The Games We Play

SUMMARY: The games we play.

AUTHOR NOTES: Bad language, hot (hopefully) boy on boy kinky sex ahead… piss off if you aren’t old enough to read it. THANKS: To KimberlyFDR for a beta, and a poke to make me finish it.

Published in DANGEROUS LIVES, DANGEROUS VISIONS 3 in 2005.

“Starsk…do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off of you in that bar?” Hutch couldn’t stop his eyes from moving from his partner’s strong profile down to his capable hands, gripping the steering wheel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Starsky tilted his head to the side, blue eyes twinkling at Hutch.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! Rousting that bar…” Hutch’s voice trailed off as he remembered the feral look on Starsky’s face as he’d prowled around the room.

“It wasn’t anything we ain’t done a hundred times before.”

Starsky had a point, but then again, watching Starsky do his bad cop routine always got Hutch hot, no matter where they were or what else they were doing. “True.” Hutch slid his large hand up over one of Starsky’s solid thighs, scratching lightly with his short nails. “But it always makes me nuts for you when you do it.”

“Really?” One of Starsky’s hands dropped to his lap to close warmly over Hutch’s. He linked their fingers tightly as he turned the Torino onto Hutch’s street.

“Of course, and don’t act like you don’t know anything about it, babe. You can always tell when you’re getting to me.”

One of Starsky’s eyebrows waggled as his partner leered at him. “I gotta admit that I like knowing that I make you crazy.”

“Of course you do.” Hutch freed his hand and moved it even higher, laying his palm lightly over the bulge in Starsky’s tight jeans. “But I can make you nuts too, can’t I?” Hutch squeezed his partner’s hardening cock roughly, delighting in the soft gasp he got in return.

“Shit,” Starsky cursed softly, jerking the car to a stop in front of Venice Place a little too abruptly. The Torino’s new steel-belted radials slammed into the curb and Starsky flinched at the sound even as his hips pressed up into Hutch’s hand.

Hutch laughed a little and was out of the car and halfway up the steps before Starsky could do more than reach for him. Hutch had the door unlocked and was barely through it when Starsky came barreling up the stairs, his sneaker-covered feet pounding on the treads. Hutch leaned against the wall just inside of the door, trying to keep the smile off of his face. A second later and Starsky was slamming and locking the door behind him.

“You think that’s funny?” Starsky advanced on Hutch slowly, his entire body moving sinuously. “You think you can get me all hot and bothered and then take off? Leave me there? Aching?” Starsky rubbed his own hand across his cock deliberately, pressing down against the rigid flesh.

“Well, the look on your face was pretty funny.” Hutch stuck his hands into the pockets of his cords, feeling the material stretch tightly across his own hardening cock. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at Starsky through his lashes. “And it’s not exactly my fault that you’re so quick on the trigger, is it?” It was easy to throw a sneer into the words, making his voice sound like that of a sullen teenage boy.

“Quick on the trigger? Why you…” Starsky moved so quickly that Hutch didn’t even see him. The next thing Hutch knew, he was pressed to the wall by the weight of Starsky’s body, and their faces were close enough that Hutch could feel his partner’s breath against his lips. “You need to learn to watch your mouth, boy.” Starsky looked dangerous, his eyes feral, teeth bared like an animal’s, his voice a low and husky growl.

Hutch’s breathing sped up even faster at the feel of Starsky’s solid body holding him against the wall. This was the Dave Starsky that made his knees weak, made him beg and pant and scream. He was so strong; so amazingly, wonderfully alive; so overwhelming… Loving this man was both the hardest and the easiest thing Hutch had ever done.

But he was still the same Hutch, and he couldn’t resist pushing his partner just a little bit further. “And you think you’re the one to teach me some manners? I don’t think so.” The chilly tone of voice was perfect; as well it should have been, perfected through years of near-silent warfare with his parents. Hutch could do ‘cold’ almost as well as Starsky did ‘hot.’

“You don’t think so?” Starsky took a small step back, his voice low. Even though they were no longer physically touching, the weight of Starsky’s gaze felt just as heavy as his body had. This man could be dangerous, and sometimes Hutch forgot that. Starsky was, down at the core, a wild animal; and even if he covered himself with a lovable façade, he was still as dangerous as any other predator. And now Hutch was his prey. “What the hell are you smiling at, boy? You think you’ve got any control here?”

“Always.” Hutch could hear the confidence in his voice and he knew that to Starsky, in this mood, it was just as bad as waving a red flag in front of a bull. Good.

Hutch felt his smile getting larger, and Starsky grinned in response. But instead of looking happy or excited, the smile looked more like a grimace, his teeth bared as if preparing for a fight. Before Hutch could do more than begin to recognize the trouble he was in, Starsky was moving again, grabbing Hutch’s shoulder and spinning him around so that he faced the wall. Hutch tried to get his hands up to block his impact, but Starsky was too fast, and Hutch found his wrists held together at the base of his spine as his cheek slammed into the wall.

“Uh oh, I think you’re in trouble now, boy.” The words were growled into the back of Hutch’s neck as Starsky ground his crotch forward, into Hutch’s ass. The feel of cold metal around his wrists and the loud click accompanying it made Hutch groan out loud. The last time they’d used the cuffs had been months ago, and Starsky had worriedly declared it ‘the very last time’ after he’d seen the bruises they’d left on Hutch’s wrists. He’d had to wear long sleeves for a week and a half afterwards, but, damn, it had been well worth it.

