The Ides of August—1986

77

Hutch brings a sick Starsky a prize from the carnival. Is it a little too realistic?

 

Originally published in the zine Turned to Fire in 1994.

The sequel to this story is The Ides of August—1987.

---

Heat, humidity, and smog are unpleasant, but accepted facts of life in mid-August L.A. The city had been baking for a week and now not even the darkness brought relief. Just the short trip from the car to the front door left Hutch feeling as though he’d been mining sulfur at a hot spring. Stepping inside was like stepping into another world.

The blaring of prime time led Hutch to the dimly lit living room.

“Turn on a light, huh. This is bad for your eyes.” Hutch switched on a lamp without giving the recipient of his admonishment a chance to comply.

“How was the party?”

“Hot.” Hutch moved to sit beside his partner on the couch. “How’re you feeling, now?” He reached automatically to lay a hand on Starsky’s forehead.

“I feel fine. Musta been one of those bugs with a time limit. How’d Molly look?”

“Wonderful, like a very mature college graduate. We went to the carnival after dinner. Molly sends her best. She wants you to get together with her soon.”

“’Kay, let’s give her a call next week. Hey, what’s in the bag? Can I see?”

Hutch couldn’t help smiling at the familiar childlike enthusiasm. “I won it for you at the carnival. Ring toss.”

“You’re kidding? That’s great! How many tries did it take you to get it?”

“Never you mind. That’s worse than asking how much I spent on a present Well, if you’re going to look a gift in the mouth maybe I’ll just…” Hutch moved as if to withdraw the bag.

“Oh no you don’t!” And Starsky was leaning across him to snatch the sack.

Hutch contemplated wrestling for possession of the crumpled container, but remembering his partner’s recent bout with a virus, he opted to let him open his present in peace. A wave of contentment swept through him as he sat watching his lover extract the stuffed animal from the sack and hold it up at eye level. Over the years, he’d gotten into the habit of giving presents to Starsky. It had been a long time since that tree in Westside Park. The initial reaction to the presents were always fun, but the thank-yous were often spectacular.

“Hey, blintz, this is terrific. I’ve never seen a stuffed lion that looked like this before.” Slender fingers stroked the chocolate brown mane. “Feel this. It’s like real fur almost, not polyester.”

Hutch reached to touch the tousled ruff. “Mmm. You’re right, but it was the eyes that got me.”

“Really. I mean how often do you see a lion with hazel eyes?”

“Not just that, Starsk, look at how they sparkle. Down on the midway with all those lights, it was like they were alive.” Hutch looked up from his examination of the toy to find a crooked grin on his companion’s face.

“Alive? C’mon, Hutch. I thought I was supposed to be the one with the overactive imagination. Alive? Where’s my rock? The two of them should get along just fine together. Aw, quit your blushin’, Blondie.”

Hutch’s glare seemed to have no effect on his partner, until Starsky’s warm, affectionate chuckle interrupted the teasing. “Okay, love, but no more cracks about my flights of fancy, huh? At least for this week.”

“C’mere,” Hutch growled, pulling his loud-mouthed friend over into his lap. “Is this all the thanks I get? No appreciation of my…” He was silenced by a sloppy kiss. Hutch found himself gazing up into laughing blue eyes.

“Better?” inquired Starsky too sweetly.

“Not so’s you’d notice, no.”

“Well, seriously—thank you. I really do like it. So, what’s its name?”

“Its name? What makes you think I’ve named it?”

“Come off it, Hutchinson. I know you.” Hutch felt Starsky struggling to extricate the lion from between their bodies. “You name everything: plants, cars, toys too, I bet. Don’t try and tell me you haven’t already given it a name.”

Batting away the freed animal that Starsky was holding too close to his nose to focus on, Hutch began to think he might come to regret this gift. “Get that thing out of my face—it tickles!”

Starsky’s chuckle had a decidedly evil ring to it. “Tickles?”

“Don’t you dare—or I’ll never tell you what its name is,” Hutch threatened, trying to keep a straight face as his partner lightly brushed his throat with the lion’s mane.

“Ah ha, so you admit you’ve named it! What is it?”

“Named it mmrghln!” Hutch tried to hopelessly mumble the last word.

“What? I couldn’t hear you. Well, it can’t be Clarence since it’s not cross-eyed. Come on, Hutch, give.”

“All right. I named it Merlin. Are you satisfied, now?” Hutch tried to wrest the toy from the man in his arms, but only succeeded in railing them off onto the floor.

“Oof, Jesus, what have you been eating lately? You weigh a ton. And don’t think you can change the subject so easily,” Starsky warned. “What kind of name is Merlin for a lion? Maybe for a crow. But for a lion? I would have expected maybe Richard, or Leo, or maybe Rex!”

“If you must know, ‘Merlin’s Cave’ was the name of the fortune-teller’s booth down from the Ring Toss. It seemed fitting after the way the eyes looked. Starsky, is that your stomach growling?”

“Well, it sure ain’t Merlin’s.”

“Didn’t you have any dinner?”

“Nah, wasn’t feeling very hungry. Am now though.”

“Good. Means you really are getting over that bug.” Hutch climbed slowly to his feet. “C’mon, let’s see what we can scrape together.”

“Sounds really appetizing when you put it that way,” Starsky commented, following his partner into the kitchen.

“How about some soup? Tomato, chicken noodle, cream of mushroom, or beef vegetable.” Receiving no answer, Hutch turned from the cupboard in time to see his partner pulling a container out of the fridge. “What the hell? No. No way are you having chili. Not twelve hours ago you were sick as a dog—you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you have that!”

