandered into the kitchen mid-day to find Starsky drinking coffee and closing his toolbox.

“I broke in last night to check on you when you didn’t answer the door. I needed to replace the glass.”

“You broke a window?”

“I was worried. But it’s fixed now. If I hadn’t said anything, you’d never have known.” He drank his coffee and pointed to a thermos on the counter. “There’s hot coffee available if you want some.”

He watched Hutch take a mug from the cupboard and pour himself some coffee. “We need to talk, Hutch.”

“And say what?”

“How you feel this morning….” He watched Hutch stare into his coffee mug. “When you started going back to that motel…. And since when are you accommodating more than one person at a time?”

Hutch took a sip or two, then dumped the rest of his mug in the sink. “You need to go, Starsky. I have nothing to say you want to hear.”

“You’re wrong.” He took a deep breath, angry and afraid after a night of brooding, but he wasn’t sure whether it was at Hutch or himself. “You said that I wasn’t involved, that you don’t belong to me anymore, but I am, and you do.”

Hutch scoffed in angry denial. “No!” He stood there, trembling in outrage. “You want to talk? Then I’ll tell you. You have no idea how hard it was for me when you found out about my…addiction. I took the chance of my life and let you in because I’d learned to…to trust you. We were partners, we were intimate and you convinced me you had a viable solution. For a time, we did, but you turned your back on me and my world collapsed. I’ve gone back to what worked in the past.”

“But it isn’t working, is it?” Starsky looked at him with concern. “Let’s go sit down before you fall down. Please, Hutch.”

Hutch shrugged indifferently and followed him into the living room. They settled at opposite ends of the couch.

“How many times have you been back to that place?”

There was silence for a long time, then a quiet admission. “Three”

“Three? That’s almost once a month since we—” Starsky was shocked and disturbed. “So it isn’t working. You’ve just gotten better at hiding it. What happened yesterday? Who hurt you?”

Hutch sighed, then answered matter-of-factly. “A guy I’ve used before. But he—”

“He wasn’t alone.”

“He was when we met up. He drove to the motel. We got the room and I went to the bathroom to get ready. When I came out, he’d let in a friend. It went downhill from there.”

“Did you fuck before or after the beatings?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I crave pain, not sex. Sex was something you and I shared. When it got mixed up with the pain, you ended it.” He didn’t look at Starsky. “What happened was I tried to leave. They had other ideas. They beat me, raped me, then beat me some more. The friend wanted to hear me scream. He’s the one who did the carving and he took his time.” Hutch exhaled harshly, muttering, “He had a thing for blondes.”

Starsky shuddered and remembered being one of six couples held captive over time by a monster who’d disappeared two years ago. The monster had released each couple when it was done with them and the others had self-destructed, unable to recover from their traumas.

But the monster also had a thing for blondes and had enjoyed brutalizing Hutch into submission in front of him. During the torture, Starsky learned he and the monster had something in common—an addiction to Hutch and his need for pain.

You crave it and it will break you. Eventually, one of you will kill the other, then himself. Another sad case of murder-suicide, blamed on your ordeal.

You’ll be dead and I’ll be 12 and 0.

No. I will never allow that to happen…He belongs to me, no one else. Even with the lure of what you did to him, he fought to remain with me….

But it almost did, because they’d never discussed Hutch’s addiction once he’d found out about it and proposed a haphazard solution for dealing with it, never dreaming he’d develop an addiction of his own. But he had turned his back on Hutch and his addiction out of fear. Maybe if they talked, he’d understand better now.

“This didn’t start as self-abuse. But it was deliberate and you know when and how, don’t you?’ The pain in Hutch’s eyes told him Hutch did. “Tell me, please?”

“No.” The pain disappeared abruptly and a stranger sat before him. “Never ask me that again. Not. Ever. Or you’ll never see me again.”

“Hutch—”

“I mean it, Starsk. No. Reliving all of that will destroy me.”

And Starsky could see that Hutch believed it. He tried another tactic. “Tell me about your parents.”

Surprise crossed Hutch’s face as though no one had ever asked him before. “I can’t. I have no memory of them.”

“None? What’s the first thing you do remember?”

“Pain.”

Starsky wondered what kind of childhood Hutch had, but didn’t ask. “What triggers the craving?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. I’ve learned to compartmentalize in order to survive, to function. But it never goes away. I don’t think I want it to. When it gets out of hand, when I choose how to deal with it, I feel a momentary sense of control. It never lasts long, but it’s worth the pain.”

“But yesterday—”

“Even yesterday. I called him, Starsk. I just didn’t expect two of them. The beatings were no surprise. Neither were the knife wounds. And it’s not the first time I was raped.”

“The monster, I know….”

“I’m not talking about the monster.”

“Wait, what?” He thought he knew Hutch. But what he didn’t know was terrifying. “And you’ve spoken to someone? Gotten some treatment?”

“I have.” Hutch projected calm, still giving nothing away. “I won’t do it again.”

Oh Hutch…. Starsky wanted to cry. Who did this to you?

“So you’re trapped—”

“Not trapped. This is how I deal with it and no one else gets hurt. Then I get on with my life.”

“Until next time.”

They sat quietly on the couch, watching each other, trying to decide how to proceed. Finally, Starsky made a decision.

“Hutch….”

“No doctors, Starsk. No ERs. I just need a few days to recover, so let me get some rest. Go home.”

“I’m staying, Hutch. We need to eat. I’ll make us something, then we’ll both get some rest. Do you have any eggs?”

“Yeah”

“Good. We can do this together. I’ll scramble some eggs. You make toast.” He helped Hutch off the couch and led him to the kitchen. They fixed the simple meal in total silence, but for the first time in months, Starsky felt good. It didn’t take long. When the food was ready, Starsky set the plates on the counter and reached for forks.

“Do you want coffee? There’s some left in the thermos. Or would you prefer juice?” Hutch opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of o.j. and a jar of strawberry jam.

“Juice, please.” He took a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and sat down in front of a plate. Hutch poured, then sat in front of the other.

They ate in placid silence, more comfortable with each other than they had been in months. Afterwards, as they stacked their dishes in the sink, Starsky took a chance and reached out to Hutch.

“I want to talk more, but we’re both tired. We were lovers not so long ago. Could we share your bed and get some sleep? I promise to behave myself.”

To his relief, Hutch took his hand and led him to the bedroom. “You used to sleep nude. Do whatever makes you comfortable.” With that, Hutch stripped and climbed under the covers, settling on his side. Starsky stripped and joined him.

As they got comfortable, Hutch’s arm inched across Starsky’s chest in Hutch’s favorite sleeping position. “Get some sleep, Starsk.”

Starsky smiled and closed his eyes.

* * * * *

The dream was of love and simple comfort. Of curious touching and careful exploration of each other’s body to learn what gave pleasure and felt good. Best of all were the kisses that told them it was okay to share what they felt with each other….

…to trust….

He woke confused, half-hard in darkness, his skin aching for the touches in his dream. He sighed, and relaxed, hoping to slip back into the dream, but warm fingers stroked his chest.

“Hutch?” he whispered.

The fingers withdrew. “Sorry. I-I just wanted a moment to remember.” Hutch rolled to his back, arms at his side. “Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was quiet, resigned.

“Ready for what?”

“Whatever you wanted to do to me when you woke. I’ve only been naked for men who hurt me.” The voice grew even quieter. “Including you.”

Starsky gasped as Hutch continued.

“It’s okay. You’re better than most. You enjoy doing it but you give me what I need. Some of the others make me beg and scream, but the pain they inflict is never enough.”

“What are you saying, Hutch? You’re in no condition—”

“Then why did you stay?”

“Because I-I….” Starsky fell silent, unable to say.

He felt Hutch turn away from him and curl into a ball.

“It’s okay, Starsk. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk more later.”

He wanted to spoon against Hutch, but didn’t dare. Instead, he lay quietly, listening to Hutch breathe. Eventually, he slept again.

* * * * *

He woke alone.

He left the bed and dressed in the clothes he’d shed the day before, then went looking for Hutch. There was only a note on the kitchen counter.

Starsky –

I’ve gone to get my car, but I’m not coming back.

Thanks for being there yesterday. I know it wasn’t easy and I know it made you angry, but you came anyway. I owe you for that, but you won’t accept pain sessions or sex anymore as repayment, so if there’s anything you want in my place, help yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s all I have to offer.

You won’t be bothered again by strangers calling you to clean up after me.

I know I ruined whatever we had, but that’s how addictions work when you won’t give them up. They’re selfish like that. They always come first. And mine always will.

I’m sorry.

Hutch

 

Chapter 4 – Reprisal

“Starsky, Huggy just called the station. You need to get over there. Quick!” Dobey sounded strangely panicked over the radio.

“What is it, Cap?” He unwrapped the burger he was holding and took a bite.

“The fire department just put out a dumpster fire up the street from his place. They found an empty backpack on the ground behind it and Hutch’s driver’s license was in the lining.” Dobey’s voice cracked and he reluctantly continued. “There was a body in the dumpster, Starsk.”

He went cold. “Is it—?”

“They don’t know. It was too badly burned to make an ID. The M.E. is on his way.”

He tossed his burger out the window and started the Torino. “I’ll be there in ten.”

* * * * *

There was more than Hutch’s driver’s license in the ratty backpack. His badge, a bill of sale for his car and a pawn ticket for his gun were in it, too, hidden in the lining. Three tens and a twenty were carefully tucked into the lining on the other side. But the pack itself was empty. There was nothing to indicate where Hutch had been the past three weeks.

Dobey was right about the body in the dumpster. He’d insisted on looking and it was so badly burned, he couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

But he was afraid.

* * * * *

“Coroner says the body was male, but it’s gonna be awhile before he knows more. He may never be able to ID the body.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he was grateful Dobey kept him in the loop on the investigation. Officially, he wasn’t allowed to help, but so far, Dobey looked the other way while Starsky and Huggy trolled the streets for any word on Hutch.

According to what was tucked in the lining, Hutch had sold his car a few days after retrieving it. He hadn’t gotten much for the beloved relic, but Huggy learned that Hutch had bought the backpack, a change of clothes and a used sleeping bag at a thrift shop a few blocks over. He seemed to be living on the streets now, but no one had seen him and no one could say where.

Starsky redeemed the Magnum Hutch had pawned and learned he’d bought a hunting knife for protection. Starsky was glad that Hutch was armed, but worried it wasn’t protection enough. The streets could be dangerous and if someone mistakenly tagged Hutch as undercover, or Hutch’s need for pain made him careless….

Starsky spent all of his free time looking for Hutch in any place he could think of, but there were so many places Hutch could hide if he didn’t want to be found.

* * * * *

“Coroner says it’s not Hutch.” Dobey sounded—relieved—on the radio.

“He’s sure?” Starsky pulled over to listen.

“He’s sure. Dental records don’t match, Starsky, but whoever it is, he was murdered. Body was stabbed multiple times and dumped, then burned to hide it.”

“Stabbed?”

“You heard me, Starsky. We know your former partner has a knife. With his backpack at the scene, I’m afraid that makes him our prime suspect.”

His own relief turned to anger. “Cap—”

“Not now, Starsky. And not on the radio. I’m not saying he’s gone rogue. But I want answers when we do find him.”

Starsky slowly calmed. “All right, Cap. We’ll talk more next time I’m at the station.” He logged off the radio, more troubled than he’d been. Where the hell are you, Hutch? And what was your backpack doing at the site?

He missed Hutch and everything they’d had. He’d been an idiot for letting him go. They’d been doing all right. But it had all gone to hell when the monster took them—

He suddenly knew where to look for Hutch.

 

Chapter 5 – Lessons Learned

“It hurts.” He remembered whispering that as pain wracked his naked body.

“It’s supposed to. And this?”

He screamed as metal pierced him and his body convulsed. There was a pleasured “yessss…” in his ear as he screamed again.

“You like this, don’t you? The way I make you feel.” Rough fingers stroked the wounds on his body. “Since you won’t tell me how this started, or what was done to you, I have to find my own way of dealing with your—what do you call it?—‘addiction.’ That’s cute. So á propos.”

He panted, distracted from the words by the pain. “Why are you doing this? You said you could help me.”

“I am helping you. I indulge you shamelessly because you want what I love giving you.”

“No…I don’t….”

“Don’t lie to me, Kenny. This isn’t the first time you’ve begged me do this. I want to hear you beg again.”

There was more pain. Different. Even more intense. And he wanted it. “…do it…. I want you to hurt me….” He moaned as pain ripped through him.

“That’s it, baby.” The words whispered in his ear were as intimate as the pain. “There’s more where that came from. And doing this excites me. Makes me feel so good. Now tell me again what he taught you to say. You deserve the pain for making me do this. Say it! You deserve the pain.”

“I-I deserve the pain.”

It became his mantra. And the so-called therapy continued unabated.

* * * * *

“Hey, Renny.” He walked past the unmarked grave and roamed the clearing, burdened by unwanted memories and heavy betrayals. It took time to shove them back in their boxes and lock them away. He was able to do it, but the craving was back. He sighed and settled on the monster’s grave. Time to confess his reason for being here. His punishment would handle the rest.

He’d told the monster he’d never come here again, that he had everything he needed in Starsky. And for a time, he did. But then he ruined it, because he wouldn’t give up his addiction. He couldn’t. It was the core lesson of his life. So viciously ingrained, he could never let go.

A deeply buried box of memories, cruel and forever sealed, radiated pain throughout his being that Hutch accepted unconditionally. He couldn’t remember a time without it.

He made sure I learned that, all those years ago, that I deserved pain. All manner of it. And that therapist reinforced the lesson. He taught me there will never be enough pain to punish me for the things I did and the things I didn’t do.

But I learned from you, too. Indifference simplifies things. When no one cares, people do whatever they want without stopping to weigh consequences.

You knew I needed what you forced on me, pain of all kinds—humiliation, torture, sexual perversion. You brutalized me. Planned to sell me to your friends. Watch me beg, hear me scream while they used me for your enjoyment. And you knew I would do it. But I told myself I didn’t need you. I was so wrong.

I told myself I needed Starsky. But I failed him when I saved him from you. He threw it all away to save me from us. Starsky’s caring got in the way and he stopped, even though I begged him not to. He was afraid of how obsessive our addictions had become. He was afraid one day we’d go too far. But most of all, he was afraid of how driven he was to hurt me and he was enjoying it too much. I failed him when I didn’t care enough to trust his judgment, so he taught me the ultimate lesson. He let me go.

It was agony I deserved. And I deserve this.

He took out his knife and bared his wrist.

* * * * *

“Let me do that, you son of a bitch. I can make the pain last while you bleed out.”

He looked up at the angry words to see Starsky standing unknowingly on Renny’s grave. “What are you doing here, Starsk?”

“Looking for you. Who died in that dumpster anyway?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Leaving your backpack near the fire was inspired. You were dead until the coroner said otherwise. It bought you some time. For what, exactly?”

“Starsk, my backpack was stolen in a shelter two weeks ago. I’ve spent the past week walking here. The only agenda I have is confessing to the dead.”

“Dead? What dead?”

He sighed, unwilling to say, but Starsky demanded answers. “The monster, Starsk. He disappeared two years ago, but I had things I needed to say. The last place he was seen was the bunker. It was around here somewhere.” Hutch knew exactly where it was, where the monster was, but pretended he didn’t. “They did a good job burying all traces of it.”

“Why are you here, Hutch?”

“To tell him he won,” he whispered softly. He looked around the clearing one last time, then slit his wrist.

“NO!!” Starsky raced forward and snatched the knife from his hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The wound was deep. He felt blood pulse from it and pain as Starsky tried to staunch the flow. “Let me bleed out, Starsk. I deserve it.” He closed his eyes and let everything go.

 

 

Chapter 6 – Comfort Revisited

“C’mon, babe, open your eyes. I need you to open your eyes for me.”

The plea was fear-laced, whispered in his ear, like so many other pain-linked commands had been. But this one was also linked to betrayal and he no longer cared to obey it. He ignored the voice and let go again.

* * * * *

“Mr. Hutchinson? How are you feeling this morning?”

He slowly opened his eyes as someone pulled back a curtain and pushed a small cart next to the bed.

A plump, gray-haired nurse read the machines he was hooked to, noting the results on a chart she took from the end of his bed and nodding to herself in satisfaction. “Much better today. You probably don’t remember me, but my name is Helen. We met two years ago when you brought your friend in for help. He was in bad shape, but you weren’t much better.”

He frowned, remembering a small rural clinic from those days, but he didn’t remember her. She watched as he glanced around the room, but he didn’t say a word.

“Doc Neuland sent him home. He was looking pretty haggard after two nights in a chair. I’m going to change the dressing on your wrist, then maybe we’ll see about giving you another sponge bath. I’ve already taken care of everything else.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as she picked up scissors off the cart and reached for his wrist. “I know you’d probably rather have a shower, but you’ve had three transfusions and Doc Neuland doesn’t want you out of bed quite yet. You’ve been out a long time.”

He didn’t care how long he’d been out and he didn’t want a sponge bath. He didn’t want to be touched at all, but he lay quietly while she checked his wrist and changed the dressing.

“There! All finished.” She pushed the cart out of the way and left the room. A few minutes later, she returned with a towel and a small basin and set it on the bedside table. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.” She took a wash cloth from the basin, wrung it out and started to wipe his face.

He tried to push her hand away and discovered he was cuffed to the bed.

Helen stopped. “I’m sorry. Dave did that. Said he didn’t want you trying to leave before he got back.” She looked at the cloth in her hand and offered it to him. “Would you rather wash your face yourself?”

He looked away, still saying nothing and closed his eyes. He heard Helen pick up the basin, put it on the cart and leave the room.

* * * * *

“I brought you clean clothes for when you get out of here. The doctor thought maybe tomorrow.” Starsky set a duffle bag on the floor under the bed. “I spoke to Dobey and arranged to take some time off. Figured maybe we can talk some more. Work something out.”