Starsky’s hands slipped up to Hutch’s shoulders, pressing them forward. “You’d better not have anything illegal on you, boy.” The roving hands dropped to Hutch’s hips, pressing against his pockets. Starsky frisked him quickly and thoroughly, but not professionally, since his hands also rubbed roughly against Hutch’s swelling cock and cupped his ass with a sense of possession, pressing down with his thumbs against the cleft between his cheeks.

“Well, you don’t have anything on you…but that doesn’t mean anything.” Starsky leaned against the wall next to Hutch, one of his hands rubbing over his own crotch. “You’re a good looking kid. You wanna get out of the trouble you’re in?”

It was all Hutch could do to nod. He was lost in Starsky, in his dangerous eyes and the smooth line of his body. This was the man that he dreamed about, lusted after, begged for.

“Well, you could use that nice ass of yours to get out of this.” Starsky massaged his cock a little harder as he spoke, canting his hips to the side so that the bulge at his crotch was even more pronounced.

“Please.” It took all of Hutch’s focus to get that single word out.

That was apparently all Starsky had been waiting for because he reached for the waistband of Hutch’s cords without another word. In what seemed like only seconds, Hutch was naked from the waist down. Then, his shirt was shoved back over his shoulders to tangle with his cuffed hands. “Get on your knees, boy.” Hutch dropped, barely noticing the complaint from his knees as he did. Starsky unzipped his pants, pushing them down over his hips a little. As usual, Starsky wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his cock looked huge and angry, dark red-purple and leaking as it rose out of the worn denim of his jeans. “Suck my cock.”

Hutch shook at the harsh words, feeling the shudders run down his spine and right into his cock. This was what he’d wanted, this edge of danger and roughness. It wasn’t often that Starsky let this part of himself out, and Hutch hungered for it. Slow and sweet were great, but sometimes he wanted something with more of an edge to it. Those times he didn’t want to be Starsky’s equal. Sometimes he wanted to control his lover, to drive him insane with need, but more often Hutch found himself craving Starsky’s domination like a drug. Hutch wanted to be used, to be manipulated, to be fucked. There were times when he wanted it so badly that he frightened himself.

On his knees, handcuffed, naked except for the shirt tangled around his cuffed hands, Hutch looked up at his lover and opened his mouth, leaning forward as he did. Starsky’s cock felt amazing in his mouth; thick and heavy with blood, silk over steel, tasting of salt and musk and something essentially Starsky. Hutch moved his head forward, feeling Starsky’s cock brush the back of his tongue, then slide into his throat. He swallowed around it, massaging the hard flesh with his throat. Above him, Starsky was panting, his head thrown back, his hands coming up to wrap tightly in Hutch’s hair. Hutch settled onto his knees, his hands closing into tense fists at his back as his skin begged to touch Starsky. Not this time. Hutch opened his throat as well as he could, letting Starsky fuck his mouth. He wasn’t afraid, not of this, not with this man. After all, they were partners, closer than spouses, closer than lovers, than family. Starsky would never hurt him. Never.

Even though his partner was the one in charge, Hutch couldn’t hold back his cry of denial as Starsky pulled back, breathing heavily. “Jesus, you’re good at that.” Hutch just looked up at him, loving that he could do this for Starsky. “On your feet, boy.” The command was gruff, but Starsky helped him to his feet, holding him steady until he could get his feet under him. “That was a good start, but it’s gonna be your ass and not your mouth that’s gonna keep you outta jail.” Starsky slapped Hutch’s bare ass once, then twice, hard enough to wring a gasp from Hutch. “Over the couch.” Once again, contrary to the tone of his voice, Starsky helped Hutch settle forward over the arm of the couch. He even slipped a pillow under Hutch’s head so that he wouldn’t be shoved into the cushions.

There was the sound of a drawer opening, and Starsky walking around the room. Hutch didn’t hear Starsky come up behind him, but he did hear the snap-click as the lid of the lube was opened. Two slick fingers pressed insistently against him, and Hutch couldn’t stop himself from pushing back into the movement. “Slut,” Starsky said above him, a smile in his voice. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Hutch heard the wet sound of lube on skin coming from behind him. Another second, then Starsky was pressing into him, leisurely but steadily.

“Yes!” Hutch ground out through clenched teeth. He loved Starsky like this; unstoppable and strong and the center of his universe.

As soon as he was in, Starsky pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed forward roughly. His hips slammed into Hutch’s ass over and over again as Starsky fucked him hard and fast. Everything in Hutch focused on what was happening inside of him: the feel of Starsky’s cock opening him roughly, the relentless press against his prostate, the feel of the soft pillow against his cheek, the desperate hardness of his own cock—begging for Starsky’s touch, the feel of the metal cuffs biting into his wrists as he moved back into each thrust.

Starsky fucked him for what seemed like hours; and with every thrust Hutch whimpered, his body pushing back, begging for more. Eventually his gasps began to form words. “Please, please, more, Starsk, please, babe, harder, please, please, please…” Hutch could hear the words right at the edge of his hearing, and knew that the hoarse voice was his, but he was powerless to stop the litany of pleas.

One of Starsky’s hands closed around the chain linking the metal cuffs Hutch wore, using it as leverage to pull Hutch back onto his cock even harder. The other hand came up into Hutch’s sweaty hair, grabbing a handful and yanking his head back roughly. Starsky’s animal grunts began to drown out the sound of Hutch’s begging in his ears.

Starsky thrust hard enough that he nearly knocked Hutch off balance, his grunts becoming harsh and broken cries as he came. Hutch could feel Starsky’s cock jerking inside of him, filling him with his come, and his own voice rose in volume. “Please, Starsky, please, touch me, please, make me come!”

Starsky’s hand dropped from the cuffs to Hutch’s hip, sliding around to grasp his weeping cock. Hutch was so close that it only took a few jerks and he was coming with a breathless cry. Behind him, Starsky moaned as Hutch’s muscles grasped his cock.

“Shit,” Starsky said indistinctly, his face buried in the sweaty curve of Hutch’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Hutch could barely get the word out with his lover’s weight pressing down on his back. He shifted his shoulders a little and wriggled his hips, feeling Starsky’s softening cock slip out of his body. Another wiggle, this one trying to send Starsky the message to move before the other man passed out on top of him.

“Sorry, Hutch.” Starsky pulled himself up, using the back of the couch to compensate for his shaky legs. He tugged at Hutch’s shoulder, pulling him upright as well. “Let me get those off of you…” Starsky dug his keys out of the pocket of his jeans, unlocking and tossing the cuffs to the floor near Hutch’s discarded clothes. The forgotten shirt that had been tangled around his cuffed wrists dropped to the floor. He eased Hutch onto the couch, settling down next to him. “Let me look at those wrists.” Starsky gently took Hutch’s hands in his, tracing his thumbs over the purpling bruises on the pale skin. “Oh, babe… this is the last time we…”

“Shut up.” While Starsky looked at him in shock, Hutch pressed their lips together warmly. “It was well worth it.”

“Guess so,” Starsky answered, looking a little sheepish. “But you’ll have to wear long-sleeves and not…”

Hutch silenced him with another kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too, babe.” Starsky stood up and tugged Hutch up with him. He gently pressed his lips to the inside of Hutch’s abused wrists, right where Hutch’s pulse still pounded. “I love you.” Starsky’s blue eyes were fierce and dark with love and desire and a thousand other things that they could never convey with something as simple as words.

“Come on,” Hutch murmured with a small smile. “Let’s go take a shower and get some sleep. You wore me out, Starsk.”

“Hope so.” There it was, the impish, little boy smile that made Starsky’s face light up brighter than LA at night. Hutch would do anything to see that smile. “You need to get your rest for when I wake you up in the morning.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows at Hutch as he raced for the bathroom, dropping clothing unselfconsciously as he went.

“Maybe I’ll be the one doing the waking up, Starsk.” Hutch eyed the discarded handcuffs for just a moment before picking them up. Couldn’t hurt to have a plan, could it?

—

Hutch woke first, as usual. He loved Starsky dearly, but his partner would never be a morning person. In fact, Starsky would never surface at… Hutch peered at the clock, six a.m. It was way too early for Starsky to even begin to think about rising. But Hutch could change that if he woke him the right way.

Slowly, he half rolled over, reaching for the cuffs he’d left lying on the floor next to the bed last night. Of course, they’d both been too wiped out to do anything beyond going to sleep, but now they’d both had the benefit of a good night’s sleep. Hutch knew he wanted another round with Starsky, even if the ache in his ass disagreed. That was perfectly fine; he wanted to take his turn at driving Starsky crazy this morning. He closed his hand around the cuffs and carefully edged up on his knees.

He cautiously lifted one of Starsky’s hands up—towards the headboard, and the metal circlet snapped shut easily. When there was no reaction from the man next to him, Hutch threaded the free cuff around one of the spindles of his brass bed, and then reached for Starsky’s other hand. The only response he got from Starsky was a twitch of his nose and a small grumbling noise. Perfect.

Hutch leaned back on his elbows and tried to work out the best way to wake his peacefully snoozing partner. Shaking him was rude, and kissing him awake seemed too trite. Starsky mumbled again and kicked his legs, pushing the sheet down a few inches. Hutch eyed the newly bared skin with interest before tugging the sheet down to the end of the bed. Starsky was half-hard, and Hutch licked his lips, remembering the way Starsky had taken his mouth last night while Hutch was on his knees and helpless to stop him. That would be the perfect way to wake his lover this morning.

With a knowing smirk Hutch leaned over Starsky’s body, bracing himself on an elbow. At first he just teased a little, flicking his tongue lightly against the head, seeing if Starsky could sleep through it. He could, amazingly enough. Fine, time to bring out the big guns. Hutch was good at this, he knew it, and he had no qualms about using every trick he’d learned and perfected to make this man crazy for him. Hutch gradually took the hardening shaft in his mouth, savoring the chance, for once, to do this unhurried and not just as a precursor to something else. And Hutch did like to savor this, the taste of Starsky, the feel of him hardening in his mouth, the softness of his skin, the uncontrollable sounds that escaped his lover.

This morning was no exception. Starsky wasn’t even awake before he began to moan softly, his hips shifting, legs spreading wide. But that didn’t last long. Hutch took the shaft deep, using his free hand to gently stoke the sensitive skin between Starsky’s ass and his balls; and Starsky finally woke up with a loud gasp.