He didn’t say a word, just raised his cuffed hand.

Starsky reached for the key in his pocket. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t want to take the chance you’d disappear on me again.” He unlocked the handcuffs and freed him.

Hutch moved carefully to sit on the edge of the bed. He’d been disconnected from the machines after the doctor had seen him and had eaten part of the breakfast they’d brought. But he had no intention of staying another day. He slid off the bed and reached for the duffle bag. His vision grayed out a little as he stood back up and set the bag on the bed, but he opened it and pulled out jeans and a sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” Starsky reached for him.

“Leaving.” He pulled away from Starsky and slowly got dressed, then looked in the bag for shoes. There were none. He sighed and turned to leave the room.

“Hutch! Wait!” Starsky followed him as he walked down the hall, looking for an exit.

Helen came out of a room pushing the little cart and it rammed into him as she shut the door. “I’m sorr—Mr. Hutchinson! You shouldn’t be out of bed! Where are you going?” She grabbed his arm and he shook her off as Starsky caught up to them. “You can’t leave until Dr. West sees you.”

He stopped and looked from her to Starsky.

“You didn’t tell him.” Helen frowned and scolded Starsky, before explaining in a kindly voice, “He’s a doctor friend of Doc Neuland. A psychiatrist. He wants to talk to you about what you did to your wrist. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

He glared at them both and pushed through to the exit. “Send me a bill. I’ll make sure you get paid. I’m sure Dave gave you an address.” He staggered toward the road in hospital socks, already exhausted as the swift adrenaline high wore off.

The Torino pulled up next to him and the window came down. “Get in, Hutch. At least let me drive you home.”

He scowled, but slowly got in and closed the door. He was out before Starsky turned onto the highway.

* * * * *

He woke when the car stopped under golden arches and Starsky talked to a speaker. He listened to Starsky order burgers, fries and coffee, but didn’t say anything as Starsky pulled forward, paid for his order, then picked up the food.

They were back on the road, not far from his place when Starsky spoke again. “Talk to me, Hutch. Who is Webster?”

The name made Hutch’s skin crawl. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Hutch?”

“Doctor. Why?”

“You mumbled the name over and over while I got you to the car and drove to the clinic.”

“Did I say anything else?” He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t.

Starsky was quiet as he turned the corner and pulled into Hutch’s parking space, then—“Yeah, you did.”

Hutch sighed in resignation. “What?”

“I deserve it.” Starsky gathered the food bags and handed Hutch the carrier holding the coffee. “Here. Take this.”

“I—“

“Don’t argue with me. Just carry the damn coffee.”

They got out of the car and headed for the front door. Starsky pulled out a key and unlocked it. “I helped myself to the spare after you left, but you should probably change the locks. There were no keys in the backpack we found.”

“Why did you bring me here, Starsk? I didn’t expect to ever come back. I’m behind on everything. I haven’t exactly been paying my bills.”

Starsky put the food on the coffee table and turned on the lights. “I did. Sit down, Hutch. Let’s eat while it’s still warm.”

“You paid my bills?”

“Yeah. So you owe me. SIT DOWN, Hutch! Let’s eat.”

He sat and nibbled at the food. It was warm and he choked down a couple of mouthfuls, but the coffee was hot and tasted good. He pushed the rest of the food away and leaned back, wrapping his hands around the coffee.

“That’s all you’re gonna eat? You’ve had almost nothing for days.”

“Not hungry.” He sighed, then carefully swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “What do you want, Starsk? I know you want something. Want me to sign an IOU?” He took another sip. “I don’t know when I can pay you back. I already turned in my notice to Dobey and there’s not much left in the bank.”

“I know.” Starsky picked up his own coffee and sat back on the couch. “I don’t need you to sign an IOU. I don’t care if you ever repay me. But you can tell me.” He looked up seriously. “Who was this Dr. Webster? You’ve never mentioned him, but he obviously had an impact on you.”

Hutch turned away.

“And what do you deserve? You said it to me after you slit your wrist.”

He absently stroked his bandages. “I-I…” He squeezed his wrist over the incision. “I deserve this.” He squeezed again and gasped softly in pain.

“Hutch….”

“Don’t ask me about Webster.”

“He’s the one who did this to you.”

“No. He’s not. But…” Hutch unconsciously squeezed his wrist again. “…he had a hand in making me an addict.”

“Where is this sonuvabitch now?”

The anger in Starsky’s voice surprised him. “He’s dead.”

“When? How?’

Hutch took a shaky breath and finished his coffee. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s leave it at that.” He stood and started to gather the trash. “I’m going to take a shower, then go to bed. Go home, Starsk. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll clean up. Go take your shower, then I’ll re-bandage your wrist.”

Hutch looked at him, shrugged, then handed Starsky the trash he held. “All right. I’ll call when I’m ready.”

The shower was a blessing. Hot water pounded him as he scrubbed himself raw, leaving him feeling cleaner than he’d felt in a very long time. Afterward, he wrapped himself in a towel and stepped to the sink to brush his teeth. When he was finished, he opened the cabinet and pulled out the box of medical supplies. It was difficult wielding the scissors with his left hand, but he managed to get the wet bandages off. The incision was longer that he remembered doing. The sutures were small black xxs down his arm, the skin mildly inflamed, but not infected. He reached for the antiseptic cream.

“Let me do that.”

He looked up at Starsky, then handed him the tube.

Starsky examined the wound, spread the cream, then re-bandaged it carefully. “How does it feel?”

“It feels all right. Thanks.” Hutch cleaned up the mess and put the box away. “I’m going to bed.”

Starsky stepped aside to let him pass, then followed him to the bedroom and pulled sweat pants from an open dresser drawer. “Put these on, Hutch. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to hurt you in the morning.” He helped Hutch into bed, then headed to the bathroom. “I need to take a shower, too. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come back.”

He should have argued, insisted that Starsky go. He hadn’t received simple comfort from Starsky since his addiction had come to light. And like the others who hurt him, Starsky wanted him nude. But he owed Starsky and knowing him, this was a new kind of game. One he’d have no say in. He could only wait and see.

He was almost asleep when the water shut off. He waited anxiously as he heard Starsky dry off, hang the towel and pad naked into the bedroom. It surprised him that Starsky stopped by the dresser and pulled another pair of sweat pants from the drawer, but it eased his anxiety when Starsky put them on before quietly climbing into bed.

Sleep claimed him as Starsky turned off the light and spooned against him.

* * * * *

It felt good to lay in Starsky’s arms and he was afraid to move and spoil it. But Starsky moaned in his sleep and Hutch turned to see why.

Starsky was dreaming, smiling faintly and Hutch remembered when Starsky smiled at him like that. But it reminded him that things were different now, and he carefully pulled away and sat up.

“No, don’t.” The whisper accompanied Starsky’s touch, and his eyes opened to lock with Hutch’s. “Stay with me. Just…stay with me, Hutch. Let me touch you like I used to, without causing you pain.”

“You’ve said we don’t have a relationship anymore. Let’s not pretend we do.” He started to stand, but Starsky grabbed him and pulled him back down.

“I said stay. I—”

He looked down at Starsky’s grip on his wrist and the pain focused him again. Starsky let go and waited.

“Right. I got it.” He shed his pants and laid back down, whispering to himself, “He’s already told you. He owns your ass. He can do anything he wants.” He took a quiet breath and closed his eyes. “Touch me however you want to, Starsk.”

Fingers stroked his body softly—chest, arms, touches to his face.

“Look at me, Hutch.”

He opened his eyes and looked into Starsky’s as Starsky touched his mouth. “When was the last time I kissed you?”

He didn’t know.

Starsky’s mouth came down on his. His tongue teased Hutch’s lips open and invaded his mouth, while gentle fingers explored his body.

And for the first time since they’d learned to be intimate, Hutch wanted it more than he wanted pain.

More kisses. More touches. Starsky pushed the bedding aside and moved against Hutch. A tear escaped the corner of his eye and Starsky kissed it tenderly. “Aw, babe” he whispered gruffly. “Touch me. Please…touch me.”

Hutch reached with trembling hands, pushing the sweat pants down Starsky’s body, freeing and stroking his cock. Starsky moaned and rolled on top of him, frantically rubbing their cocks together.

It had been so long and it felt so good. Starsky took his mouth again and stiffened. Liquid heat spread between them and Hutch flashed white hot, his cock bathing Starsky’s with heat of its own.

They nestled against each other for a moment, then Starsky kicked the sweats off and used them to wipe away some of the mess. Before Hutch could move, Starsky tossed the sweat pants on the floor and pulled the bedding over them both.

“Hutch…” Starsky gathered Hutch in his arms. “…I don’t know where this is going, but I can’t lose you. Not again. We need to re-invent this partnership. Can we do that?”

Hutch sighed as the fleeting comfort faded. “I dunno, Starsk. It would take trust, and I don’t have it. Not anymore.” He patted Starsky’s arms, but didn’t pull away. “Can we just go back to sleep and see what morning brings?”

Starsky hugged him. “Yeah. But promise me I won’t wake up alone.”

Hutch tried to relax in Starsky’s embrace, but his wrist ached. It reminded him that they were naked and that always ended in pain. The craving flickered, but he locked it away for now. “I promise. Get some sleep.”

 

Chapter 7 – Introspection

That goddamn sonuvabitch!!

Starsky scanned the lengthy sixteen-year-old news article until he could stomach no more, then re-wound the microfilm and turned off the machine.

He was livid.

It told him more than he wanted to know, and not enough. But when his imagination filled in the blanks, he wanted to be sick.

Malcom Webster died yesterday in Midwest Penitentiary. The infamous psychiatrist was serving a thirty year sentence for second degree murder and rape. He’d been convicted of killing a patient’s father who’d accused him of multiple rapes of his son. The defense insisted their client didn’t know his son, that there was no proof his son was ever a patient and no medical records were found.

But other accusers came forward, claiming Webster was a pedophile. That they had been hand-picked members of his “junior varsity” when they were younger, specially groomed by him and shared with friends at sex parties….

The article went on to talk about the sensationalized trial. About proof found—photos and home movies taken at these “parties” over the years—and the well-heeled participants were hunted down and arrested. Webster was stripped of his medical licenses and convicted on all counts. He was kept apart from the general prison population, but it didn’t matter. He was found stabbed and viciously mutilated, but deliberately left alive. He died in the prison infirmary a week later.

Starsky sat brooding over what he’d read. A monster from an earlier time who’d preyed on underaged teenaged males….

He barely made it to the men’s room before he was sick.

* * * * *

He didn’t mention his search to Hutch. He couldn’t. They had an uneasy truce that enabled them to be together and trust was an unspoken issue.

He’d found himself unable to leave Hutch for any extended length of time, showing up with groceries or takeout, staying overnight uninvited, but not evicted. They didn’t talk about anything that truly mattered, but Hutch didn’t ignore him either. They were more than roommates, but not lovers. They hadn’t been intimate since the night he’d brought Hutch home.

“So when are you going to ask me?”

“What?” He looked up from the vegetable soup he was making to find Hutch at the counter studying him.

“I know you’ve been digging into my past again. I see unanswered questions in your eyes when you look at me.”

“How—” He stopped, unwilling to admit it, but unable to lie.

“You’ve stopped asking me why I left, why I did the things I did. You’re careful not to touch me when we’re in bed. I’m tired of waiting, Starsky. Just ask the questions. If there are any I don’t want to answer, I’ll say so.”

He turned off the burner under the soup. “Okay. Let’s talk.” He wiped his hands with a paper towel and went into the living room. Hutch followed.

Hutch beat him to the questioning. “So what did you find out?”

“What a bastard Webster was.” Starsky held his breath, expecting anger at his digging. Hutch sat calmly, giving nothing away.

“And?”

He realized he was going to have to take his chances. Hutch was volunteering nothing. “Did you know any of those other “non-patients”? Did he take you to….” Starsky swallowed, not sure how much he wanted to know.

“The orgies? No. Occasionally, he would tell me about the “fun” everyone was having, but I was never a part of that. I was his secret live-in pet and he kept me for himself.”

“How old—”

“Fourteen”

“Oh geez….” Starsky took a shaky breath as his stomach roiled. Hutch watched him struggle with the information.

“You okay, Starsk?”

“Am I—? You can’t be serious….” Hutch began to shut down, so he hurried to ask another question. “How long were you—”

“Almost eighteen months. I wasn’t there when he was arrested and he kept no written records on me.”

“Where were you?”

“I guess you’d call it school. He’d arranged for a series of private tutors. Only that day, he never picked me up for our own daily “therapy” sessions.”

He already knew he’d get no answers about what that involved. “How did you meet?”

“I’ll finish making dinner, Starsk. You must be hungry.”

“Hutch? How did you meet?”

Hutch was silent a long time. Then quietly—“I was…a gift….”

“From whom?” Starsky was appalled.

Hutch stood. “No more questions, Starsk.”

“Where did you go when Webster was arrested?” Somehow it seemed important to know. “Hutch?”

He was almost to the kitchen before Starsky got an answer. “Back to the giver.”

Nothing more was said.

 

Chapter 8 – Rules of the Game

“Hutch?” He walked through the open apartment door and startled the building super showing the place to a young couple. “Oh, sorry.”

The man excused himself to the couple and approached him. “Are you Starsky?”

“Yeah”

He pulled an envelope out of a pocket and handed it to Starsky. “I was gonna call you when I was done here. This is Mr. Hutchinson’s security deposit. He asked me to give it to you. Said he owed you money and would pay the rest when he was able.”

“Did he leave a forwarding address?”

“No. No forwarding address. Excuse me.” He turned back to the waiting couple and explained the place came furnished.

Starsky looked around at the familiar furnishings and walked out.

* * * * *

He’s gone…oh god, he’s gone again….

When Starsky got back to his car, he thought about the last time he saw Hutch, their last conversation. He’d thought if he backed off for a day or two, Hutch would be willing to work something out with him, not disappear….

“What are you doing?”

“Packing a few things. If there’s anything you want around here, take it now. I’m tossing the rest.”

He’d watched Hutch re-fold a couple of sweatshirts and add them to jeans already folded on the bed.

“Why?”

“I’m not working, Starsk. I can’t afford this place anymore and I don’t want you paying my bills. Last time I checked, you weren’t made of money and you have your own bills to pay.”

He’d objected, but Hutch wouldn’t listen.

“I’ve already given notice I’m moving. There was a security deposit on this place and I should get it back. I’ll see that you get it.”

“Where are you going?”

“As far as twelve dollars will take me. I closed out my bank account this morning.” He’d added socks to the pile on the bed and pulled a small duffle bag out of the closet. “That’s all I have left after paying the bill from that clinic.”

He remembered Hutch muttering angrily to himself. “I couldn’t even die properly. Need to do better next time.”

He’d stupidly thought the problem was money. “Do you need more? I could—”

“No.”

“What happened to the money from the sale of your car?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it was in the backpack when it was stolen.”

“That’s all you’re taking?”

“I shouldn’t take this much. It makes me a target of have-nots on the streets.” He snorted softly to himself. “Now there’s a motive for murder. Clean underwear and socks.”

“Hutch, don’t go. Move in with me. We can—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Hutch had said something he didn’t understand at the time. “The rules of this game keep changing, Starsk, and I don’t want to play anymore. You shouldn’t either.”

‘What game, Hutch?”

“Us.” He’d sighed. “We had a good thing once. We were friends and partners making a difference on the streets. We became intimate and for a time, I thought we were happy. Then I got careless and you found out I’m an addict. I’d kept it a secret because I knew you wouldn’t understand. That it would make you angry and it did. But you came up with a solution to deal with it and I was relieved until… well… everything changed.”

“What do you mean?” He’d stared at Hutch in confusion, because he honestly didn’t know.

Hutch had put down the duffle bag and turned. “You started treating me differently. And when you decided you owned me, the intimacy stopped and it was all about the pain.”

“No, we—”

“It stopped, Dave. Oh, we still had sex from time to time, but that’s all it was. What was left was a contest—could I take what you inflicted—and we enjoyed that instead. Then you said we went too far when you got excited beating me. I was in agony and you cut me down and fucked me half to death. I never came so hard in my life. It was something I’d never experienced before and I wanted more of that with you, but you said no. Rather emphatically.”

Dave? When did he become Dave to Hutch? “I was afraid I’d do permanent damage….”

“Liar.” Hutch scoffed. “You made sure you wouldn’t. We don’t even do simple comfort anymore. We play keep away now. You’re careful not to touch me unless you absolutely have to, but you don’t want anyone else touching me either. You’re just the latest one to take total control. And I was willing to give it to you, because you said you cared and I wanted to believe you. But it’s really just your blatant curiosity about who did what to me and when.”

A need for pain seemed to flicker through Hutch’s eyes, but was gone before he was sure he’d seen it. He’d watched Hutch turn back to the bed and shove the small pile of clothes into the duffle bag.

“I haven’t forgotten what was done to me, Starsk. I’ve already shared as much as I’m going to. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. You can’t “fix” me. Let me go and move on.”

“Not gonna happen.”

As Hutch zipped the bag, he’d reached out, turned and kissed him. It was what they’d both enjoyed once, but it was too little, too late and Hutch pushed him away.

“Grab anything you want on your way out, but I want you outta here now. Don’t come back.”

He remembered pleading, “I don’t need anything but you.”

But Hutch had shaken his head and pointed to the door. “Goodbye, Starsk.”

I never should have left him alone….

But it was too late now. All he could do was search for Hutch. And he tried…

…but failed.

* * * * *

“Have you seen this girl? She’d be carrying a baby.” The detective held up a photo of a very young, dark-haired girl carefully holding a sleeping infant.

The clerks at the counter took turns looking. The middle-aged one shook his head. “No. There’s only been an older couple in here this morning. There aren’t any buses leaving for another two hours. Did she kidnap the baby?” He looked at the photo again.

“No. The child is hers. But she’s a runaway, and the baby needs medicine she left behind. Her parents called the police when they found her missing after an argument. A lot of people are looking for her.”

“I’ll call if she comes here.” The clerk handed the photo back.

“Thanks.” She turned and nodded toward the diner at the end of the hall. “I’m getting a coffee to go, Starsky. Want some?”

“No. I’ll be in the car.” He sighed in frustration as she headed down the hall.

“You’re Starsky?” The clerk looked at him with new interest.

“Yeah, why?”

“Hearing the name surprised me is all. A guy gave me your number a while back.” The clerk rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. On it, Starsky’s name and number at the station were scrawled in Hutch’s handwriting. “Said he was your partner once and that you were a cop. I assume he was a friend.”

“Hutch gave you my number? When? Why?”

“He didn’t tell me his name. It was maybe two, three months ago. I think he intended to buy a ticket but there was a lady with three little kids hanging onto her just inside the door. She was pretty beaten up and the kids were crying. Her older boy asked him for help while she was shushing the little girl. Said his daddy beat his mommy up for letting them eat all the cereal and he dumped them here and drove away. When your friend found out they hadn’t eaten since the day before, he sent them to the diner.” The clerk fussed with the rumpled paper, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “He asked for an envelope and pulled cash from a pocket. I watched him count out a hundred and set it aside, then he put the rest in the envelope and asked me to take it to her in the diner. He said there was enough to pay for their food and four tickets to Salt Lake City. She said she had family there. But…” The clerk hesitated, then continued, “…there was enough in that envelope to help her and her kids start over. A grand, at least. He gave me your number in case the husband came back and caused problems. He never did.”

Starsky tapped the rumpled paper. “Where did he go?”

“He never bought a ticket. Just gave me that envelope, pocketed the hundred and left. Your friend is a good man.”

“Yes, he is.” Starsky glanced at the diner. “Have you seen him since?”

“Now and then. There’s a day-labor office across the street and down the block. I think he goes there looking for work. Sometimes, he stops at the diner for coffee to go while he waits for it to open.”

“H-how does he look?” Starsky asked quickly, as the diner door opened.

The clerk looked at him quizzically. “Rough, but presentable enough to get work. Looks like some of the others around here who’re on the streets, too, but he’s no junkie. At least, I don’t think so. Want me to tell him—”

“No. Please don’t.” He looked at the clerk as the other detective joined them.

“They found her, Dave. She and the baby are safe. They turned up at her parents’ house in a taxi and are being taken to the ER to be checked out.” She took a careful sip of her coffee. “Said she was begging on the street not far from here. Some homeless guy talked her into going home and slipped her cab fare. Go figure.”

The clerk knowingly tapped the paper under his fingertips.

Starsky gave a faint nod. “Thanks.” He turned and led the way back to the car.

* * * * *

A week later, he stood over Hutch, holding out a Styrofoam cup. “I bought you coffee.”

“Not interested. Thanks anyway.”

Hutch was half-asleep, slouched at the end of a crowded bench, waiting for the day-labor office to open. He knew Hutch recognized him, but it bothered Starsky that Hutch didn’t acknowledge him. “Look at me, Hutch. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Hutch didn’t open his eyes. “I mailed the last of what I owed you earlier this week You should get it in a day or two. Now go away. Forget you ever knew me.”

There was movement around them as the office prepared to open its doors and those waiting stood to line up for entry. Hutch stood with them.

Starsky grabbed his arm. “Hutch!”

Hutch glared from the hand on his arm to Starsky’s face. “Let go.”

He was shocked when he looked into Hutch’s eyes. They were dangerous and wild.

“I said, LET GO!”

When he didn’t move quick enough, Hutch punched him. The coffee cup went flying as he fell to the ground.

“YOU! We don’t need trouble. You’re out for the rest of the week.” A heavyset man with a clipboard pointed a finger at Hutch from the doorway. “Leave now or you’re done here for good.” He watched as Hutch turned and headed down the street, then barked at Starsky as he stood up. “You too, Mister. Get outta here or I’ll call the cops.”

Starsky didn’t stay to argue. He took off after Hutch.

“Hutch, wait! WAIT!” He was winded when he caught up to Hutch, but he didn’t dare touch him. “Let me help you.”

Hutch kept moving.

He didn’t. But he called out, “At least let me talk to you. Give me a minute. Please?”

Hutch stopped, but didn’t turn, saying nothing.

“Are you hungry? We can talk over breakfast. It’s on me.”

Hutch shook his head. “It’s not a food day. Tomorrow isn’t either now. Just tell me what you want.”

Not a food day? What did that mean? He was afraid to ask.

“I’ve been searching for you for so long. Then we stopped at the bus depot looking for a runaway and one of the clerks there recognized my name. He was telling me what you did for that Utah family. That’s where the money from selling your car really went, isn’t it? It wasn’t in your backpack when it was stolen. And while he was talking, we learned the runaway had been found. Said she’d been helped by a homeless guy who sent her home. That was you, too, wasn’t it?”

Hutch shrugged, long past caring. “What do you want?”

“You’re hurting. Let me help you—”

“Because only you can, right? You taught me that. But you won’t, because I won’t bare my soul to you. You taught me that, too.” Hutch glared at him defiantly. “Just let me hurt. I don’t want your help.”

“I’m hurting, buddy. Help me.”

They both turned. A disheveled, rejected worker from the bench had followed and sidled close to Starsky.

“I got no cash and I ain’t no fag, but how ’bout I suck you off for a fix?” He clamped a hand on Starsky’s arm and tugged. “C’mon. We can duck into the alley over here for a little privacy.” He smirked at Hutch. “You can watch if you want, but I ain’t suckin’ you.”

“Get the hell away from me!” Starsky pulled away and shoved. The junkie tumbled to the ground.

‘Why don’t you let him? You love a good blow job and he’s already on his knees.” Hutch sneered. “Just make sure he knows the rules.” He turned his back and walked away.

* * * * *

Jes op Hot l

He was back on the sidewalk, staring at the broken neon sign over the ratty, five story walk-up, about six blocks from the bus depot. It rented rooms by the month, with four rooms and a shared bath on each floor. The lobby had a musty smell, with peeling wallpaper, a bench and a counter protected by thick, cloudy plexiglass.

Finding out Hutch had a shabby room on the third floor at the Jessop had cost him fifty dollars, slipped to the heavyset supervisor who ran the day-labor office. He knew Hutch was back there, working four days a week at minimum wage, barely enough to pay for his room, and sometimes food. Not a food day made sense now. Hutch wasn’t eating every day.

Hutch had been right. It had been a game to him, one of pain, given and received; a game he always won because he made the rules.

He couldn’t approach Hutch here. He wasn’t supposed to know about this place. And Starsky didn’t dare seek him out again where Hutch got work. In desperation, he left a note with the clerk at the bus depot, apologizing to Hutch and asking Hutch to contact him.

But there was no response.

* * * * *

Her moan of pleasure excited him, and her orgasm tickling his cock caused him to lose control. He thrust into her and came. As he sank into her arms, there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Stay here. Don’t answer it!” she whispered in his ear.

“It’s dinner. You were the one who was hungry and wanted to order it right away. Let me up. While I pay for it, you get the plates. Oh—and grab a fork if you’re no good with chopsticks.”

He levered himself off the couch and tucked himself back into his jeans as another knock sounded. He picked his wallet up off the table as he opened the door. “How much do I—”

Hutch stood there, thin and grimy, his eyes bright with pain. “Make it stop, Starsk. Just for a little while. I’ll do anything—”

“Which do you want, Dave? Soda or beer?”

A slim, half-dressed blonde came up behind him. She looked distastefully at Hutch. “Where’s the food?”

A scooter came up the street and stopped in front of Starsky’s place. The rider climbed off and sorted through the bags in the basket on the scooter’s fender.

“It just arrived. Get the plates and drinks. I don’t care what. Surprise me.” The whole time, his eyes were locked on Hutch’s.

The rider came up behind Hutch with a grease-stained bag of Chinese food. “That’s eighteen dollars, mister.” Starsky handed him twenty-five and took the bag.

When he looked back at Hutch, Hutch’s eyes were dull and defeated.

“You all have a thing for blondes….” Hutch muttered, then… “I should have called. Sorry to bother you. It won’t happen again.” With that, Hutch turned his back on Starsky. “Enjoy your dinner.”

As Hutch walked away, a rumpled paper fluttered to the ground, landing at Starsky’s feet. He bent down to find the note he’d left for Hutch at the bus depot. “Hutch, wait!”

“C’mon, Dave. Give the guy a buck for coffee and bring in the food. I’m hungry!” the blonde whined from the living room.

“Shut up, Cassie.” Suddenly, he hated her. He leaned inside and dropped the bag on the little table by the door. “Get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

But when Starsky turned his attention back to Hutch, he’d disappeared.

* * * * *

Two weeks later, there was still no sign of Hutch. He no longer queued up for day jobs. He wasn’t seen at the bus depot or diner. And he had quit his shabby room at the Jessop Hotel. If he was still in town, he was on the streets, invisible amoung the homeless.

And Starsky remembered the defeated look in Hutch’s eyes and was terrified.

 

Chapter 9 – Lover Alone Without Love

“Hey Blondie. My boss is looking for company tonight. It’ll get you a couple of bucks and a shower.” The driver of the shiny black town car eyed him disdainfully. “You look like you could use one. Interested?”

Hutch was huddled against a derelict warehouse, under a buzzing street light, ignored by a group warming themselves around a barrel of burning trash.

The driver didn’t like him either, but deferred to an unseen someone in the back seat. “Well?”

“Does a sandwich come with the shower?” Hutch knew exactly what kind of ‘company’ he was expected to provide and he didn’t care. He was subsisting on scraps and he was filthy.

“It can. If you’re interested, get in. Front seat only until you’re clean.” The driver rolled his window up and waited in the idling car.

Hutch climbed to his feet, brushed himself off and walked around to the passenger door. The lock clicked to allow him to slide in and the car drove away.

* * * * *

They dropped the car’s unseen occupant at the front of the swankiest hotel in town and drove around to the attached parking structure. He wasn’t surprised to be hustled to an out-of-the-way freight elevator in the basement, but when the door opened, he was surprised to be in the rear vestibule of the penthouse suite. As soon as he walked through the door, the burly driver pushed him into the closest guest bathroom.

“Strip. Put the rags you’re wearing into this bag and shower. Scrub everything. And when you’re finished, do it again.” While he talked, he pulled a trash bag and two bath sheets from the cupboard, as though he had done this countless times before. “Use one of these to dry off thoroughly. Wrap yourself in the other when you’re done. Put the used one in the bag. We’ll burn it with the rags. It won’t be worth washing, once it’s touched your sorry ass.” He headed for the door. “When you’re finished, stay here. I’ll be back for you. Oh! And brush your teeth. Supplies are in the top drawer of the vanity.”

Left alone, Hutch did as he was ordered and got clean. When finished, he waited nude, holding the dry towel, and when the door opened, he wrapped it around himself and followed the driver down the hall to an intimate sitting room lit by soft light.

He was stopped in the doorway.

In the room, a tanned, well-groomed redhead in a plush, white robe lounged insolently on a crushed velvet loveseat. It was obvious he was naked under his robe and he eyed Hutch with interest. “Lose the towel.”

Hutch opened the towel and handed it to the driver.

“Now turn. Slowly.”

He did as he was told.

“Nice. Very nice. See, Donny? I told you he’d clean up pretty. And look at that shiny, blonde hair.” The man opened his robe and fondled his half-hard cock. “I hear you’re hungry, pretty boy. Show me. Crawl over here and taste my meat.”

Hutch felt a rough hand on his shoulder as Donny pushed him to his knees. “Mr. Tony doesn’t like people standing over him. Go on, pretty boy. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Hutch crawled across the small room as his host spread his legs. When he got close, the man sat up and slid a hand into Hutch’s damp hair. “So soft! So sexy! Open your mouth!”

He did and the man slid his cock into it. Hutch sucked him.

“Oh my god! He’s the best one ever, Donny!” He moaned as Hutch worked his cock, licking and sucking it while the man played with his hair. Suddenly, he grabbed a fist full and yanked to force his cock deep, in and out of Hutch’s throat. “You’ve got talent, pretty boy. Since you’re hungry, start with this!” and Hutch’s mouth filled with cum. The man sighed in pleasure, then watched avidly. “Swallow it! That’s right! Swallow all of it!” He pulled out and tipped Hutch’s head back to watch Hutch swallow the bitter liquid down. “Good boy! Now lick me clean.” He let go of Hutch and leaned back while Hutch cleaned him. “Whoever trained you knew what they were doing…. Do you take it up the ass, too?”

Hutch sat back on his heels saying nothing. It didn’t matter.

“Sure you do. And I’ll bet you’re even better at that than sucking.” He sat up and touched Hutch’s mouth. “Such a sweet mouth! I’ll be using that again.” He stood and closed his robe. “Get him that sandwich, Donny. When he’s done eating, bring him to the playroom.”

“Yes, sir.” Donny waited for his boss to leave the room before yanking Hutch to his feet. “Looks like you passed the first audition. Lucky you.” He handed the towel back to Hutch. “Wrap yourself in this for now. It’s all you’ll get while he’s checking you out.”

“And when he’s done with me?” Hutch shook the towel out and wrapped himself in it.

“Clothing is the least of your concerns.” Donny muttered cryptically. “If you want that sandwich, follow me.”

A few minutes later, he was eating a simple ham and cheese sandwich thrown together for him in the fancy chef’s kitchen, while Donny fussed with a glass of wine.

“Here. Drink this.” He set the glass next to the sandwich plate.

Hutch shook his head.

“Drink it. You’ll need it. Mr. Tony has your evening planned and his playroom can be brutal.”

Hutch finished the sandwich and picked up the glass. He took a careful sip and could taste the drug mixed with the wine. He picked up the empty plate and took it and the glass to the sink and rinsed them both. “Thanks. I don’t want it.”

Donny shrugged. “Suit yourself. This way.”

* * * * *

Donny was right. The playroom was a brutal place and Hutch was hoarse from screaming in the soundproofed room. Mr. Tony had rape fantasies he’d spent hours acting out, beating and choking and cutting Hutch, each time bending his tied body over a fancy, antique table and fucking him savagely.

Unable to move, Hutch lay face down in his own blood, with semen running down his thighs. He whimpered softly as Mr. Tony maliciously shoved a finger into him and pulled it free, admiring its wetness.

“You are delicious, pretty boy. So responsive. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” When Hutch didn’t reply, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Hutch’s head up, demanding, “Haven’t you!”

“Yes,” Hutch whispered.

“And you enjoyed it, too.”

“Yeah.” The whisper was fainter. Hutch closed his eyes in pain. He hadn’t come. Had no desire to, but the craving he had carried for so long was sated.

His abuser let go and Hutch’s head dropped down on the table. A finger swirled circles in the blood beside him, then wiped itself clean against his lips. “I had fun tonight, but I’m tired now. Next time we get together, I want to use this again. Such a pretty mouth….”

He pressed a button and the door to the playroom slid aside. “Sir?”

“Get this mess cleaned up, Donny. Make sure he showers. When he’s done, you know what to do.” Mr. Tony headed for the door. “I need to be up by noon. I’m expecting a call. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.” Donny waited until his boss left before approaching Hutch. “Bet you wish you’d drunk that wine. From the look of things, Mr. Tony really did some damage.” He cut Hutch loose and helped him stand.

Hutch pulled away and stood unsteadily. “Don’t touch me.”

Donny frowned, but left him alone. “See the bed there in the corner?” He pointed to what looked like an oversized dog bed next to a chain bolted low to the wall. “That’ll be yours.”

“I only agreed to one night. I’m done.”

“You’re done when Mr. Tony says you’re done. And he’s taken a liking to you. You won’t be leaving anytime soon. Let’s get you cleaned up, then you can sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

* * * * *

Thirty-five minutes later, he was chained to the wall, curled up naked on the dog bed in the playroom. After a few minutes, the door slid aside again and Donny leaned in and tossed a blanket his way. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” The light went out and the door slid shut. The sound of its lock clicking was overloud in the quiet room.

Hutch gratefully reached for the blanket and pulled it around him. He drowsed as he got warm and the knots in his stomach eased, but he knew his body and what it could handle. The pain was intense and would be for days. He’d only agreed to a single evening as ‘company’, but wouldn’t be allowed to leave before this ‘Mr. Tony’ was done with him. He had no choice, but if Mr. Tony stuck to his mouth for a day or two, he could manage.

It was what he was trained for, what he deserved. Aw Starsk, I’m sorry about this, but we were never gonna last once you found out my secret. You tried, but once you discovered a taste for inflicting the pain I needed, you dumped me so fast. I got away as quick as I could, so I wouldn’t embarrass you or ruin your career. It was hard, but it’s done. We’ve both moved on.

I wish we hadn’t.

He locked the memories away in a box labeled “Starsky” and fell asleep on the verge of tears.

* * * * *

Two days later, he staggered into the bathroom to shower more blood away. Donny waited and handed him a towel when he was finished. He moved carefully to dry himself off.

“What’s your name? Mr. Tony won’t use it, but I can’t keep calling you ‘pretty boy’.”

He looked at Donny indifferently. It was easier to think of himself as a play thing. A name gave him substance he didn’t want. But Donny persisted. “I don’t ask all of Mr. Tony’s pickups. Only a very few make the playroom. Eddie was one. But I’m more curious about you.”

“Don’t be.” Hutch said nothing more, but rebuffing Donny gave him the energy to go back to the playroom and be shackled to the wall. Donny took the blanket with him when he left the room.

* * * * *

A session three weeks later nearly killed him. He came to, suspended from the ceiling, covered in bruises and burns and abandoned in the playroom. When Donny came in and cut him down, he dropped heavily to the floor onto the tarp Donny had spread and moaned faintly. Donny jumped. “Oh my god, you’re still alive!”

He knelt down beside Hutch and cut away his bonds. “He thought he’d killed you and sent me to dispose of the body.”