“What the…?”

Hutch swallowed around the cock in his mouth, his fingers moving across Starsky’s balls lightly, and Starsky’s shock became pleasure.

“Oh god, Hutch, that feels so good…” Starsky’s cock went from mostly hard to hard as a rock, filling up Hutch’s throat until he had to pull back.

Hutch sucked him, tracing his tongue along the rigid shaft and fingering his balls with his free hand. It only took a few minutes for Starsky to end up a sweaty, panting mess; so hot that he could do little more than moan. It wasn’t until then that Starsky even realized that he was handcuffed. He tried to reach for Hutch’s head to twist his fingers through his hair like they both loved, when the click of the handcuffs against brass registered in Hutch’s ears. He drew back a little, wanting to see Starsky’s reaction.

It was every bit as interesting as Hutch thought it would be. First, Starsky didn’t seem to realize that his arms were locked in place, and that was no wonder, considering that he was a moaning, writhing pile of nerve endings. When he realized; there was confusion, then a flash of anger that Hutch hadn’t expected. Just when Hutch was starting to worry, a smile spread across Starsky’s face.

“Payback, huh?” Starsky’s voice was hoarse with lust and anger.

Hutch let Starsky’s cock slip out of his mouth so he could answer. “Something like that.” Before the other man could say anything back, Hutch had pulled away, fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table for the lube they always kept there. After he found it, Hutch shifted around, getting his knees under him so he could use both hands, but he never stopped the motion of his mouth or tongue. Below him, all Starsky could do was lie there, arms restrained above his head, panting, gasping out barely audible words that occasionally resembled Hutch’s name.

Hutch opened the cap and slicked two fingers with lube. He pressed one into Starsky with painstaking care. The other man arched up, pushing his cock deeper into Hutch’s mouth even as his body begged for his finger to go deeper. Hutch obliged, withdrawing and then pushing back in with two fingers. Starsky moaned as Hutch twisted his fingers, then cried out as Hutch found his prostate. The cock in his mouth swelled and Hutch wrapped his other hand around the base of his lover’s cock tightly, holding his orgasm at bay.

Hutch withdrew his fingers, then his mouth.

“Please! Don’t stop, Hutch.” Starsky sounded like he was in pain.

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll take care of you.” Hutch laid his hand on Starsky’s flat stomach, rubbing comfortingly. He moved so that he was on his knees between Starsky’s spread thighs, and spread some lube over his cock. He slid his hands down Starsky’s muscular thighs and under his knees, lifting them and settled them over his shoulders. Hutch pressed a kiss to the inside of each thigh, then pushed forward, his eyes locked on Starsky’s face as he entered him. When Starsky’s blue eyes fluttered shut, Hutch stopped moving. “I want to see your eyes,” he murmured, his hands tracing the line of his lover’s hips. Starsky nodded as he opened them; his gaze serious for just a second. But that didn’t last very long before the lust took over again, and then Starsky was pressing his hips up into Hutch’s, trying to get him moving again.

“Now who’s the slut?” Hutch punctuated the end of his comment with a strong thrust, burying himself deeply into the willing body beneath him. Starsky groaned, his hands clenching into useless fists above his head as Hutch’s cock rubbed across his prostate. Hutch knew how this felt, being completely out of control, being taken, used, unable to do anything except gasp and moan. It was scary and intense and huge and fucking amazing. Hutch loved the feeling, belonging to Starsky, being owned by him; but he knew that it was scary as hell for Starsky. It was hard for him, and Hutch knew that the other man only did it because he loved him.

Hutch fucked him deliberately and steadily, ignoring Starsky’s desperate voice—begging for Hutch to touch his cock. It wasn’t often that Starsky was willing to give up control like this, and Hutch intended to take everything he wanted from him while he had the chance. With that in mind, Hutch slowed his thrusts, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to keep going until he came. Hutch wanted this morning to be unhurried but intense. He began to move again once he had himself under control, thrusting methodically but strongly, doing his best to hit Starsky’s prostate with every thrust.

Despite his desire to take it easy, after only a few minutes Hutch felt the urge to come building at the based of his spine. Below him Starsky was moaning and whimpering Hutch’s name over and over again, so far gone that he couldn’t even begin to try to hide anything he felt from Hutch. That was what Hutch wanted. He wanted Starsky wired and hot and lost.

Hutch let Starsky’s legs slip down his arms and around his waist as he bent forward. He could feel Starsky’s panting breath against his mouth and smell him, a heady mixture of sweat, musk, sex, and sandalwood. “I love you,” he whispered into Starsky’s mouth as their lips met. This man brought up tenderness in Hutch at the most unexpected times.

Starsky’s blue eyes met Hutch’s, and under the lust those eyes said, ‘I love you’ and ‘I need you’ and ‘I want you’ and ‘never never leave me,’ things that Starsky didn’t say out loud, couldn’t, but that was alright, because Hutch knew them.

Hutch finally began to move again, faster now, getting close to the edge. When he took Starsky’s cock in hand, the man beneath him looked grateful, but Hutch only closed his fingers as tight as a vice around the base. His thrusts got wilder, sloppy, as Hutch felt his orgasm rushing up towards him. With a loud cry he came so hard that he could have sworn he saw stars. He kept his hips moving even though the friction against his now over sensitized cock was nearly too much for him to bear.