“You’ve done it before,” Hutch whispered knowingly, his throat raw from screaming.

There was silence for a moment, then Donny admitted, “Yeah. When Eddie died. He lasted a week.” Donny gently brushed hair out of Hutch’s eyes. “Mr. Tony’s family has mob connections. One of them has access to a crematorium. They use it to quietly dispose of victims.”

“Is that what you’re going to do now? Drop me off to be disposed of?” Hutch was almost relieved at the prospect. He lay still on the tarp. “Go ahead. Wrap me up. I won’t move or make a sound. And don’t worry. I won’t be missed.”

Donny didn’t move. “What’s your name?”

Hutch took a shallow breath. “Kenny”

“Kenny What?”

“Just Kenny. And most days, not even that.”

“Why did you let him do this to you? I don’t understand.”

“Nobody does. Why do you serve him?”

“I’ve been wondering that for a while now. Maybe it’s time I stopped.” Donny sighed. “Listen, Kenny. You’re hurt bad. Maybe Mr. Tony was tired of you. I’ve never seen him go this far. But I do know, as much as he enjoyed doing this, he won’t wait for you to heal. If I tell him you’re still alive, he’ll order me to dispose of you anyway.” Donny started to wrap Hutch in the tarp. “I’m gonna take a chance and get you outta here, drop you somewhere you can get help. But you gotta disappear. If he finds out you’re alive, he’ll kill us both.”

Hutch nodded imperceptibly.

“Sorry, but this is gonna hurt.” Donny wrapped the tarp tight around him.

“Do what you need to do. I’ll manage.”

Donny finished with the tarp, picked him up and tossed him over a shoulder. Hutch did his best not to make a sound.

They went down the same freight elevator he’d arrived in and crossed concrete in the hotel garage. Finally, Donny stopped and unlocked a car trunk. When he opened it, he placed Hutch inside, then carefully uncovered Hutch’s face. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to be here in case he checks the surveillance. This may be a hotel, but he owns the top floor and they do what he tells them to do.” He didn’t wait for a response. He closed the trunk. Hutch heard the driver’s door open before he passed out.

* * * * *

“Kenny? Kenny, do you hear me?”

He heard the beeping of machines in the background. The air was heavy with the pungent smell of antiseptics. Memory told him he should be in agony, but he couldn’t feel a thing.

“Kenny?”

He opened his eyes to find he was in an examination room, hooked to machines, tubes running into both arms.

“Doctor? He’s awake.”

A masked man in scrubs and latex gloves turned to him. “Kenny? Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.” His throat was raw and dry.

“Do you know which one?”

“No”

“Do you know how you got here?”

“He said he’d get me help. He put me in a car trunk, then I passed out.”

“Who said? We found you dumped in the driveway of the ER with your name on a paper tucked in the tarp you were wrapped in. What happened to you? What’s your full name?”

“Just Kenny. And I have no medical, no money, no home address. I live on the streets. If that means you won’t treat me, disconnect everything and let me go now.” He tried to move, but the doctor gripped his arm.

“Hold still, Just Kenny. You’re covered in bruises and serious burns. What caused them?”

“Blowtorch.” He stopped when he heard an attending nurse gasp.

“Any drug allergies?”

“No.”

“Anyone we can call?”

“No.” He’d had his fill of questions. “Don’t advertise me, Doc. You’ll get him killed.”

“Who?”

“The guy who dropped me off. I’m supposed to be dead.” Hutch sighed deeply, closed his eyes and passed out.

* * * * *

“Someone called about you today. Said he wanted to know if Kenny was okay.” The nurse was trying to make her news sound casual as she fussed with the machines. “Any idea who that was?”

Had to be Donny. No one else knows I’m here. Hutch said nothing but it told him Donny was still alive.

The nurse gave up and left the room.

He’d been almost a week in the hospital where Donny had dropped him, across town from the hotel penthouse where Mr. Tony lived and played and the streets where they’d picked him up. The doctors weren’t happy, clucking over the damage. They’d kept him sedated at first, while they catalogued the injuries—burns, bruises, cracked ribs, tears—his body sustained from the torture and rapes he had endured. He gave vague answers about the abuse, but he refused to discuss why at all.

When they persisted, he stopped speaking entirely.

Recovery was slow and painful. He was malnourished and underweight. Not unaware, but indifferent to everything around him—until they laid hands on him. Then he fought them or he slept, despite efforts to keep him awake. Because of the damage, they were reluctant to restrain him and quickly learned if they wanted his cooperation, to limit all touch to bare minimum.

* * * * *

He shifted in bed and moaned in pain, disappointed again to be awake and alive. He sensed someone watching him, but didn’t care. Didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“It’s times like this you always want a shower. You have a serious need to be clean when you hurt.”

The words were true, but the voice that spoke them horrified him. Hutch opened his eyes to find Starsky sitting next to the bed, empty gelatin cups on the bedside table. He’d been watching for a while.

Hutch looked away.

“Listen up, Hutch. I’m here on official business and I have questions. I’ll make it quick, then you can go back to being Just Kenny.”

The voice was no-nonsense, all business, but the words were meant to hurt. Hutch did his best not to be. “Ask your questions.”

“What can you tell me about a Donny Arlo and an Eddie Sang?”

Donny? He had to be the reason Starsky found him, but how? Hutch was suddenly apprehensive. “I don’t know an Eddie Sang. I knew a Donny, no last name. But barely and only for a couple of weeks.”

“Hmm….” Starsky scribbled in a small, spiral notebook. “How did you meet?”

Hutch knew this tone. Starsky had his answers. He wanted to compare whatever Hutch said to what he already knew and what he already knew, he didn’t like.

Starsky asked again impatiently. “How did you meet?”

“He picked me up on the streets.”

“What for?”

“You already know what for. Company for his boss.” It was a new game they were playing and Hutch was fishing for the rules. “Do you need me to lay it out for you?”

They both stopped talking when a nurse came in to check on Hutch and read the machines. “You okay, Kenny? Blood pressure’s a little high.” She wasn’t surprised at his silence. She turned to Starsky half in jest and said, “Kenny doesn’t say much, Mr.—”

“Dave.”

“Another funny man.” She huffed in annoyance and left the room.

It was quiet for a few minutes, then—

“Yeah. Lay it out for me, Hutch.”

He took a careful breath. “It was supposed to be one night, not this.” He indicated his body with a slight wave of his hand. “For a shower, a sandwich and a couple of bucks. I never got the money.”

“When did you start selling yourself?” The condescending attitude was back.

“I wasn’t trying to. He stopped and asked if I was interested in a night with his boss. I started to refuse, but I…” Hutch focused on the ceiling. “…I hadn’t eaten in days,” he whispered in shame. “I was stupid enough to think it would be quick. I’d suck the guy off, get paid and be back on the streets that same night.”

“What happened?”

“I cleaned up pretty and he kept me.” Hutch replied matter-of-factly. “Turned out he had a thing for blondes sucking him off.” They always have a thing for blondes. Hutch thought to himself. I need to start shaving my head. “Then he locked us in his playroom and played with me.”

“Who is this guy? Did you get a name?”

“Donny called him Mr. Tony. That’s all he said. Except….”

“Except?”

“Mr. Tony thought he’d killed me and sent Donny to dispose of the body. Donny found me still alive and dumped me here instead of where he disposed of an Eddie. Said Eddie lasted a week in the playroom.”

“How long were you there?”

“Three.”

“Oh god….”

Hutch was on the verge of shutdown. “No more questions, Starsky. I’ve told you all I know. If you need more answers, talk to Donny.”

“Donny’s gone. So’s his boss, a Tony Barelli. We got a call there’d been a burglary in the penthouse he owned. The place was a shambles, but there was no blood. He hasn’t been seen.” Starsky waited, but Hutch said nothing. “The caller also said there was a guy named Kenny at this hospital who was a victim of Barelli’s and needed help.”

“That’s how you found me.”

“I wasn’t expecting you in particular. I was looking for a Kenny to see what he knew.”

The door opened. An orderly came in with a package marked ‘KENNY / ICU,’ no return address. “This came for you, sir.” He didn’t expect a reply. None of the staff did. He set the package on the bed table and left.

Hutch didn’t move.

“Are you going to open it?” Starsky asked.

“No. You want to, help yourself.”

Hutch paid no attention as Starsky pulled out a pocket knife and slit the tape sealing the box. Inside was a smaller box marked “PLAYROOM.” He opened that one, too. “What the hell is this?”

Inside the smaller box were a dozen video tapes, numbered and dated.

Hutch looked and paled. “Oh god…he taped the sessions.” He pulled the blanket across his mouth, vomited into it and fainted.

* * * * *

A warm hand gently stroked his forehead. “It’s okay. I’m here, babe, I’m here.”

He said nothing, afraid to even open his eyes. He just lay quietly, accepting the touch.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch him! It sets him off and we need him quiet.” A nurse came into the room to find Starsky hovering over her patient.

“He is quiet. Just do what you need to do, then leave.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Detective David Starsky and this man is in protective custody.” The hand left his forehead and dug Starsky’s ID out of a pocket. “Now do what you need to do, then get out of here.”

Hutch opened his eyes and lay quietly, accepting Starsky’s hand as it returned to his forehead. The nurse watched for a moment, then left the room.

“Protective custody?”

“It’ll let me stay close without a lot of questions. And I intend to stay close.”

“Where are the tapes?” A sour taste filled his mouth again.

“In the trunk of my car. What’s on them?”

“They’re like the videos the monster made, but Barelli didn’t direct the action, he did it himself. Whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted and he didn’t hold back. He’s a sadist with no constraints. It’s all about pleasure. His pleasure.” Hutch’s voice dropped. “My pleasure, too, I guess. He liked inflicting pain. I liked receiving it. That hasn’t changed. I just….” He stopped, then whispered to himself, “…I didn’t expect you to learn how far I was willing to let him go. I wish he’d gotten away with killing me.” He brushed Starsky’s hand aside and spoke so Starsky could hear him. “You asked what’s on the tapes? Home movies. You’ll enjoy them. Make popcorn.”

With that, Hutch shut down completely.

* * * * *

He was indigent, so as soon as his treatment allowed, he was moved to a ward with others like him. Starsky came frequently, but Hutch ignored him now. He cooperated with the hospital staff – barely – but didn’t say a word to anyone.

Donny and his boss were still missing.

It was late. Shift change was over and things had settled down. Patients were sleeping, the cleaning staff had come and gone and the nursing station was empty. Hutch sat up. It was now or never. He disconnected the IV, slipped out of bed and into the hall. There was a supply room across from the restrooms by the stairs. An orderly came out of it as Hutch walked toward the men’s room and he caught the door before it could lock shut. He found scrubs and slipper socks and quickly changed, then slipped out and heard the door lock behind him as he headed down the stairs.

He met Starsky coming in as he exited to the parking garage.

Starsky didn’t give him a chance to run. He grabbed Hutch’s arm and shook his head. “Not this time, Hutch. What’s it gonna be? My place or a jail cell? Make it quick. I’m tired.”

“Your place.” He figured he could get away when Starsky left for work.

* * * * *

He woke alone in Starsky’s bed with a note on the pillow.

I wanted to talk. I was going to cuff you to the bed so you’d be here when I returned, but why bother? You’ve made it clear I’ve betrayed you and you want nothing to do with me, so go.

Help yourself to whatever you want in the dresser or closet. Best not to hit the streets in scrubs and slipper socks.

And you repaid $60 more than you owed me. There’s cash on the mantel. Take it. It’s yours. If you’re careful, you won’t have to sell yourself for a meal for a couple of days.

I’m sorry I let you down. Enjoy your life.

S

He set the note aside and went to the bathroom to shower and redress the worst of the burns. When he was done, he felt better and wandered back to the bedroom to find something to wear. Starsky’s heaviest sweats were clean. Hutch put them on and crawled back into bed.

He was in the kitchen breaking eggs into a bowl when Starsky got home.

“What are you doing?”

“Figured you’d be hungry. I am.” Hutch picked up a fork and started beating the eggs. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, but there’s enough to make an omelet. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Add extra cheese. There’s more in the crisper. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” Starsky left the kitchen. A moment later, Hutch heard the shower turn on.

He was dishing it up when Starsky returned. “There’s no toast. The bread you had was moldy.”

“I haven’t shopped in a while.” Starsky sat down in front of a plate and picked up a fork.

They ate in an apprehensive silence. When they were finished, Hutch reached for Starsky’s dirty plate, but Starsky grabbed his wrist to stop him and then let go.

“Sit, Hutch. The dishes can wait.”

Hutch dropped back onto the barstool before Starsky asked him, “I expected you to take off. Why did you stay?”

Hutch brushed an errant crumb off the counter. “I-I don’t know, Starsk. I’d intended to. But I read your note and….” He trailed off for a moment. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“Okay. What happened to you? You were working, you had a place to live, you were even helping kids now and then outside the bus depot. Then you disappeared.”

Hutch looked at him questioningly. “How did you—oh. Jerry.”

“Jerry?”

“The clerk at the counter of the bus depot. He’s like the lunch room monitor at school. Keeps track of what’s going on in the neighborhood. But how did you know about the place I had? He didn’t know about it and I wasn’t there long.”

He was surprised Starsky was honest with him. “I paid the day-labor guy fifty bucks for the address you gave him. Why did you give up?”

Hutch shrugged. “It was a lot of effort for nothing and no reason to do it. Why did you keep looking?”

“Because I drove you away.” Starsky got up and fussed with the dirty dishes on the table. “The sessions we shared…. I learned to love them as much as you did. Maybe even more. As we got more inventive, it got more exciting. I came close to killing you more than once, and I was terrified I would.”

“And you didn’t want to risk it and you didn’t want me turning to anyone else. Yeah. We’ve had this conversation already. No point in having it again.” He stood. “Anything else before I go?”

“Yeah, I have something to show you.” Starsky went into the living room and pulled the box marked KENNY from under the coffee table.

Hutch turned away. “Not interested.”

“There were more than tapes in the box.” Starsky opened it and pulled the box marked PLAYROOM out. Under it was an envelope taped to a plastic bag. “They’re addressed to you.” He handed both to Hutch.

The envelope held a note from Donny.

Kenny,

he found out. i don’t know how. we fought. he died. i disposed of him the way eddie was. the way you were supposed to be. it was all anonymous, so there’ll be no retribution. you’ll be safe. and with me, the car and him gone, they’ll think he’s taken off again, leaving another mess behind. He’s done it before. he won’t be missed anytime soon.

i found the tapes next to the vcr in his bedroom. I didn’t know he made them. from the dates, they must be you and eddie. since eddie’s dead, i’m giving his to you. i looked, but didn’t find any others.

he kept a lot of cash in the penthouse. i figure you deserve some of it for what he did to you. i’m keeping the rest. i’ll need it to start over after i ditch the car.

i hope you make it.

donny

The plastic bag held banded hundred-dollar bills. “What the–! There must be a hundred thousand dollars here! I can’t keep this!”

“You said you never got the money he promised. Now you have. Use it like Donny is—a fresh start. But what did he mean, Hutch?”

He wondered how much to say. “Donny said Barelli’s family had mob connections with access to a crematorium. He said Barelli had used it for cleanup before, no questions asked. When Eddie died, he wrapped the body in a tarp and delivered it there for disposal. Donny was supposed to drop me off there, too. He made a different call.” Hutch stopped and remembered how close he’d come and what Donny had risked to help him. “It sounds like Barelli is dead and Donny wrapped the body in a tarp and dropped it off. They don’t check the body. They just dispose of it. And with Barelli and the tapes gone, no one knows about me but Donny. He said I should be safe.”

“So you’re just going to leave?”

“There’s no point in staying. You don’t need me hanging around here messing up your life.” Hutch set the note and the bag of cash on the box of tapes. “And I don’t need you wasting time trying to save mine. There’s nothing to save. All you have to do is watch those to see that.” He headed for the door. “Keep the money. Payback for the sweats.”

Starsky cut him off and grabbed hold. “What are you doing? You aren’t even wearing shoes!”

“I don’t have any. I’ll make do. Let me go, Starsk. Please just let me go.”

“I can’t.” Starsky gave him a searching look. “What are you doing to yourself, Hutch? You were a good cop. A good partner. You were strong and kind and generous and caring. Now you’ve convinced yourself you’re worthless. Well, you’re not. I care about what happens to you. That’s why I keep looking.”

He pulled away and reached out, but stopped before touching Starsky’s face. “You’re wasting a lot of effort for nothing.”

“No. I can’t lose you.”

Hutch looked hard at his ex-partner, then said sadly, “You already have. If I was all those things, why couldn’t you accept the rest of me, Starsk? Donny did and he didn’t even know me. Okay, I was abused. I was conditioned to want it. But here’s a tidbit for you. I was dumped at sixteen for being “too old and useless”. All I knew was pain and sex, so I taught myself to compartmentalize in order to function. I worked hard to create a life for myself. I got an education. Jobs. I learned to quietly deal with it when I craved pain. Then I met you. I learned that concepts like trust might someday apply to me if I worked hard enough. But that all changed when you found yourself addicted and I was willing and able to feed it. When it went too far, you dumped me fast and I was useless again.”

“No! I wanted to understand…”

“Understand what? Why you got off on hurting me? Blame it on me. I wanted it. I wanted it bad enough to beg you to do it, so you did and we enjoyed it. Let me go, because given the chance, I’ll do it again. And you will and it’ll ruin you. And I’ll deserve everything you do to me in retaliation….”

“Stop saying that! No one deserves what you’ve been through.”

Hutch stopped talking. There was no way to make Starsky understand something he couldn’t begin to explain.

They stared at each other for a long time, unable to communicate the way they used to. Finally, Hutch sighed and opened the door. “Goodbye, Starsk.”

“NO!” Starsky slammed it shut and pushed him against it. “You’re staying here with me!” he said fiercely.

Hutch hissed as pain from the burns flared from the sudden pressure.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Like I have the right. Like I own you.”