Starsky was nearly crying beneath him, his hands grabbing at the brass headboard, his hips moving as he struggled to find enough stimulation to come. But Hutch wouldn’t let him, not yet. He pulled his still hard cock out, and slid down the bed a little.

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t stop, not now, dammit!” The voice was hoarse and barely recognizable as his partner’s. “Finish me off, you bastard!”

“I’m not stopping. I just want to taste you when you come.”

Starsky moaned, his eyes closing at Hutch’s words. “I wanted to come while you were inside of me.”

“Oh, you will.” Hutch leaned forward and licked tormentingly across the leaking head of Starsky’s red cock. He teased the slit with the tip of his tongue, and when Starsky arched up into the feeling, Hutch pressed three fingers deep inside of him. They slipped in with little resistance, and Hutch could feel his come inside of Starsky, hot and thick. It was amazing how much Starsky trusted him, to allow Hutch into his body and let him fill it up with part of himself. Starsky’s hips pushed down against Hutch’s moving hand as his muscles tightened around his fingers. Hutch began to move his hand, angling his thrusts so that his fingertips moved across Starsky’s prostate with every pass.

Starsky felt hot and slick and smooth inside, and Hutch couldn’t hold back his own moan as he watched his fingers work inside of his lover. There were times when Hutch thought that he’d never be close enough to Starsky, and it was at those times that he wanted to keep thrusting deeper into him; to push his hand, his arm, his whole body inside of his lover. Sometimes Hutch wanted to crawl inside of Starsky and never leave.

When Starsky stopped moaning and began begging, Hutch lowered his mouth to his lover’s hard cock, taking him balls deep in one smooth movement. Starsky cried out, his voice breaking, and he thrust up uncontrollably, his cock swelling in Hutch’s throat. Hutch kept his fingers moving until Starsky collapsed back, panting, his eyes closed.

Hutch slipped his fingers out, savoring the sated look he had put on Starsky’s face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and unlocked the cuffs. His wrists were red and would probably bruise, but Hutch was pretty sure that Starsky would agree that it had been more then worth it. Hutch squeezed Starsky’s hip and rose, heading into the bathroom. After washing up he brought back a warm washcloth for his partner.

Starsky seemed to hardly notice as Hutch cleaned him up gently. He was a boneless puddle of sated flesh, and the only reaction that Hutch got was a mumbled stream of sounds that could have been an ‘I love you.’

“Love you too, babe,” Hutch answered, tossing the washcloth in the general vicinity of the bathroom. He lay down and wrapped his arms around the now sleeping Starsky, content to laze for another hour or two.

—

Two weeks later Hutch pulled his car to a stop at the curb in front of Venice Place. He could see that the windows of his apartment were dark. That was strange. Starsky was supposed to meet him for dinner. With a shrug, Hutch got out of the car and headed up the stairs. Maybe Starsky had just gotten held up or something. He’d probably show up in a few minutes.

Hutch headed up the stairs, almost forgetting and reaching above the door for his key. “Damn,” he muttered, digging his car keys back out. Starsky was right, though, it was stupid as hell to keep his key up there. Especially considering that pretty much everyone in LA had broken into his place at one time or another.

The door opened into his darkened apartment. It was pitch black, and for some reason Hutch had a bad feeling about going in. He shook it off, stepping in and reaching for the light switch.

“Took you long enough.”

The words out of the dark startled Hutch. He hadn’t been expecting this tonight, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to show too much concern. After all, hadn’t he said, time and time again, that he could handle this? Time to prove that he could.

Hutch took another step forward into the darkened room.

“Stop right there.” The voice spoke in a low dangerous tone, the words harsh and clipped. In spite of its familiarity, the voice had now become that of a stranger, an ominous, predatory stranger. It was the very strangeness in that threatening, oh-so-familiar voice that cranked up the most delicious tension in Hutch. He could handle this part of this game, couldn’t he?

Hutch reached instinctively for the gun hanging at his side, but stopped when the voice spoke again.

“I think I told you to stop, didn’t I? I should warn you, I’ve been sitting here in the dark for a while, and I can see a hell of a lot better in here then you can.”

Hutch nodded, dropping his hand to the side.

“Good. Now close the door behind you.”

Hutch kicked the door shut without turning around.

“Now, off with the holster.” When Hutch hesitated, the man in the darkness laughed a smug, dangerous sound. “Now.”

Hutch complied, shouldering out of the holster and dropping it near his feet.

“You might just come out of this okay if you keep following orders.”

Hutch shuddered at the sound of the husky voice. The blond could hear all kinds of things in the tone of the words, and all of it was scaring the hell out of him. The man before him wasn’t frightened, wasn’t hesitant or even nervous. He was in complete control of both the situation and Hutch.

“Take off your shirt.”

Hutch heard the other man move, but he still couldn’t see well enough to figure out where he was in the room. Hutch jerked the tee-shirt off over his head, dropping it on top of the holster.

“Very good.” The voice was different now, lower, husky, and Hutch realized that it was lust making the man sound different.

Something soft was pressed into Hutch’s hand before the man spoke again. “Blindfold yourself.”

Hutch felt the cloth, recognizing that he held one of his own kitchen towels. His shaking hands tied it around his head. All of Hutch’s questions were answered a few second later when the light clicked on. The man wanted to see him, but not be seen.

The feel of cold metal along his back drew a surprised gasp out of Hutch, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking a step forward, away from the feeling.

“Stay still.”

Another long stroke, right down Hutch’s bare spine, and it wasn’t until he felt the edge of the metal scrape along his skin that Hutch understood what it was. A gun. Jesus, he was in serious trouble.

The gun traced the long muscles in Hutch’s back, pressing lightly. There was the unmistakable rustle of clothing, then the metal pressed firmly into the hollow at the base of the blond’s throat.

“Pretty.”

A long slow stroke traced down the center of Hutch’s chest to his flat stomach. Hutch couldn’t help his shudder at the way it felt. The warmed metal was slick, smooth, sensual, and just a tiny bit wrong against his skin. It made him feel hot and turned on and dirty. Hutch hated to admit that he also loved it.

When the barrel of the gun dragged along his skin where the waistband of his jeans rested on his hips Hutch caught his breath on a moan, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Hutch wanted desperately to reach out, but without being told that he could, he wasn’t willing to risk angering the man in front of him, so he fought the urge. The metal moved methodically along the line where skin met fabric, barely sliding beneath the waistband. Hutch moaned again, but this time it came out as a whimper.

The man in front of him laughed and stepped close enough so that Hutch could feel the heat from his body radiating out. “Like that, do you?”

The gun moved back up to his chest, tracing a line around Hutch’s nipples. The front edge of the barrel scraped across the hardened nub, wringing a gasp from Hutch.

Both the gun and the heat coming from the man in front of him disappeared for just a moment. “Pants off. Now.” The words were clipped, and Hutch could hear that the other man was breathing heavier, nearly panting.

Hutch hesitantly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting his fingers stroke along his cock as he did it. The gun was shoved hard into his short ribs as his hand was jerked away.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Hutch couldn’t help his moan as the hand around his wrist tightened to the point of pain.

“If you can’t do it, then I guess I’ll have to do it for you, won’t I?”

One last press of the gun into his side, then it disappeared. The man’s hands settled at Hutch’s hips, sliding fingers between fabric and flesh. The pants and his boxers were shoved down over his hips, then down over his thighs. They pooled loosely around Hutch’s ankles, around his feet.

“Shoes.”

Hutch kicked his loafers off, then stepped out of his jeans and boxers. He heard the man toss them aside before stepping back close to Hutch.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

A hand ghosted across Hutch’s lips, but was gone before he could even react.

The other man moved around behind Hutch and laid his heavy hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to the bed. Walk.” As added incentive the gun was shoved hard into the small of Hutch’s back.

He walked cautiously across the room, struggling to remember where the furniture was so he didn’t run into any of it. Eventually he had to give up and just trust that he was being guided in the right direction. When his knees hit the edge of his bed he stopped, waiting for the man behind him to say something.

The gun prodded into his kidney once, then twice. “Sit.”

Hutch turned around as well as he could, settling down on the bed.

“Lay back.”

Hutch obeyed again, scooting up so that his head rested on the pillow.

“Arms above your head.”

Hutch wasn’t surprised when he felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs fastened around one his wrists. He heard the man thread the cuffs through the brass headboard, then he clipped on the other cuff.

The man stepped back, obviously admiring Hutch, naked and to the bed. And if the near panting of his breathing was any indication, he liked what he saw.

“Jesus…you were made for this.”

Regardless of his precarious situation, Hutch couldn’t help but preen a little under the praise. He was strong enough to take this, to survive, to thrive on it. He was, and he’d get through it.

The chilly metal of the gun slid up the inside of one of Hutch’s legs, tracing the smooth line of his muscles. Hutch’s legs spread wide apart in reaction, his hips arching up. Up the inside of his thighs, then detouring across one bony hip before coming to rest at his navel, pressing down lightly.

Hutch arched up into the feeling, trying to fight the pleasure that coursed through his veins. He didn’t want to give in, not this easily, but he couldn’t stop. This man was controlling everything he felt, and Hutch couldn’t deny how much he wanted that.

The gun moved up, the barrel pressing against Hutch’s chest. He could feel the opening on the front edge of the barrel directly over his pounding heart, and he struggled to keep his body limp. He refused to show any fear, not even of this.

The gun went up over the pulse points in his throat and across the line of his jaw. The metal, now warmed from his skin, pressed insistently against Hutch’s bottom lip, feeling obscenely alive and hungry for his mouth.

“Open your mouth.”

Hutch tensed, not obeying at first. He didn’t know if he could do this—after all. Could he open his mouth and let this man push a gun inside of it? It felt like suicide.

“Open your fucking mouth or I’ll do it for you.”

The gun prodded at his closed lips, pressing them back against his teeth. The threat in the words was clear, even though his voice was smooth and even. Hutch complied warily, every one of his muscles tight with tension.

The barrel of the gun barely scraped the edges of his teeth before coming to rest heavily on his tongue. The metal felt huge and warm and slick against the delicate tissues of his mouth. He could taste the copper sweet tang of the metal, shockingly and uncomfortably like blood, a faint hint of gun oil and cordite, but there was something else under that. He could taste himself on it, his sweat, the faint woodsy clean tang of his cologne with his familiar soap underlying that. It was both terrible and wonderful, knowing that the man above him had such profound control over him. After all, he could kill Hutch right this second, and there was nothing Hutch could do about it.