“Don’t you?” Hutch looked into Starsky’s eyes and saw a hunger that fed the one he carried.

Starsky asked gravely, “Do I?”

“I thought….” Hutch paused, then relented. “Yeah, you do.” He hesitated before asking carefully, “You don’t have to wait until the burns are healed to hurt me. But could you avoid the worst of them when you do?”

“Aw, Hutch.” Starsky cautiously patted his arm. “You’ve been through so much. There’s no need in your eyes. We’ll deal with that if we have to. You used to let me take care of your wounds. Trust me to do it now.”

He shrugged and followed Starsky into the bedroom.

“Let me take a look. I can change the dressings on the ones that need it.”

Hutch carefully took off the sweatshirt he wore.

Starsky gasped. “Oh my god. How could someone deliberately do this kind of damage?” There were bruises and burns on Hutch’s torso; two on his chest were especially serious. “Maybe we should take you back to the hospital. We can’t risk these getting infected.”

“No.” Hutch was emphatic about that. “I’ll agree to you changing the dressings, but I won’t go back there, Starsk.”

Starsky sighed worriedly. “How bad are the rest of them?”

Hutch removed the sweat pants. “I admit they hurt like hell, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh babe….” Starsky whispered. More bruises and burns marked Hutch’s legs. A burn near the top of his left thigh was especially nasty and the dressing needed changing again. “What was he using?”

“Blowtorch. Barelli wanted me to watch him use it. My screaming turned him on. That’s why the ones in front are worse.”

“How can you be so matter-of-fact about this?” Starsky pulled back, afraid to touch.

“I can’t be anything else. So he hurt me. He wasn’t the first. He won’t be the last.” Hutch shrugged. “No use whining about it.”

There was shock on Starsky’s face as he finally glimpsed the depth of pain in Hutch’s life. “I-I can’t….”

“Yes, you can. Listen to me! You’ve hurt me, Starsk. And if I stay, you’ll hurt me again. But not like this. You do know when to stop. You’ve never inflicted this kind of damage in our sessions.” Hutch sat down carefully on the bed, wincing in pain.

“Hutch?”

“I’m okay.” Hutch said slowly. “If you want me to stay, I’ll have to trust you. Given our history, that’s asking a lot. Either we try again or you let me go for good right now. What’s it gonna be?”

Starsky looked at him a long time, then nodded. “Let me get the box of supplies. I’ll be right back.”

* * * * *

He was exhausted. From the pain. From the ordeal of changing the dressings on his burns. From dealing with Starsky’s sudden reluctance to hurt him at all. In desperation, he shut down and let things happen without response. When Starsky was finished, Hutch rolled to his side. Starsky covered him and left the room.

* * * * *

He woke in darkness, disoriented and in pain, but not alone. Starsky lay next to him, sharing warmth under the blankets, but not touching. Hutch moaned as he sat up slowly.

“Hutch?”

“I’m okay. I need to use the bathroom and get something to drink.”

“There’s juice in the fridge. I can get you a glass. Or would you prefer water?” Starsky sounded anxious to help.

Hutch let him. “Juice would be great. Maybe some aspirin? Thanks.” He stood carefully and headed for the bath.

Half an hour later, they were back in bed.

“Hutch, can I touch you? Nothing intimate. I just wanted—”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Uh…sure…okay….”

“No, it’s just I have some control over the pain now and I don’t want to upset the balance.” Hutch took a deep, careful breath. “It’s hard to explain, but I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay.”

They lay quietly together.

“Can I ask you something, Hutch?”

“I guess.”

“When was the last time you kissed someone?”

Hutch hesitated. “Other than you? I haven’t.”

“When was the last time you made love?”

This time, he was a long time answering. “You, I guess. I’ve only ever made love with you and the monster.”

“The monster?!”

He realized he’d angered Starsky, but he didn’t understand how. He’d been trying to answer truthfully. “I…isn’t making love coming when you’re being fucked? You both ordered me to. And you got so angry when I came for the monster, because I wasn’t supposed to love him like that. I tried not to, but he knew where to touch….”

He stopped talking. Starsky wasn’t one for excuses. He’d already taken responsibility and been punished for submitting to the monster like he had.

“How—how many others have you fucked?”

The question confused him. Why would Starsky ask such a thing? “I never have. It wasn’t allowed.”

“What? No! We—”

“We what, Starsk? When we had sex, I did what I was told. I sucked you, you fucked me and I came for you when you said to. We never reciprocated. Then you found out my secret and we did that instead. The pain got intense. But I came for you whenever you mounted me, because I was expected to. I thought that was making love.” He stopped. He was making excuses for his ignorance and Starsky was already angry. “I haven’t loved anyone since.” He thought he’d better clarify his latest indiscretion. “I didn’t come for Barelli.”

Starsky didn’t respond.

He gave up. “Get some sleep. I didn’t mean to upset you. I knew we didn’t have much of a chance, but thanks for trying. I’ll be out of here in the morning.” He rolled carefully to his side and away from Starsky.

But it was a long time before Hutch closed his eyes.

 

Chapter 10 – Darker

Hutch was gone when he woke, but he could hear the shower running and what sounded like a child crying. He got up to find the bathroom in near darkness, lit only by the nightlight next to the sink.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” He stormed into the room to find Hutch huddled on the floor in a corner of the shower. He flipped on the overhead and Hutch looked up with childlike eyes wet with tears.

He was shocked at the absolute terror in them.

Starsky crouched down and gentled his voice, but didn’t try to touch. “Hutch? Babe, are you okay?” He watched as Hutch blinked in confusion, closed his eyes and turned his face up to the spray for long minutes. When he opened his eyes again, Hutch was in complete control.

“Starsk? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He got to his feet without explanation. “Give me a minute and I’ll get out of your way.” He shut off the water and reached for a towel.

Starsky stood and opened the linen cupboard that held his box of medical supplies. “No rush. I’ll wait in the bedroom and we’ll change those dressings when you’re ready.” He kept it matter-of-fact, as though that had been the plan all along. He took the box and went back to the bedroom. As he waited, he realized the sweats Hutch had taken off to show him the burns were gone.

Before he could react, he heard the front door quietly open and close.

“Hutch? Hutch! NO!!” He dropped the box on the bed and ran for the bath. It was empty, the towel Hutch used abandoned on the floor. Starsky hurried back to the bedroom to throw something on and go after him. “Dammit Hutch!” He pulled on jeans, grabbed his keys off the dresser and headed barefoot for the door.

He never made it to the car.

Hutch was unconscious in the shrubs at the end of the driveway.

* * * * *

“I wanted to call an ambulance and get him back to the hospital, Cap, but he came to and refused to go. There are no new injuries. He seems to have just…collapsed…. I don’t know. I can’t force him to go, but I can’t leave him alone. I-I need time.”

“I’ve already given you more time than I should. You’ve used all your vacation and sick time….”

“Then I’ll take it unpaid. Or suspend me. I don’t care. Please, Cap. He needs to decide what he’s going to do and I need to be here to help him.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Dobey’s question terrified him. “He will, sir.”

“Starsky, maybe it’s time to let go. It was his decision to quit the force, to walk out on his friends, to live on the streets. You can’t fix what he doesn’t want fixed. It’s not up to you.”

“Cap, I—” He stopped, unable to confess his part in the mess Hutch’s life had become since the abuse had come to light. “I can’t let go. Not yet. He’s here now. We just need a little more time to work through this. Please.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone. Finally, Dobey said, “One week. That’s it. Don’t ask for more or you’ll be joining your ex-partner out on the streets.”

A week. It would have to do. “Thanks, sir. I’ll check in as soon as we—”

The click at the other end was loud in his ear. Starsky sighed and hung up.

* * * * *

Starsky watched over Hutch as he slept again, wincing each time Hutch moaned softly in pain. He was in deep shock remembering the terror in Hutch’s eyes and his answers to questions Starsky’d never thought to ask. He’d just assumed….

He’d assumed.

And that was a problem. Hutch had been different from others drifting in and out of his life. As time went by, they’d progressed from casual acquaintances to good friends to partners to lovers. When he found out about the abuse in Hutch’s past, he’d shrugged in supposed empathy, telling himself that Hutch had done a good job of getting past it and moving on. And if Hutch didn’t want to talk about it, that was his right, wasn’t it? He might have been curious, even pressed for details, but he didn’t really want to know.

Somehow, it never occurred to him that Hutch had endured this from childhood. That pain and later, sex, were all he knew, inflicted by abusers who had enjoyed doing it. He hadn’t given it a thought at all. He’d just assumed it had started suddenly and stopped completely, with everything all better, like a bad case of the flu….

It had angered him when he’d learned Hutch’s secret. That pain and Hutch’s craving for it were such an integral part of his life, it had driven Hutch to seek others to inflict it. He’d taken on that task himself and when he’d developed a taste for it, had told himself inflicting pain was justified because Hutch wanted it and their mutual enjoyment of it bound them together.

Like an abuser and victim….

For a time, the abuser had been him.

How did I miss this? How could I not know?

* * * * *

He was in the kitchen making coffee when the screaming started. Not the screams of deep pain he was used to hearing during the sessions with Hutch. These held the blind terror of a young Hutch. Starsky dropped the coffee pot he was filling and ran for the bedroom.

Hutch was thrashing on the bed, tangled in covers, the screams becoming frantic.

“I’m here, Hutch! I’m here. You’re safe, babe. Listen to me! You’re safe. Open your eyes and look at me.” Starsky sat on the bed and tried to gather Hutch in his arms.

The screaming got worse as Hutch tried to get free.

He let go, but stayed close, crooning softly, quietly, over and over, “You’re safe, Hutch. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”

Eventually, Hutch quieted. Starsky carefully reached for the blankets and untangled them, reassuring Hutch while he did it. “That’s it, babe. I’ve got you.”

Hutch opened his eyes. “Starsky?” he whispered. “What happened to the light?”

“It’s right here.” He reached for the lamp on the nightstand and soft light lit up the space around the bed. “Better?”

“Yeah” Hutch lay back against the pillows, absently rubbing his throat. “I-I dreamed I was screaming. I was, wasn’t I?”

Starsky nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He sighed. “I was making coffee. I could bring you a mug and a couple of aspirin.”

“No. I think I want to go back to sleep. Can you leave the light on?”

“Yeah. Let me put things away in the kitchen and I’ll be back.”

Hutch said nothing, but Starsky didn’t expect him to. He headed for the kitchen and cleaned up the coffee he spilled when Hutch started screaming. He took his time, wondering how to handle this new development, wishing there was someone to ask, to talk to.

He gave up and returned to Hutch.

 

Chapter 11 – Breakthrough

He thought he’d go back to sleep before Starsky returned, but he couldn’t. Truthfully, he wanted to talk, but didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know what to say.

Tonight had been difficult. His breakdown in the shower, his collapse in the driveway, screaming in his sleep—he’d never done any of that before. He’d taught himself to maintain control by internalizing and compartmentalizing things in his life. It had never been easy, but it allowed him to focus, to survive with some dignity.

Now his life was a mess because of Starsky. No—because of his feelings for Starsky, and that was a whole new concept for him. Everything he did involved Starsky somehow.

“We need to change your bandages again.” Starsky came back to the bedroom and pulled the box of medical supplies from under the bed where he’d stashed them when they came back inside.

“Okay,” he agreed. He’d been thinking about the questions Starsky had asked him. Maybe it was time to ask some of his own.

Changing the dressings hurt, but for the first time he felt the care and tenderness in Starsky’s fingers, not the pain they were inflicting and he wondered. “Starsky? What do you mean when you talk about making love?”

Starsky didn’t look at him and the protracted silence told him he was out of line. “I-I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.” He put the rest of his questions away and waited for Starsky to finish the dressings, focusing on the pain again. Pain was something familiar. Something deserved.

Starsky finished and put the supplies back under the bed. “Do you still want the light on?”

They were back to the usual scenario. He was naked in bed with a man he’d submitted to, one who’d hurt him and would again. All he needed to do was be ready. “No, I guess not.” Hutch carefully rolled to his side.

Starsky turned off the light. He took off his jeans and climbed into bed.

“Has anyone ever told you they love you, Hutch?”

It was his turn to be silent.

“Have you ever talked about what happened to you?”

The question depressed him. Another demand for details about his abuse. But before he could refuse, Starsky continued.

“I’m not talking about who did what to you or when. I’m talking about your feelings about what happened. You must have been confused, scared, angry. Did you ever tell anybody who didn’t…didn’t…. He stopped abruptly.

“Didn’t what?” But the question got him thinking about things he never had before.

“Didn’t hurt you.” Starsky’s voice was full of shame and self-loathing.

Starsky’s answer surprised him. “What’s wrong?”

“You had a series of abusers. I was one of them. I didn’t even ask. I just stepped in and took over, hurting you and enjoying it like the others did.”

“We both did.” He was beginning to shut down again as the conversation drifted into a familiar rut.

“But you haven’t answered my question. Did you ever talk to anyone?”

Hutch admitted, “No, I never did. I thought it was supposed to happen when it started. Then my so-called “therapist” reinforced that I deserved it for things I did or didn’t do, but it was never made clear to me what those were.” He shrugged in the darkness. “When I was…discarded…I didn’t know what to say. I felt like a failure. Too damaged to be of any real use and I couldn’t prevent growing older, so I hid what happened and made up something to match what passed for normal in the world I was in.” He scoffed, “Trust me. Nobody wants to hear ‘Hi! I was abused. Wanna hear about it?’ You sure didn’t and you were the closest thing to a friend I had.”

“I was your friend. I still am.”

“Yeah, okay.” He steeled himself for what came next. “Let me know when you’re ready. Maybe I can suck you off instead of doing the making love thing tonight. I need another day or two to handle that kind of pain.” He never would have admitted that to anyone else, but this was Starsky and Starsky was more tolerant than others who’d hurt him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Hutch. I won’t abuse you ever again.”

* * * * *

Starsky was true to his word. He didn’t hurt Hutch. Didn’t touch him except to change the bandages. They didn’t talk much, but as the week ended, Starsky was confident that things were better. That he could go back to work and Hutch would be there when he returned. That they were working things out.

Hutch knew they weren’t.

* * * * *

“How was your day, Hutch? Hutch? Why are you in here on the floor?”

He didn’t know Starsky was home. Didn’t hear him. But he wasn’t aware of much these days. He spent his time sorting through memories of the life he’d been living since he’d met Starsky. Discarding many. Locking a few away. Getting ready to re-invent himself because there was no future with Starsky.

Starsky told him that himself. No more pain sessions. He wasn’t allowed to submit to anyone else and cutting himself was forbidden since Starsky had found him on the shower floor with a knife in his hand, bleeding from gashes he’d made to his forearm.

“Get up, Hutch. What are you doing?”

“Thinking about what to do with my life.” He stood and waited while Starsky blatantly looked him over, making sure he’d done no damage to himself. He reminded himself that Starsky owned him and hunger flickered in his eyes. He wanted Starsky’s hands on him. Wanted it rough, but didn’t dare ask.

“Have you come to any decisions?”

“I guess.” Hutch was silent for a minute, then told Starsky what he wanted to hear. “School. Maybe figure out a way to help kids before the money runs out.”

“Good choice.” Starsky approved. “We can set up a place for you to study here—”

“No. I’m getting a place of my own. Someplace cheap, where I won’t bother anyone.”

“Hutch—”

“My life, Starsky. My choice.”

Starsky reluctantly agreed.

And with that, he was on his own again. He would be dealing with his craving alone going forward. He would never have to deal with the pain of making love again, never disappoint Starsky. He just had to make sure to never be found when he left here.

 

 

Chapter 12 – Perdition

The past year had been almost impossible for him, but he’d survived it the way he did so long ago—by severely compartmentalizing his life and re-inventing himself so he could live it.

Ken Hutchison was gone. He was Michael now, no last name. He didn’t need one. He lived on the streets, helping out at a shelter and the soup kitchen across from it. He wasn’t paid, had no cash and no need for it, bartering work for items he sought to buy. He kept to himself and rarely spoke; was known by the stocking cap he always wore and a hands-off attitude no one messed with. But he watched over kids who came his way, silently helping whenever he could.

“We need another pan of scrambled eggs on the serving line, Michael. Can you bring one out? Michael!”

He shook himself and nodded to acknowledge the request. Ever since the Torino cruised by last week, as though its driver knew he was there, he couldn’t focus. His craving for pain was almost as bad as his need for Starsky to inflict it and it was only growing worse. He’d have to use the knife again to deal with it tonight.

Hutch took the pan to the serving line, then slipped out into the alley behind the soup kitchen. He closed his eyes and slumped against an overfull dumpster.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around, as a fist punched him in the mouth, knocking him to the ground. A figure towered over him, daring him to stand.

It was Starsky.

“Get up, Hutch.” The no nonsense order expected to be obeyed.

He glared up, but didn’t move. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he growled in a rusty voice.

Starsky hunkered down, staring hard. “Not with those eyes. You’ve been carrying that craving for a long time. Worse than I’ve ever seen. You’re hurting bad.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he conceded in a faint voice.

Starsky grabbed his left hand and traced the reddened scars on its palm. “Let me guess. The stab yourself cure?” He let go of the hand in disgust. “How’s that working out for you?”

Hutch curled his hand against his chest, but didn’t say a word.

“Get up. The Torino’s at the end of the alley. Let’s go.”

“No. I’m not going to your place and I don’t wanna talk.”

Starsky yanked him to his feet. “Neither do I. You’re the one who ran off and I no longer care why. But let me remind you I own your ass. You do what I tell you to do. Now get in the damn Torino.”

He was owned and his owner was angry. The reminder caused the core lesson of his life to burst free from its hiding place deep within himself. Echoing over and over…. You deserve the punishment you’re going to get. You deserve it. You deserve….

He stumbled to the end of the alley in silence and got into Starsky’s car.

* * * * *

They didn’t go to Starsky’s place. Starsky pulled into the parking lot of the EZ Rest Motel and stopped before a familiar last room at the far end of the building. “Get out.”

The motel was even more decrepit than Hutch remembered and Starsky already had a key to the room. He followed the angry man inside and waited for instructions.

Starsky tossed the key on the dresser, next to the knife, rope and other items dumped there, then backhanded Hutch across the face. Hutch fell to the floor. “How many times have you hooked up since you walked out on me last year?” Starsky demanded.

Hutch shrugged. “I haven’t. You made it clear that wasn’t allowed.”

“Neither was leaving me. But you did it anyway.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me again. That you wouldn’t allow others to either. I spent weeks ignored by you, staring at walls, hurting, remembering and becoming totally useless.”

“You were recovering—”

“Like hell. I was falling apart and you couldn’t handle it. I did us both a favour by leaving. You got on with your life and I invented a new one. We’ve each done okay without the other.”

“Have we? Your eyes tell me you’re half-crazy with need and I—” Starsky stopped short and reached for his handcuffs.

“You what? Starsk? How did you find me, anyway?”

“One of the kids you helped.” Starsky didn’t say any more than that, giving orders instead. “Strip, then kneel before me. I want you naked. Move it!”

Hutch hesitated, but he craved pain, needed it desperately—wanted it from Starsky. He stripped and dropped to his knees.

“Lose the fucking cap!” Starsky snarled at the body kneeling before him.

Hutch had worn it for so long, it had become part of his head. He pulled it off and Starsky reached out, running his fingers through and smoothing the fine blonde hair. The touch felt so good.

“Better. Much better.” Starsky tossed his handcuffs on the floor. “Put these on.” He continued to stroke the dull strands while Hutch cuffed himself, then he grabbed a handful and pulled Hutch close, rubbing his crotch in Hutch’s face. “Gods…I’ve missed your mouth.” He let go and pulled his zipper down, pulled out his cock. “Suck me.”

Hutch opened his mouth and the cock slid down his throat. He sucked it eagerly.

“Easy. Easy! I’ve got other plans for my cum tonight.” He allowed Hutch to suck him a few minutes more, then—“Enough! Stand up and let me look at you.”

He stood quietly while Starsky examined him like a side of beef, running his hands over faded scars and protruding ribs on Hutch’s thin body.

“You have scars from the burns you allowed that son of a bitch to give you.” Starsky frowned and turned away. “Grab the bed frame and close your eyes.”

Hutch did as he was told. Behind him, he could hear Starsky strip and fumble with the items on the top of the dresser. Anticipation flooded him and his body throbbed with need.

“Look at you! Like a bitch in heat.” Starsky scolded, but his voice held a hint of approval and his hands delivered pain as the thin iron rod he picked up caught Hutch across his lower back.

Hutch gasped and collapsed against the bed frame.  A blow across his ass and two well-aimed strikes hit the backs of both thighs and he groaned, unable to stand.

Starsky grunted and dropped the iron bar. “This isn’t working for me. Lay down on the bed and you can watch me carve my name in your chest. I’ll cut so deep, they’ll know who to call when you’re found in a room like this some night.” His words were brutal, with no hint of forgiveness.

“Do it,” Hutch whispered. He didn’t care what Starsky did or why. He wanted to be punished by Starsky and didn’t want the pain to stop. But he didn’t move fast enough.

Starsky dragged him to the bed and pushed him flat on his back. Hutch reached out and cradled Starsky’s balls. “Let me suck you again. I can make you feel so damn good….”

“Get your fucking hands off me, bitch.” He left the bed and grabbed the rope and strung it through the handcuffs. By the time he was done, Hutch was bound tightly to the headboard. He grabbed the knife, cut the rope off and used the rest of it to tie Hutch’s legs to the foot of the bed. When he was finished, Starsky soothed the ache in his cock, then straddled Hutch’s crotch and waved the knife in Hutch’s face. “Ready, loverboy?” He studied the hunger in Hutch’s eyes. “Yeah, you can’t wait for me to start cutting.”

Hutch hissed as Starsky plunged the tip of the knife deep into his chest and carved an ‘S’ above his right nipple. Blood spurted, coating Starsky’s fingers, running down the side of Hutch’s chest into the sheet below. ‘T’ followed, deeper this time, Starsky watching intently as Hutch screamed blindly in pain as he cut. When he finished the ‘Y,’ Hutch was in agony, clearly aroused, and Starsky was close to coming. He clenched the blood-soaked knife in one hand and fondled his own weeping cock with the other.

Hutch grew even harder watching him and begged, “Fuck me, Starsk! Make it hurt. I want it. Need it.”

Starsky let go of his cock and underlined his name on Hutch’s chest with the knife.

Hutch shrieked.

“You belong to me, Hutch. Say it! You belong to me!”

“I belong to you.” He locked eyes with Starsky and panted in agony. “Fuck me, Starsk! Please! Make me yours again.”

“No.” Starsky’s face took on a passionate intensity. “I belong to you, too, Hutch. Time to make me yours.” He centered himself on Hutch’s cock and pushed down.

Hutch’s eyes widened in shock and he struggled against his bonds. “What are you…no…NO!” as Starsky came down on his cock and squeezed. Insanely aroused, Hutch moved in Starsky as Starsky rode him hard.

“How does it feel, babe? Making me yours? Forcing me to come for you? Forcing me to come….” Starsky gasped in sudden pleasure and spurted through his grasping fingers, mixing his cum with the blood on Hutch’s chest.

And Hutch screamed in exquisite pain, as he poured himself into Starsky’s body and collapsed under him.

They locked gazes with each other for a long time in the shabby room, their bodies marked with blood and semen. A rat boldly crawled out of a hole in the woodwork, attracted by the blood dripping to the floor. Softly, Hutch accused, “I thought for a time, this making love thing you spoke of was something special, but it isn’t, is it, Starsky? It’s just consensual rape. Meaningless. Cut me loose.”

Starsky didn’t move, studying him instead. “I’ve made it worse for you, haven’t I? The craving’s still there.”

He closed his eyes and tried not to think, struggling mightily to become Michael again. The Hutch persona fell away as Starsky got off of him and removed the ropes and handcuffs.

“Let me get you cleaned up and bandaged—”

He opened his eyes, in control again, and looked through Starsky, like he wasn’t there. He got off the bed, collected his clothes and went into the bathroom to clean up in private. He took a quick shower, scrubbing himself raw. When he was done, he patted himself dry and used a clean washcloth as a makeshift pad across his chest, then carefully dressed. The letters on his chest oozed through to his t-shirt, but his sweatshirt hid the blood and the stocking cap hid his hair. When he was ready to leave, Michael stared back at him in the mirror, but this time, his eyes were hard and any hint of Hutch was gone.

He left the bathroom and walked past Starsky. At the door of the room, he stopped. “You own Hutch, but Hutch is gone. You don’t own Michael. He worked hard to create a new life, but that’s gone, too, now. He’ll have to invent another somewhere else.” He touched his chest and looked at Starsky with dead blue eyes. “These’ll scar like you intended, so I’m sure someday, you’ll get a call from a room just like this one. Ignore it.”

It was Michael who left him.

 

Chapter 13 – Setback

He’d barely avoided suspension this time, but never again. He’d run out of chances. Dobey was adamant about that. He’d lectured Starsky long and loud about his deteriorating attitude, but knew his words were falling on deaf ears—until he asked about Hutch. The change was immediate The ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn’ insolence fell away and Starsky was suddenly quiet and vulnerable.

“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” Dobey quit pacing and sat on a corner of his desk. “What happened, Starsky?”

He closed his eyes, a penitent child getting a punishment he deserved, one that wouldn’t end anytime soon. He couldn’t explain it if he wanted to. There were no words. He was only beginning to glimpse the hell Hutch’s life had been and the sheer strength of the man to create a life for himself twice now and still remain sane.

“Starsky!”

He looked at Dobey with tears in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“What happened?”

“I was angry and I hurt him, Cap. I went too far and I hurt him bad.” He knew he wasn’t making sense, but Dobey didn’t push. Instead, he got up and went around to his chair, sat, and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a seldom-seen bottle and two glasses. He poured two fingers of whiskey in each glass and handed one to Starsky. “Drink it, son.”

Starsky drank half of it and coughed.

When he stopped, Dobey prompted, “Talk to me, Starsky.”

“I don’t think I—”

“Just tell me what you can.” Dobey sat back in his chair, took a sip from his own glass and waited.

Starsky finished his whiskey and stared into the glass. Haltingly, he explained what he knew about Hutch’s abuse and how Hutch handled it. How he’d wanted to help and got enmeshed in Hutch’s need for pain and his own desire to inflict it. Everything consensual, now out of control.

Dobey leaned forward with the bottle. Starsky set his glass on the table and Dobey poured him another whiskey.

“When it started, I didn’t take it seriously. It was a game to me, then it got real and I stopped playing. There were—consequences—I didn’t foresee and Hutch got hammered by them. That’s why he quit, Cap. That’s why he left.” He couldn’t bring himself to talk about their time with the monster and the terrible miscommunication afterward. Maybe never would.”

“That isn’t all of it, though, is it? You found him. Multiple times, as I recall.”

“Yeah.” He could feel Dobey’s eyes on him. Watching. Waiting. But he couldn’t say more. Finally, he picked up his glass and tossed back the whiskey in two quick gulps. It burned going down, doing nothing for his courage, but it loosened his tongue.

“This last time took almost a year of looking, but yeah, I found him.” He didn’t waste time on details, hurrying through what needed to be said while he still had the words. “He’d reinvented himself, created a life that worked for him, but didn’t include me. I had a real problem with that. I got pissed off and hurt him bad. I deliberately took it all away from him. He’s gone again and I don’t know where. I need to find him—”

“No. You don’t.”

“Cap—”

“You really are a son of a bitch, Detective. Do you hear yourself talk? All I hear is ‘I, I, I. Me, Me, Me.’ You’re still playing games. You find him, hurt him, then throw him away. How many times have you done that since you learned about the abuse?”

“I—” Starsky ran out of words and looked into his empty glass.

Dobey shook his head. “You don’t need anymore. But answer a question.” He gentled his voice and asked, “Are you in love with Hutch?”

Starsky hesitated, then admitted, “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Have you told him?”

Starsky looked up in surprise at the question. “He knows, Cap.”

“So you haven’t. How the hell is he supposed to know? He doesn’t have the least idea what love is. From what you’ve told me, all he knows is pain. You give it, then take it away.” Dobey relented and poured him another drink. Starsky downed it quickly and Dobey frowned. “You really are an idiot, Detective.”

He was reaching for his own glass when Starsky’s phone in the bullpen rang. Starsky stumbled out of his office to answer it. “Detective Starsky”

“Starsky? Chuck Morton. You’d better come. That friend of yours is here. I think this time, he’s dead.”

He recognized the voice and wanted to be sick. “Are you—? Never mind. Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.” He slammed the phone down and reached for his keys.

“No you don’t, Starsky. You’ve had a lot to drink. I’ll drive.” Dobey grabbed his keys and Starsky’s. “Let’s go. You can navigate.”

When they got there, the owner handed him a hammer. “You’ll need this to free the body.”

“Why?” This from Dobey, who frowned when Starsky took it and opened the door.

This time, he was sick, puking beside the doorway at the scene in the room. Hutch was naked, nailed to the wall with a target painted on his genitals. There were darts lodged in his body and the wall around it. The word STARSKY was blazoned across his chest, stitches still in most of the letters; they looked like Hutch had sewed them himself.

Dobey took the hammer and entered the room to examine the body. “Call an ambulance, Starsky! He’s still breathing!”

“Hutch? HUTCH!” Starsky wiped his mouth and joined Dobey.

“Dammit, Starsky! Call an ambulance, then come help me!” Dobey reached for the darts in Hutch’s body.

“I’ll call.” The manager reached for the phone.

“Who did this? Why didn’t you check why he was screaming?”

“Like I did when you were with him? He screamed pretty loud with you.” Morton threw back Starsky’s accusations with snide comments of his own. “I didn’t know he was here till I checked the room after those guys left. Your friend never made a sound.”

“Those guys?” Starsky got on his knees and pulled nails out of Hutch’s ankles.

“The same two who were with him the last time I called you. They were here most of last night. I didn’t think anything of it when they took off. They’re kinda regulars. They like to party.”

By the time the ambulance got there, they’d removed the darts, freed Hutch and wrapped him in one of the sheets, but though he was breathing, there was no response from Hutch. He stared at nothing, made no sound and did not respond to pain.

As the ambulance attendants took him away on a gurney, Dobey asked a shell-shocked Starsky, “Has he ever been unresponsive like this before? Starsky? Starsky!”

“Uh—no. Never. Ohmygod, Cap. What are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna get him the help he needs. What he should have had years ago. He can’t go on like this. And neither can you.” Dobey guided him out to the car and prepared to follow the ambulance.

 

Chapter 14 – ICU

There were screams and children crying and people demanding preferential treatment in the crowded ER. The staff was sympathetic, but it wasn’t first come, first served and the doctors were busy. The one tending Hutch came out to talk to Dobey and Starsky.

“He’s been here before, hasn’t he? Burns, as I recall. And I remember you.” The doctor glared at Starsky. “You snuck him out of the ward one night.”

“He slipped out on his own.” Starsky glared back.

“How is he, doctor?” Dobey focused on Hutch’s current condition. He’d deal with Starsky later.

“He’s in bad shape. But you already knew that. Was it just the two of you, or were there others? Some party get out of hand?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, doctor. The manager called us when he was found. We’re cops.” Dobey bristled at the accusation, flashed his badge, but held onto his temper.

“Sorry. It’s been a long night.” The doctor consulted the chart in his hand. “In addition to the nail wounds in his wrists and ankles, he was beaten by someone who took the time to enjoy what they were doing. The tears we found say he was raped multiple times. It certainly wasn’t consensual. He has bruises and punctures from the darts. Some of the letters carved in his chest are infected.” He suddenly scowled at Starsky. “That’s your name, isn’t it? I’m not even going to ask when that was done.” The doctor shook his head in disgust. “We see this all too often, but I’ll never understand this kind of brutality.”

‘Is he responding yet?” Dobey kept a grip on Starsky to keep him silent.

“No.” The doc looked back at Hutch and sighed. “We’ve cleaned up his chest, removed the paint from his genitals, started IVs with antibiotics in both arms and given him a tetanus shot just in case. We’ll keep him in the ICU for a couple of days, then decide how best to help him going forward.”

“Can we see him?”

“Once we get him moved to the ICU.” He handed Hutch’s chart to the orderlies preparing to move him. “I’m sorry. If there are no other questions, I’m needed elsewhere. The ER is busy tonight.” He nodded at both of them and headed for the nurses’ station.

They followed Hutch’s gurney to the ICU and waited while he was settled.

“Five minutes, gentlemen.” The nurse hung Hutch’s chart on the end of his bed and left the room.

“Hutch?” Dobey stood next to the bed, hoping for an answer, but didn’t get one. He looked at Starsky, who shrugged but said nothing. “C’mon, Starsky. I’ll take you home. We’ll check on him in the morning.”

“You go, Cap. I’m staying here.”

“I don’t think—” Dobey stopped as Starsky glared at him, then sighed. “All right, Detective. Mind your manners and don’t give anyone a hard time. Call me in the morning with an update and I’ll send someone over with your car.”

“Thanks, Cap.” He watched Dobey go out to talk to the nurse, then turned back to Hutch. “Í don’t care who you’ve become. I need you, Hutch.” He brushed wayward strands of fine blonde hair from Hutch’s forehead and gently kissed it. “Come back to me.”

The nurse brought him a chair and a blanket, checked on Hutch, then left them alone. He wrapped himself in the blanket and sat close. As he took Hutch’s hand, he had a dim memory of sitting on his mother’s lap while she rocked him, humming lullabies to calm him. He fell asleep humming one to Hutch.

* * * * *

“We need you to wait in the hall while we examine him, Detective.”

Starsky had been talking quietly to Hutch since he woke in the chair this morning, and the lack of response terrified him. He didn’t want to leave Hutch’s side, but Dobey’s warning sounded in his ears and he reluctantly left the room, taking the chair with him.

He hovered in the doorway, watching intently.

The resident and ICU nurse fussed over Hutch, checking his wounds and talking to him, hoping for a response. “Who did this to you, what did they call him?” The resident asked the nurse.

“Hutch,” Starsky said from the doorway.

“Who did this to you, Hutch?” The resident asked again, not really expecting an answer.

“No. NO!” The guttural whisper from the bed shocked everyone and the machines Hutch was hooked to began to blare.

“Hutch?” Starsky headed into the room.

“…didn’t come…I swear….” Hutch gasped and the heart monitor suddenly flatlined.

“Code Blue! Code Blue! Get the crash cart in here!” The ICU nurse called for help while the resident started CPR.

“Hutch!” Starsky reached the foot of the bed.

“Get out of here, Detective, or I’ll have Security throw you out! You’re in the way.”

Starsky bumped into the crash cart coming into the room. He stepped aside and retreated to the hall as the staff frantically worked on Hutch.

Three minutes later, Hutch’s heart was beating again and he was breathing on his own. Starsky collapsed into the chair in the hall and shook.

Eventually, the resident came out.

“How is he, doc?”

“He’s stable now. We’ll keep a close eye on him and let you know.”

“I’m not leaving, doc.”

“Detective—”

“Don’t argue with me. I need to be there. I’m not leaving.” Starsky watched the crash cart exit the room and the ICU nurse settle Hutch. When she was finished, he pulled the chair back into the room, sat down and took Hutch’s hand again. “I’m here, babe. I’m here.”

The monitors beeped indifferently as Starsky hummed.

* * * * *

“…no…no….” The agitated whisper invaded his dream, but the spasms of Hutch’s hand in his woke Starsky. He clutched it tighter and reached his other hand to stroke Hutch’s forehead, murmuring comfort.

Hutch screamed.

The monitors blared as he tried to pull his hand free and the nurse came running into the room. “Step aside, sir!”