Just when the feelings started to overwhelm Hutch, the gun withdrew. Hutch heard the soft thud of it being dropped to the bed next to him, then there was the rustle of clothing.

“Jesus, that was…” The hoarse voice trailed off and was replaced by the wet sound of skin on skin.

Hutch shuddered, realizing what was happening. He was jerking off as he watched Hutch, while he thought about his gun in Hutch’s mouth. Hutch tried, but he couldn’t hold back a moan at the thought of it. His own cock was hard and aching, straining for stimulation. But all Hutch could do was lie there, bound and sightless, and listen to the sound of his captor getting off. Hutch didn’t know whether to beg to be released or to be touched.

When the panting from the man next to him got rougher, Hutch felt his own cock leaking. The slap of skin moving over skin got louder, then a bitten off moan filled the apartment. Hutch felt the other man’s hot come splatter on his stomach and thighs, and that was what finally broke him.

“Please, Jesus, please, touch me, god, please!” Hutch barely recognized the broken pleading voice as his own. It didn’t matter that he was begging his captor to be touched. He would do anything, even get on his hands and knees and beg, take the gun back into his mouth or even into his body, if it meant that he got to come.

“You want me to touch you?” The voice was breathless now, but still in complete control.

“Yes, oh god, please!”

“I love it when you beg.” A hand pressed down on his chest, right over his heart. “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this…desperate and out of control and pleading for me to make it all right.”

Hutch whimpered as the hand slid down to his flat stomach, stroking lightly just above his crotch. Hutch arched back, his body begging for relief, but the hand disappeared.

“Lie still.” The man’s weight shifted on the bed then vanished as he rose to his feet. There were more sounds of clothing being moved or taken off, then the weight was back. The man straddled Hutch, his knees on either side of Hutch’s hips. He was naked, and Hutch gasped as their cocks, his hard and aching, the other man’s soft, rubbed together. Hutch gasped, his hips thrusting up.

“No!” The man above him panted the word, his hands reaching back to hold Hutch’s hips to the mattress. “I don’t want you to move.”

His weight shifted again, moving up until his knees were pressed firmly under Hutch’s bound arms. Now, between the cuffs and the weight on his chest, Hutch couldn’t move at all. “Open your mouth.” This time Hutch complied eagerly, finally understanding the position the man had taken. When the head of his cock brushed Hutch’s lips he couldn’t stop himself from chasing after it with his tongue.

Hands closed in his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to Hutch’s eyes. “Do anything without my permission again and this all stops.”

Hutch nodded as well as he could, agreeing. Again, there was the soft smooth feel of a cock against his lips, slicking them with come. Hutch’s entire body was shaking with the urge to taste, but he fought it. Right now he’d do anything to make sure that this wonderful torture didn’t stop.

Finally, after long aching minutes, the heavy hot mass of the man’s cock pressed into his waiting mouth. The taste exploded across his tongue, and Hutch was lost. The world narrowed to the heavy cock in his mouth, silk over steel, the taste of musk and salt and sandalwood and oatmeal soap, and under that, the faintest hint of gun oil lingering in his mouth.

Within seconds, the other man’s breathing went from just unsteady to panting as his cock went from half hard to fully erect. The growled command of, “Use your tongue, slut,” only made Hutch hotter. He sucked, using his tongue to trace the fat vein, then to lave against the head before pressing his pointed tongue into the slit.

Hutch heard the headboard creak as the man leaned forward, bracing himself on it as his cock pressed deep into Hutch’s throat. Another thrust, this one nearly choking Hutch as the cock in his mouth slid into his throat, filling it so he couldn’t breathe. Hutch nearly panicked, his hands clenching into useless fists, his legs kicking. The darkness behind his eyes started to gray, then, miraculously, blessedly cool air, scented with sex, flooded his lungs as the man pulled back.

Again and again he thrust, his cock pushing deep into Hutch’s throat, only withdrawing when he was on the verge of panic. He did pull back through, just before Hutch’s need for air made him black out. There was nothing Hutch could do except lie there and let this man fuck his mouth. He was blindfolded, bound and effectively gagged by the cock in his mouth. Even as he was struggling not to freak out his own cock was achingly hard and leaking steadily.

“Jesus, you’re good at this,” the man above Hutch gasped out as he fucked Hutch’s mouth steadily.

The words made Hutch feel good and terrible, proud and dirty at the same time; he felt tears squeeze out of his closed eyes to wet the blindfold he wore. How could this feel so good? He was being used like a whore, like he was nothing more then a toy for this man’s pleasure. His mouth could belong to anyone. It was like he didn’t matter, only the act did.

The thrusts were getting faster now, harder, the head of the man’s cock slamming into the back of Hutch’s throat roughly. The urge to get just one single unobstructed breath began to overrule Hutch’s urge to come, and all Hutch could hear was the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

With one last thrust the man pulled out so suddenly that Hutch was left reeling. He sucked gratefully at the warm air, his throat and mouth feeling swollen and scraped raw from the rough treatment. But why had he pulled out? Didn’t he want to come? Hutch replayed the feel of the man’s cock in his mouth, huge and hot and hard. Whatever was going on wasn’t his fault; that was for damn sure. The man had been enjoying the hell out of it.

The feel of a hot hand wrapping around his cock startled Hutch into a cry. The hand was slick and wet, and it spread lube over his straining skin slowly. What the hell…?