Starsky balked. “No! I—”

“Step aside!” She reset the monitors and reached for Hutch.

Starsky let go and stood back.

The monitors settled down and Hutch quieted. The nurse fussed over him, talking softly as she checked his dressings and IVs and updated his chart while Starsky watched in silence. When she finished, he crept forward and carefully brushed hair from Hutch’s forehead.

A slight frown creased it. “…no….” The whisper startled them both.

“Hutch?” Starsky took Hutch’s hand in his. Hutch struggled and screamed again.

“You need to leave, sir!” The nurse caught Hutch’s flailing hand and checked the IV. “Out!”

Starsky gaped at her and the figure struggling on the bed, then left the room. He was waiting when the nurse came out, but she blocked his way. “He’s quiet now. I can’t let you go back in there.”

“But he’s my…was my partner.” Starsky protested.

“Who screams when you touch him. What did you do to him?” She stood in the doorway, refusing to budge. “Isn’t that your name carved in his chest? Did you do that?”

He looked over her shoulder into the room. “You don’t understand,” he whispered.

“You’re right. I don’t. You stay out here.” She glared balefully. “I catch you in there again and I’ll have you banned from the hospital.”

He went to call Dobey and get his car.

* * * * *

“I should kill you for what you did to him.” He snarled the words at the body pushed against the wall, the dart in his hand shoved into its crotch. It whimpered in pain.

It hadn’t started that way. When he caught up with them, the men had laughed, and blamed him for what they’d done to Hutch. They’d been in the next room the night he’d carved his name in Hutch’s chest and the screaming Hutch had done had turned them on. They’d been delighted with the handiwork they’d uncovered when they’d accosted Hutch, stripped and raped him, telling Hutch Starsky had sent them. Bragging how much fun they’d had and they’d invited Starsky to join them next time.

He’d gone berserk. Both men had gone down under the sudden onslaught, one bloody body sprawled unconscious by the bed, the other one sniveling near the door. He’d yanked it up and stabbed it multiple times with the dart he pulled from his pocket.

“Touch him again and your bodies will never be found. Understand?”

The look in Starsky’s eyes caused the man to wet himself and he nodded in terror.

“He belongs to me.” Starsky let go and walked out of the room.

* * * * *

“It’s been three days, Starsky. His body is better, but he hasn’t responded since his screams when you touched him.” Dobey stood over him in the waiting room of the ICU. “You’re both in rough shape. You should go home, clean up and get some rest. They’re moving him to a ward later today.”

“He’ll pull a runner when they do. He’s not responding because he doesn’t care, not because he’s unaware of what’s going on around him. But he wants out. And if he gets away, we’ll never see him again.”

“And you know this because—?”

“Because I know why he screamed. It was a misunderstanding, but they won’t let me in there to tell him. Because he hates hospitals and runs the first chance he gets. I don’t know why, but to him, they are very dangerous places to be.” He continued to stare at the ICU. “Because when he runs, I need to be there to catch him. I owe him that. I owe us both.”

“Starsky….” Dobey didn’t recognize the man who looked up at him. Something about his eyes sent a chill down Dobey’s spine. This man was dangerous in a way Dobey couldn’t describe.

“I can have him restrained till they decide what to do….”

“No, Cap. You do that, you’ll kill us both. He’s gonna run, so let him. I’ll take it from there.” He closed his eyes and took a breath to settle himself and the spell that transfixed Dobey broke.

He didn’t want to leave it to Starsky. But he’d been shocked to learn he didn’t really know what had happened to his men, not just because of their kidnapping three years ago, but before and after. That it was happening still. He needed to trust Starsky and let go.

For now.

 

Chapter 15 – Cradlesong

As Starsky predicted, Hutch ran, but Starsky was waiting. He was leaning against the Torino with clothes and shoes when Hutch slipped into the parking structure later that night, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. “Put these on, Hutch, and get in the car.”

He was surprised Hutch didn’t argue, that he dressed silently and got in the Torino, but it was a start. Starsky went around and slid behind the wheel and started the car. “I didn’t send those two.”

“They said you did. That you told them where to find me and paid them to have a good time until you could get there. You never came.”

“And you believed them?” Starsky looked at him, wondering if there was anything left between them to save.

Hutch closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat. “Why not? You all like hurting me and they knew where to find me.”

“They were in the room next door the night I carved my name on your chest and heard you screaming. They saw you leave and tracked you down.” Starsky said in muted anger. “If they touch you again, I’ll kill them.”

“It’s still a game to you, isn’t it?” Hutch scoffed faintly. “Don’t bother. I deserved what I got. There just wasn’t enough of it.”

Starsky hit the brakes. “Enough! Don’t ever say that again!” He glared at Hutch, but Hutch didn’t move, didn’t say another word. He reached over and took Hutch’s hand in his. Hutch allowed it, but his hand rested limply in Starsky’s grip. Starsky pulled out of the parking structure and headed home.

“Why are hospitals so dangerous to you? There has to be a reason. You always run the first chance you get.” He wasn’t sure he’d get an answer, but the abrupt response shocked him.

Hutch snatched his hand from Starsky’s and curled away from him in the dark, pressing tight against the passenger door.

“Hutch?” He didn’t dare pull over, afraid Hutch would try to escape. Even so, he wasn’t sure Hutch wouldn’t open the door while the car was moving, but a sudden thought struck him. “That’s where you met him, isn’t it? The one who did this to you. Is that where it started? A hospital?”

Hutch fumbled for the door handle.

“NO! Don’t!” He grabbed Hutch’s left wrist in a death grip. “No more questions, Hutch. Just sit still.”

Hutch slowly calmed under his touch, but Starsky didn’t let go. Instead of stopping at a fast-food drive thru as intended, he drove straight to his place and parked.

He didn’t have to say anything. Hutch got out of the car and followed Starsky inside, went into the bedroom and stripped.

“Hutch?”

“Do you want me here, or in the basement? I’m ready for whatever you want to do to me.” His matter-of-fact tone said he expected Starsky to punish him for running.

“And if I want us naked in my bed while I hold you close?”

Hutch looked at him in deep distress, suddenly unable to hide the craving he carried, his desperate need for pain at Starsky’s hands. But he said nothing.

Starsky reached out and stroked Hutch’s cheek, letting his own hunger show. “I want to do it, babe. No games. But either we find a way to satisfy each other going forward…” He pulled his gun “…or we end this now. Satisfy the monster’s prediction and become his 12 and 0. You decide.”

Hutch took his hand and guided the gun barrel into his mouth, eyes locked on Starsky.

“Ohmygod, Hutch,” he whispered. “Is that what you want?”

Hutch closed his eyes and gave a deep, trembling sigh, then pulled his mouth off the gun. “No. But…”

His relief lurched into blatant arousal at Hutch’s unexpected request.

“…if we are going to end it, don’t use this. Beat me to death with your hands. Will you do that for me?”

Fire raced along his nerves and he ached to inflict the beating Hutch wanted. “Yes” Starsky whispered. “If the time comes, I will.” He turned and set his gun on the dresser. “Basement, Hutch. I can’t wait any longer.”

* * * * *

There was no need to talk. They’d done this multiple times before, when it was all about the pain.

Hutch waited impatiently while Starsky tied his injured wrists together and fastened the rope to the rafters, then he stepped off the stool and dangled above the concrete floor. Starsky ran his hands over Hutch’s naked body, roughly caressing the still-raw letters carved into Hutch’s chest, then he suddenly leaned close and sank his teeth into a nipple. Hutch moaned, “…yessss….”

It goaded him into action, but this wasn’t planned and he wasn’t prepared. On the workbench was the wire antenna he’d used the last time he’d beaten Hutch here, and he snatched it up and struck Hutch across his back. Hutch gasped. Starsky struck him again and again in an attack that grew frenzied when Hutch began screaming. A dozen strokes later, when Hutch’s body convulsed and his screams choked off, Starsky stopped.

With intense pleasure, Starsky rubbed the deep red welts he’d inflicted, as Hutch struggled to breathe. He’d deliberately avoided Hutch’s chest and genitals and he’d taken care not to break skin. There’d be time for that when Hutch recovered. Today was about pain shared to bring them together again. He came around and touched his name on Hutch’s chest. “Mine” he whispered to himself.

“Look at me, babe,” he ordered Hutch.

Hutch obeyed. Starsky nodded in satisfaction. “That’s enough for now. The urgency is gone. Let’s get you down and cleaned up. I need to hold you for a while.”

Twenty minutes later, Hutch was settled in his bed and he carefully applied antiseptic cream to Hutch’s back, unconsciously humming one of his mother’s lullabies under his breath. When he was done, he stripped, crawled into bed and took Hutch in his arms.

“You belong to me, Hutch. Say it.”

Hutch sighed contentedly. “I belong to you.”

The words reverberated through him and he caressed the word on Hutch’s chest. “I love you, Hutch.”

Another sigh, this one anxious. “I don’t know what that means, Starsk. Tell me, so I know what you expect from me. I don’t want to anger you.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a good thing, Hutch. I’ll teach you.” And Starsky kissed him deeply.

* * * * *

It wasn’t easy for either of them.

Dobey insisted Starsky talk to someone about his relationship with Hutch and where it was going. No more games. No more frantic searches. If Starsky continued to work for him. Dobey needed his focus on his job.

It helped.

Starsky didn’t understand Hutch’s addiction to pain, was reluctantly accepting he might never get the answers he wanted about how it all began, but Hutch’s supreme ability to compartmentalize his life taught Starsky the self-control he needed to deal with his own addiction to Hutch and the craving they shared.

Hutch absolutely refused to talk to any therapist, even for Starsky’s sake. But he haunted libraries researching changes in his behavior. About the occasional tears and screams, the suicide and escape attempts the traumas of his past evoked when he was with Starsky, because he was learning that with Starsky, it was safe to feel something more. And he was slowly beginning to examine his buried feelings about his addiction.

But he was very careful with the life he chose to lead. He stayed with Starsky from time to time. With Starsky, he could be Hutch, free to pick and choose things to deal with regarding his past. Examining the future proposed by their obsessive behavior within agreed-upon limits and learning to feel something other than pain. Together, they slowly recaptured the intimacy they’d shared before their addictions derailed it.

But he continued to live on the streets. There, he was Michael. Self-invented and no-nonsense, giving away nothing of himself, wanting nothing from anyone. He resumed helping at the local shelter, in the soup kitchen and with youngsters who needed guidance or protection from time to time. Maybe one day, he would become Hutch again full-time and move in with Starsky, but for now, his life worked, this time for them both.

* * * * *

The light in the bathroom was the only one on when he got home one night, and he found Hutch naked and bleeding on the shower floor. Starsky grabbed a hand towel and knelt down. “What happened, babe? Talk to me!”

Hutch’s eyes were wild with need. “Hurt me, Starsk, then fuck me. Use pain to force me to come for you. I need the high and no one else can do it.” He opened a hand wrapped around the knife blade embedded in his fingers and offered it to Starsky.

Starsky took it, stood and tossed it in the sink, inexplicably angry. He quickly pulled off his belt, looped it around Hutch’s throat and dragged him into the bedroom. “What the fuck are you doing, Hutch? We’re trying to work it out and you bring him into my house? Want him sharing our bed?”

Fear and confusion warred with the need in Hutch’s eyes.

“Stand up and grab hold of the bedframe.” Starsky pulled his belt from Hutch’s throat and wrapped the end of it around his fist, leaving the buckle to dangle free. He didn’t wait for Hutch, flaying his body with the buckle in quick, intimate strokes that broke the skin wherever they landed. Hutch groaned and sagged against the bed.

“Turn around, Hutch.” He waited, playing with the bloody buckle while Hutch turned to face him. It pleased him to see his name branded across Hutch’s chest. “Why am I doing all the work? Fondle yourself, Hutch. Make yourself hard.”

There was sudden opposition in Hutch’s eyes. “He—”

The buckle sliced across his chest.

“Forget about him. I OWN YOU NOW! And I want to watch you touch yourself! Use the blood to make it pretty.” He glared at Hutch, who nodded contritely and slowly took his cock in one hand and cupped his balls with the other. “Now squeeze. Treat yourself to pain and pleasure.”

Hutch did as he was told and his cock began to harden as he lost himself in the sensations.

“Show me, Hutch.”

He nodded as Hutch opened his hands and presented himself. “Feels good, doesn’t it? How about this?” and Starsky swung the belt and hit Hutch again with the buckle.

Hutch gasped in pain and staggered against the bedframe.

Starsky hit him again. He knew the reason for the fear and the bloody fingers. He didn’t know why here and now, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He dropped the belt and quickly stripped; his own cock was already hard.

He reached out, grabbed his lover’s cock and squeezed. Hutch’s moan excited him. He spun Hutch around, bent him over the bedframe and shoved his cock into Hutch. “Here, Hutch! Squeeze here!” He wrapped Hutch’s hands around his own cock and squeezed hard, using the blood on his fingers to slide up and down its length. Hutch took over and worked it while Starsky fucked him.

It didn’t take long. Their movements were frenetic, racing each other toward orgasm. Suddenly, Hutch stiffened, coming with a gasp as Starsky emptied his cock into him. He pulled out of Hutch and found Hutch staring at his own hands.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

Hutch looked at him in wonder and showed Starsky his hands. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Done what?”

“Made myself come.”

He knew the story. How the first time a young Hutch was caught touching himself, his fingers were forced around a knife blade and squeezed. How he was warned he would lose his fingertips if he was caught again. And he was watched to ensure it didn’t happen.

“Why the knife today, Hutch?”

Hutch hesitated, then said, “A youngster, barely a teen, came to the shelter today. His stepfather had caught him and did the same to him. His mother took him to the ER, then escaped to us. She’s leaving the guy. It’s not the first time he’s hurt her son. Hopefully, it’ll be the last.”

Starsky took Hutch’s hands in his and brought one to his mouth. He sucked the blood and semen from a finger, then kissed it. “Come home, Hutch. Move in with me.”

Hutch closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Not yet, Starsk. I’m still working through it. I don’t want us to be just about pain.” He looked at Starsky in sudden realization. “But we aren’t anymore, are we? You stopped.”

“I stopped.” He was pleased Hutch had noticed. “You wanted me to force you to come through pain. I started to, but stopped and tried something else. Something we’d never done before. And we both got pleasure from it. Maybe we can do it again?”

“I-I’d like to,” Hutch said shyly. “It was different, a good kind of hurt.”

“C’mon, Hutch. Let’s get cleaned up. Maybe we can talk some more before we sleep.”

He took Hutch’s hand and led him to the shower.

* * * * *

The all-out pain sessions were rarer now, but this one was necessary. He’d wasted no time, binding and gagging Hutch and using a knife that made it more intense than most and it had ended in violent orgasms for both. Starsky sighed tiredly, but taking care of Hutch was his first priority. “Babe?”

Hutch was still unconscious.

He cut Hutch’s bonds and carefully removed the gag from Hutch’s mouth, then examined wounds on the body, shaking his head, but feeling no guilt. Hutch had come to him, wired with need, and he had done what Hutch asked. A knife ensured immediate pain and Hutch’s muffled screams and struggles to get free had caused Starsky to cut deeper and murmur satisfaction at the escalating pain in Hutch’s eyes.

It had aroused them both and Starsky spoke of his desire to bury himself in Hutch’s body. Hutch had arched his back, displaying his hard on and moaning encouragement.

Starsky had raised the bloody knife. “Don’t tempt me, bitch! I want you to come for me while I cut you.” He teased the flat of the blade along Hutch’s cock, the blood on it smearing along its length. Hutch had screamed into the gag and prematurely spilled his seed on the knife in Starsky’s hand as it neared the tip of his cock.

Starsky had jerked the knife involuntarily and cut him. Hutch screamed again and passed out.

The sight had triggered Starsky’s own orgasm and he came hard, spurting into Hutch’s cum all over the knife he held.

“Ahh Hutch….” He took his time cleaning them both up, wondering what happened to set Hutch off.

* * * * *

“Starsky?”

The quiet whisper alerted him Hutch was conscious again. “I’m awake, babe. How ya feeling?”

“Sore. Do I need stitches?” Hutch shifted in his arms, but didn’t pull free.

“No. I was careful. I know you won’t go to the ER and I don’t want you stitching yourself again.” He gave a slight hug to the body he held. “What happened, Hutch, to bring this on?”

“What do you mean?”

It surprised Starsky that it hadn’t occurred to him before. “Something happened that reminded you of him, of what he did to you, and I think that’s what triggers your craving for pain.”

A thoughtful silence overcame Hutch, but his comment was out of the blue. “Is there any of Barelli’s money left, Starsk?”

“A third. Maybe a little more.” They’d used it to pay Hutch’s medical bills after his stays in the ICU. “It’s in a bag in the closet, whenever you want it. Why?”

More silence.

“Hutch?”

“They came back.”

“’They’ who?”

This time Hutch did pull away. “That boy and his mother. Her husband talked her into coming back. It lasted less than a month. He got drunk and started hitting her. The kid interfered and the guy beat him half to death.” Hutch took a shaky breath. “He spent a week in the hospital, then he and his mother showed up at the shelter again.”

“And you want to help them start over somewhere.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“Not my call, Hutch. It’s your money. Do whatever you think best.” Hutch identified with the boy and would help him and his mother regardless of what Starsky said. He was more worried that the boy’s trauma would trigger more craving for pain.

“I’m okay, Starsk.” It was suddenly like days long past, when they seemed to read each other’s mind. “I can’t promise it won’t catch me off guard again, but at least we know what’s causing it.”

“Do we?”

It was a lengthy silence, but Starsky was in no hurry, satisfied with the progress they were making. Then—

“Yeah. I think so.” Hutch sighed. “Will you do me a favour, Starsk?”

“Anything”

“Hold me and hum one of those songs from the hospital.”

Starsky carefully took Hutch in his arms and hummed one of his mom’s lullabies to comfort them both.