“God!” Hutch screamed as he felt his cock push insistently inside of the other man’s body. Hutch could feel his knees pressing on either side of his own hips as the man forcefully lowered himself on Hutch’s erection. He was slick and hot as a furnace inside, and Hutch whimpered with every inch he went deeper. He was being held down, the man’s hands braced on Hutch’s narrow hips, keeping him from thrusting up. It was the worst kind of torture, this painstaking and exquisitely controlled entry. Hutch wanted his hands free so he could flip the man backwards, beneath him, and fuck him hard; he wanted to be bound like this forever; he wanted to fall at this man’s feet and beg to be his.

Behind the blindfold Hutch could see a thousand swirling starbursts of color, and each one was like an electric shock to his system. Every time the strong muscles tensed around his cock the colors flared brighter, then retreated.

After what was surely an eternity, Hutch felt the other man’s ass settle across his hips. For a moment he just sat there, still, his hands tracing the tense muscles of Hutch’s bare chest. Then, he began to move. Not thrusting, just measured, steady, titling movements of his hips as the man rocked back and forth above him. All Hutch could do was whimper, his hips making small abortive thrusts up.

When the man above him gasped and cried out, Hutch realized what he had been doing. He was searching for his prostate, trying to find the best angle. Hutch was struck again with that slightly dirty and exhilarating feeling of being used. He wasn’t in charge of this; he wasn’t taking the man above him. Instead, the other man was fucking himself using Hutch’s body. It was sick and wonderful all at the same time.

Once he’d found the perfect angle, the man above him began to move in earnest; his hips rising then slamming down hard enough to make Hutch’s back twinge. Over and over, leisurely, drawn out, repetitive movements while his breathing became panting.

When the thrusts picked up speed, Hutch found himself begging again. He felt like it had been days, months, years, since he’d last come, and he would do anything to get off. His voice was broken and hoarse, and he couldn’t control it at all. “Please, oh god, please, please, anything, please…”

One, two, three hard drops onto Hutch’s cock and the sound of skin on skin filled the room again. Just as Hutch had finally processed what the sound meant, the other man was coming, his muscles clenching around Hutch’s cock even as his come splattered onto Hutch’s stomach.

Thankfully, he didn’t stop moving as he came, and the tension around Hutch’s cock was incredible. All it took was one last small thrust and Hutch’s world exploded around him.

—

When Hutch came back to earth, the blindfold was gone, and his lover was gently cleaning his raw and bleeding wrists. He peered blearily at Starsky before tugging him down into an exhausted embrace. Their lips met, and after, Hutch pulled back to examined the man sitting next to him.

The same dark hair, sweaty now, same warm curving mouth, the edges turned up in a soft smile, same face, strong chin and cheekbones, even the same bright blue eyes as always, but something felt different. Something was different.

With a start Hutch realized the difference was in him, not in Starsky. He had turned everything he was over to his lover tonight, and the place in him that had always ached was gone. It was that ache that drove Hutch to do self-destructive things, to try to save doomed women by playing the white knight, to play games with his partner’s heart. It was that pain that had always told Hutch that he would never be enough. But now it was gone. The empty aching place had been filled with Starsky.

“I love you.” Hutch’s voice was rusty and hoarse and sounded far away.

“I love you too, babe.” Starsky sat back up, his hands, now gentle, bandaged the scraped places on Hutch’s wrists. He rained warm kisses lovingly on Hutch’s sweaty skin as he worked, reminding Hutch that he wasn’t alone.

Long minutes later, Hutch was roused from his drifting reverie by the feel of Starsky stretching out and wrapping strong arms around him. “You okay?” There was concern in Starsky’s voice, and Hutch knew that it was more about his silence then the condition of his wrists.

“Perfect.” The word was dreamy, a long breath of sound.

“Good.” Starsky’s heavy hand trailed through Hutch’s drying hair and down over the long muscles of his back. “You’re mine, Hutch. Don’t ever forget it.”

“How could I?” Hutch’s head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as he pressed his ear over Starsky’s heart. “I know now.” He felt Starsky nod, then pause, as if in thought. “What is it?”

“You were really far gone there at the end.” Cautious concern and confusion filled the familiar voice.

“Yeah.” Hutch slid his palm down the length of his lover’s arm to join their hands. “But it was a good gone.”

“I’m glad.” Hutch could hear the acceptance in Starsky’s voice now. He didn’t quite understand what had happened in Hutch, but he knew that Hutch was all right, and that was all that was important to him. “You called me ‘god.'”

“Did not.”

“Did so.” Lips pressed to Hutch’s temple gently. “I think I like being your god, Hutch.”

“I’ll bet.” Hutch’s whole body felt sated and warm and heavy, and he let his eyes close.

“One more thing. Hutch…if you’re thinking about…”

“No way. You win.” He pressed a sloppy kiss to the sweaty skin of Starsky’s chest. “I could never hope to top that, not in a million years.”

“That’s what I thought.” Starsky sounded smug as hell, but Hutch was too wiped out to deal with it tonight. It was true anyway. Starsky had won, fair and square. No point in trying to top tonight. Starsky knew him too well. He knew exactly which buttons to push and how to break Hutch down.

Although…

Hutch lost the thought as he slipped into sleep, Starsky’s arms around him.

END