 

Chapter 16 – Silent Beside Me

Starsky was missing. He’d worked his shift and gone home for a quiet weekend with no plans beyond meeting Hutch for dinner Sunday night. He never showed.

The investigation showed he’d made it home, put away the bag of groceries he’d picked up on the way and taken a shower. There was no sign of any struggle, no sign of forced entry. The door was locked and Starsky was gone. So was the Torino.

A day later, the Torino turned up in Starsky’s driveway. It was in pristine condition, keys in the visor. No one saw it being parked; there was still no sign of Starsky.

Nobody thought to look in the trunk.

The next day, a neighbor reported blood dripping from it. Responding officers found a naked, hooded Starsky, bound and gagged and barely breathing. Under him were his clothes and gun, all blood-soaked from the wounds on his body.

ER doctors reported he’d been stabbed with what looked like a switch blade, beaten with a wooden object. There were splinters in some of the wounds. His right forearm was fractured and he’d been raped. A day later, he was still unresponsive in the ICU, a frantic Hutch at his side, holding his hand and humming softly.

“How long?”

The whisper was faint, but Hutch heard it. “Starsk?”

“Shouldn’t be here. You hate hospitals.” He opened unseeing eyes when Hutch squeezed his hand. “I’m okay. You go.”

“Shut up, Starsk. I’m not going anywhere. It’s just a different kind of pain. Nothing I can’t handle.” He squeezed Starsky’s hand again. “Who did this to you?”

“Dunno. They attacked from behind.”

“They?”

“Yeah, there were two. Threw a hood over my head, took my gun and tossed me in the trunk of the Torino. We ended up in some garage. Concrete floor, manual doors. They did this…” he indicted his body “…and never said a word. Just snide laughter. But…” Starsky took a shallow breath and moaned as he shifted. “…I feel like I knew them.”

An ICU nurse came into the room. “Mr. Starsky? I’m glad you’re awake. I need to check your vitals. The doctor is on his way.”

Hutch squeezed his hand one more time. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Dobey.”

* * * * *

Now that he was awake and stable, they moved Starsky into a semi-private room. Hutch stayed with him, keeping watch and listening to anything he had to say.

He rambled and slept, growing stronger and more lucid, aware of Hutch at his side, afraid Hutch’s pain rivaled his own. “Do me a favour.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I wanna go home, Hutch. Shower in my own bathroom. I’ll even let you help. But I need something to wear. I can’t leave here in a hospital gown.” He looked at Hutch and waited.

Hutch nodded in relief. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“And bring the Torino. I’m not up to going home on the bus.”

Hutch smiled faintly at the thought. “It’s down in the parking lot. How do you think I got here?” He stood and bravely kissed Starsky’s forehead as the doctor came in on his rounds. “Be ready to go when I get back.”

“What does he mean, Detective?” The doctor frowned as Hutch passed him.

“Let’s talk, Doc.”

* * * * *

He was glad to be home and clean. Hutch helped him in the shower and carefully dressed his wounds while he talked about his ordeal, suspecting he’d been taken by the pair who’d brutalized Hutch, the pair he’d beaten and threatened to kill the last time they’d done it. Suspected, but couldn’t prove.

Starsky realized too late he’d said too much. Hutch blamed himself for what happened to him and shut down completely.

* * * * *

Weeks later, Starsky was out of options. Hutch stayed with him, helped when he was needed, did what he was told to do, but he didn’t respond to more intimate touches, didn’t say a word.

The progress they had made was gone.

There was no companionship. Hutch remained a silent lump in the corner, waiting for instructions, and Starsky began to get angry. It peaked one morning when Starsky confronted him. “Get up and make yourself useful. Fix us some breakfast.”

He followed Hutch into the kitchen and watched him fix toast and a plate of scrambled eggs. “I said fix US breakfast! You can’t even do what you’re told to do!” He wanted to hurt someone. He’d never done that before, he’d only ever responded to Hutch’s need for pain. His assailants weren’t here—but Hutch was, and his craving hit hard. He snatched up the single fork on the counter and stabbed Hutch’s hand as Hutch set his plate down.

Hutch looked at him in shock and terror.

“What, not enough pain for you? That’s all you ever want anymore. From me, from Barelli, from strangers like those two. You sell it, hell you give it away! And you don’t care who you hurt as long as you get what you need, cuz your addiction comes first.” He knocked the eggs to the floor and stabbed Hutch’s torso with the fork. “And they know where to find you and they know where I live.” His need to hurt blinded Starsky.

Hutch didn’t make a sound and Starsky melted down, stabbing him again and again, then he shoved Hutch against the wall, punching and stabbing him some more. “Fight back, damn you! Stop being a fuckin’ doormat!”

The last thing he remembered was throwing the fork, choking Hutch and screaming at the top of his lungs.

* * * * *

He woke in his own bed, Hutch watching warily from a corner of the room. He sat up carefully, his throat ached from screaming. “How long?”

“Maybe thirty six hours. One of the neighbors called the cops. You collapsed and they helped me get you to bed.”

“Stand up and take off your shirt.”

Hutch didn’t argue and did as he was told. His throat and torso were covered with bruises from the beating and puncture marks from the fork.

He didn’t apologize. “Get dressed. Is there any coffee made?”

“Yeah. I’ll bring you some.” Hutch put his shirt back on and went to the kitchen.

“I’ll come out.” He headed for the bathroom first.

There was coffee waiting for him when he got to the kitchen and Hutch was making scrambled eggs for both of them, unasked. He approved and sat at the counter, watching.

But the silence returned as the days stretched out.

* * * * *

He needed something deeply personal to reach Hutch. Something unexpected. And then Starsky remembered. He’d forgotten it was there, in the back of the closet where he’d hidden it so long ago. He’d taken it for the memories it represented, and so it wouldn’t be tossed like so many of Hutch’s possessions were when Hutch gave up his apartment for life on the streets.

Starsky went digging—and there it was. Hutch’s guitar.

He pulled it out of the closet and opened the case, softly running his fingers across the strings. It was badly out of tune, but it brought back memories of happier times. He picked it up and took it into the living room where Hutch huddled silently in a corner until needed.

“Play for me, babe.” He dropped to one knee in front of Hutch and held out the guitar.

Hutch looked up in shock and gasped softly. “Where—?”

“You told me to take whatever I wanted when you were giving up your apartment. I took this for safekeeping. Come sit on the sofa and play for me, Hutch. We both need this.”

Hutch looked hungrily at the beloved instrument and conceded. He got up, took the guitar and helped Starsky to his feet.

“Do you want some juice or a soda? I need something to drink.” Starsky detoured to the kitchen.

“I’ll get it for you,” Hutch offered.

“I’ve got it. Just tune your guitar and get ready to play.” He reached the fridge and opened it. “I’ll bring you a Coke.”

Hutch nodded absently, already tuning the strings and picking out a melody.

Starsky brought the drinks out and settled on the other end of the sofa, pleased with Hutch’s absorption in the music. It didn’t fix things, but it got them talking again about simple things.

As another love song ended, Starsky suddenly asked a question he never had before. “Have you ever had a woman, Hutch?”

“No.”

“Ever wanted one?”

“No. But I know you’ve had them and sometimes I wonder…” Hutch turned away and set the guitar in its case. “Never mind. None of my business.”

“Wonder what, Hutch?”

Hutch looked at him and shrugged. “Why you settled for me. I mean, I get it about our addictions feeding off each other, but before you found out. The touches, the kisses, taking me the way you did…”

“Settled for you? Why did you let me?” Something Hutch once said flashed through his mind. It was a loss of control. In Hutch’s case, a willing surrender of control to his owner. But in his own case, control was taken from him. I never surrendered it…

He ruthlessly suppressed the desire to hurt that flickered through him and focused on the first time he’d taken Hutch. There was something about the man—his quiet strength, his wonder that someone was attracted to him, his eagerness to submit to Starsky—that made it some of the best sex Starsky had ever had, and he’d wanted more. He still did. “You were…provocative, Hutch. You still are.” He reached out and stroked Hutch’s hair. “You belong to me, Hutch. Never forget that.”

And Starsky kissed him.

 

Chapter 17 – Cessation

He didn’t need boxes, only a shovel and the bodies would never be found. He’d done it before to save Starsky’s life. He didn’t expect to recover their relationship, but he’d do it again to save them both.

They were in the garage Starsky had described and Hutch was standing naked over their assailants. There was blood, but he didn’t care. There wasn’t much time. He freed Starsky, but he had to be gone before Starsky came to and knew he’d been there. He tossed the bodies into the open trunk of the car that had brought him here, then grabbed a shovel and a tarp, added them and closed it. He dressed quickly, got in and drove away.

* * * * *

He’d sworn he’d never come here again, yet here he was, shovel in hand, digging a hole at the edge of the clearing, creating another unmarked grave. He’d arrived at sunrise, tired, but determined, and the hole was finally deep enough. He laid the shovel aside, climbed out and went for the bodies.

The tarp definitely helped. The first body was cold, and rigor had already set in. He wrestled it out of the trunk and dragged it to the grave, rolled it in and went back for the other one.

It was still breathing, barely. This was the one who had carved him up and raped him in the motel room so long ago, who had raped and stabbed Starsky first. Who had bragged about the repeat they were planning last night when they had come for him.

They knew where to find Starsky and they’d taken him again, brought him to the garage to watch them subject Hutch to the pain he craved so much. They’d left him unconscious, bound and gagged, and had gone for Hutch, grabbing him in the alley behind the soup kitchen. But it was Michael they’d accosted. He knew what they wanted, and what they were capable of, and he meekly went along. When he saw Starsky, he’d pulled the knife he carried and avenged him, stabbing one of them in the chest and cutting the throat of the other.

Hutch wrestled the still breathing body out of the trunk and onto the tarp, perfectly willing to bury it alive. He’d done it before without hesitation. But it started to moan and struggled toward consciousness and Michael took over, ever more practical. He pulled his knife and after cutting its throat, wiped the knife clean and dragged the body to the hole. He rolled it in the tarp and dumped it atop the other, then grabbed the shovel and filled the grave. When he was nearly finished, he laid the shovel down and buried it, too, took the time to use a branch to camouflage the drag marks, then laid it on the site. Before he left, he gazed around the rest of the clearing at the other undisturbed graves, but said nothing. They were Hutch’s memories, not Michael’s, and it was time to go.

* * * * *

He got back to town late, abandoned the car blocks from the EZ Rest Motel, set it on fire to destroy any evidence, then walked to the shelter where Michael worked and stayed from time to time. No one questioned his arrival, and he cleaned up and wadded his filthy clothes into a ball. He desperately wanted to sleep, but it was necessary to be seen. He took the discards out to one of the warming barrels on the street, added them to the fire and watched them burn. He sighed and made his way back to the soup kitchen across from the shelter.

Starsky found him there, setting a tray of food on the serving line, preparing for breakfast. “Hutch?”

He ignored Starsky and went back to the kitchen for another tray.

“Michael, please?”

This time, he looked up and nodded toward the alley door. He met Starsky out by the dumpster. “What’s up?”

“Where have you been, Hutch?”

“Why are you asking?”

“They went looking for you and the three of you were missing. They still are.”

“They? They who?”

Starsky looked around uneasily. “The two who raped and carved on you. The two who stabbed and raped me. They nabbed me again and took me to that garage. Said they were going after you.”

“Yet here I am. There’ve been no pain sessions, no sex with them or anyone else but you and nothing recent with you. Have you checked that motel?”

“Owner stopped renting to them after they nailed you to the wall. They haven’t been back. Neither have you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Starsk. I’ve been here, at the shelter and on the streets. Ask around.”

“And you’re dead on your feet.” Starsky cupped his hand to Hutch’s face. “When was the last time you slept, babe? No more questions. Come home with me and get some rest.”

He looked tiredly at Starsky and nodded. “Let me tell them I’m leaving. Wait here.” He went back inside for a moment, then came out wiping his hands on his shirt. “Maybe I could take a shower?”

“Whatever you need.”

He followed Starsky to the Torino at the end of the alley, got in and passed out on the drive to Starsky’s place.

* * * * *

When they got to Starsky’s, Starsky had trouble waking him, but he went inside, took a shower, crawled into bed and passed out again. He slept fifteen hours, got up and ate a sandwich, took another shower, then went back to bed and slept another twelve.

He woke alone as Hutch, not Michael, with a deep craving for pain.

When he got home from work, Starsky found him on the shower floor, cutting himself with Michael’s knife, eyes wild with need.

Starsky took the knife away and dropped a towel on him. “Is it 12 and 0 time, Hutch? Am I beating you to death?”

For an instant, he actually considered it, then shook his head no.

“Basement then. Now!”

He hurried to the basement, wrapped in a bloody towel. Minutes later, he was hanging from the rafters, moaning as Starsky’s hands touched him roughly.

“Then it’s all about the pain, given and received. What triggered this craving, Hutch? Tell me!”

“I-I can’t,” he whispered, unable to say more.

“You can, and you will.” Starsky used the knife to pierce a nipple, then bit it sharply and suckled the blood.

Hutch gasped and arched against him. “More, Starsk! Please… I really need it…”

“Answer the question! What triggered it? Something did.” Starsky ran the knife against his genitals and Hutch moaned again. But when he said nothing, Starsky dropped the knife, turned in anger and reached for a cat-o-nine-tails on the table nearby. He swung it at Hutch and the silver studs on the tips opened his back.

Hutch screamed.

“What triggered it, Hutch?” and he swung the whip again, still angry, then once more.

Hutch lost his mind, convulsing in agony, unable to scream, barely able to breathe. He hung bleeding from the rafters, his back flayed open, and when Starsky touched him, he passed out.

He came to under a blanket, face down on a tarp and a pile of towels, in the pain he’d craved so badly. Pain he deserved for what he’d done. He could sense Starsky watching attentively nearby, his own craving to inflict pain seemingly sated. He took a shallow breath and muttered, “Starsk?”

“I’m here, babe. Your back is a mess and you’re gonna be a long time healing. I found that whip in that garage and grabbed it. They were going to use it on you. I think now they planned to kill you.”

Maybe so, but they intended to kill you, too, Hutch thought. It’s why he made sure they’d never be found. He couldn’t risk them trying again.

“I got rid of the whip. I was angry when I used it, and it was dangerous. I stopped myself, but I went too far. We need the ER, but I know how you feel about that.”

He didn’t care about the whip. Only the pain it caused. There was no apology. He could sense no regret and for that, Hutch was relieved. They were still finding ways to deal with their addictions when his need for pain was out of control.

“You’ve been out a long time. Are you able to stand? We need to get you off the floor and up to the bedroom. I’ve been changing the dressings. No sign of infection.”

“Yeah, but I’ll need help.” He braced himself for the move. “Any chance I can take a shower?”

“You always need to be clean when you hurt. Yeah, I’ll help you, but it’ll have to be quick.”

Together they made slow progress upstairs.

* * * * *

It took months to heal properly, but at Starsky’s insistence, he moved in and became Hutch again, recovering pleasure in his music, learning to share gentle touches, reading extensively in lieu of therapy. He still refused to disclose how it started, and Starsky was forced to accept that he would never know. There was still a need for pain from time to time, but none of the outrageous cravings that escalated their addictions.

And Starsky taught him about love.

As his healing progressed, Hutch needed purpose, something to do. He bought a bicycle to stay in shape and get around, and returned to the streets as Michael, working the shelter and soup kitchen several days a week, looking out for kids who needed help. Nothing fancy; the bike became as synonymous with Michael as the stocking cap he wore.

But he always came home to Starsky now.

 

Epilogue

He should have expected Starsky to bring him here at some point. It was a test. A test for both of them. But he’d willingly agreed to Starsky’s ownership and he did as he was told.

They stepped into the clearing, not far from the buried bunker. No one had been here. Nothing had changed.

“They’re here, aren’t they? Where they’ll never be found.” Starsky stopped in the middle and looked around. “And I just realized, so’s the monster.”

Hutch glanced at the edge, where he’d buried their assailants, then focused on Starsky, standing unknowingly on the monster’s grave. Starsky didn’t know about Renny. “Why would you say that?”

Starsky studied him, daring him to deny it. “Because this place did a number on you. It’s not just what happened at the bunker. This particular clearing triggered a craving for pain and punishment in you. You even attempted suicide here.”

Hutch shrugged but didn’t say a word.

“Spread the blanket and strip, Hutch. I want to bury my cock in your body and this is the place to do it. You belong to me and me alone, and I want them to know it.”

He did as he was told, spread the blanket and stripped, shuddering in anticipation.

Starsky ran a possessive hand over the scars on Hutch’s chest, outlining the letters he had carved there. “Mine,” he stated in no uncertain terms. He freed his cock and ordered, “Hands and knees, babe. Touch yourself when I mount you. I want to feel you make yourself come.”

Hutch dropped to his hands and knees and slowly rocked back and forth enticingly, his cock rubbing against the blanket each time his hole was displayed.

“God, what a sexy bitch! The devil himself would try to take you from me!” Starsky dropped to his knees as Hutch displayed himself again. “Come here!” Starsky grabbed hold of his hips and rammed deep.

“Move, Hutch! Do what I tell you and squeeze me tight with that ass!”

He loved being told what to do by this man and he was already close to coming. He took his cock in his hand and stroked it.

“I can’t wait any longer. Come for me, Hutch. Come with me!”

And he obeyed. His body shook in ecstasy as his cock spilled in his hand and Starsky’s came deep inside. “Starsky!”

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah”

“Why? Tell them!” Starsky rubbed the scars, old and new, that mottled his back.

“Cuz I belong to you and no one else! And you know how to make pain and pleasure feel so fucking good.”

Behind him, Starsky collapsed against him and sighed, “I love you, Hutch.”

“And I deserve it.” Hutch whispered contentedly. Pain would always be part of his life, but love with Starsky was now its core. “Take me home and do it again,” he begged Starsky shamelessly.

Starsky approved. “Let’s go.”