“Nothing wrong with chili. I’m hungry, and soup’s just not going to do it.”

“Tough. You can have crackers, too, if you want. Now, what kind of soup will it be?”

They stood glaring at each other until Starsky began to laugh. “Oh, all right. Chicken soup, of course, oh Great Blond Mother Hen.”

“Thank you,” Hutch replied very softly. “It’ll be ready in a minute.” He busied himself with the soup, listening as Starsky moved about setting the table. Suddenly, Hutch felt strong, warm arms wrap around his waist. Moist breath caressed his neck.

“You’re a great bully, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Starsk, really it’s just… well, I get scared, you know. I can’t help hovering.”

“Hey, babe, it’s okay. I’m tough enough to stand a little mothering.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not so hard. I guess loving you so much gives me an advantage in the game.”

Hutch relaxed back against the firm body, leaning his head back to rub against silken curls. “Oh god, but I love you. How’d I ever get so lucky?”

“I dunno. Did you do something good as a kid? Or maybe you’ve got a sorcerer somewhere looking out for you.” Starsky quickly moved out of Hutch’s reach.

“Okay, funny man, sit down. Soup’s on.”

He left his partner to his soup. And dropping his wedding band in the saucer on the window sill above the sink, Hutch began doing the three-day accumulation of dishes. “Thanks for not doing the dishes.”

“Yeah, well, I promised, didn’t I?”

“And if you had done them, I’d have heard about them sometime later: like when you wanted to get out of doing something. I’m not about to give you any more ammo than I can help,” Hutch shot back with a grin.

“Did you hear that, Merlin?” Starsky turned to the lion sitting on the table at Hutch’s place. “Me? Blackmail? Never!”

“Starsky,” Hutch warned.

Starsky simply grinned as he brought over his bowl. “Delicious. Campbell’s beats Aunt Rosie’s hands down every time. Thanks.”

Hutch listened to Starsky root around in the refrigerator for a few moments, hoping he’d choose something sensible. For once. Finally, Hutch turned to find his human garbage disposal with the makings for a banana split lined up on the counter.

“Starsky. Do we have to have this whole argument over again?”

“Nah, just testing, I guess.”

“Well, you got your response.” Hutch found it impossible to keep an answering smile off his face when his lover looked at him the way he was now. “How about a single scoop and one of the bananas?”

“Okay. You want any?” Starsky inquired as he began putting away the excess dessert fixings.

“No. I had more than enough junk food at the party. And put those damn maraschino cherries away. Last time you had them on your sundae you ate half a jar of them on the side.”

“But I thought,” much too innocently, “that Merlin…”

“No,” Hutch interrupted. “Lions are carnivorous, in any case.” Hearing the soft laugh, Hutch knew he really was going to regret this particular gift.

Some moments later, Starsky added his ice cream bowl to the much-diminished pile of crockery. Hutch felt himself nudged over as his partner moved to help with the dishes. The companionable silence was accompanied by the warm press of Starsky’s body against his side, and punctuated by the little games of touch their hands played beneath the water.

With the clean-up complete, they moved apart to secure doors and windows, coming together again at the foot of the stairs.

“What are you doing with that?” Hutch asked warily, indicating the toy lion in his lover’s hand.

“Thought I’d keep Merlin on my nightstand.” Starsky wrapped his arm around Hutch’s waist as they ascended the stairs together. “Thought he might get lonely down there all alone.”

“Never gonna let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope.” Depositing the lion on the nightstand next to the massage oil, Starsky easily stripped off his cutoffs and t-shirt before heading to the bathroom.

Free of his own clothing, Hutch snagged the oil and joined him at the sink. Absently brushing his teeth, Hutch glanced toward the bedroom, eyes caught by the shine from Starsky’s night table. Pushing aside all thought of the lion at the sound of the shower coming on, he studied his partner’s nakedness. “Cool water tonight?” he asked rather distractedly as he took special note of the places Starsky hadn’t tanned. The non-slip mat being spread on the floor of the tub afforded him a breath-taking view. Talk about a full moon. Hutch hurried to follow his partner under the spray.

With the water beating down on his back, Hutch found himself fascinated by the silver droplets that sparkled, caught in Starsky’s chest hair. He trailed a finger through the mist, heedless of faded scars, to leave abstract patterns of darkness in his wake. Starsky surged against him, gently setting teeth to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He felt teasing nips accompanied by a shivery sensation as Stasky lightly drew the backs of his fingernails along his ribs.

Gasping, Hutch pulled the mouth feeding at his neck into a demanding kiss. Tongue wrestled tongue in joyous abandon as hands and arms gripped tightly, trying to meld two bodies into one. Unmeasured time passed before Hutch drew back to the passion-blurred features of the man in his arms. He smiled tenderly. “Love you, my David Michael.”

Sinking slowly to his knees, he let his tongue explore the delicate skin in the hollow of a jutting hipbone. Gradually, he worked his way across until he could rub his face against Starsky’s rigid cock like a cat asking to be caressed. A soft moan, and then fingers in his hair guided his mouth to the straining organ. Refusing to be rushed, he lightly circled the rosy head with just the tip of his tongue.

“Oh god, babe.”

Hutch ignored his lover’s plea, merely abandoning the head to slowly trace a throbbing vein down the shaft. He gently rolled the tight balls in one hand, while the other maintained a strong grip on the muscular ass, for the sake of whose balance Hutch wasn’t quite sure.

“Huuuuutch!”

This time he was unable to ignore the urgent cry. In a well-practiced move, he relaxed his throat, angling his head to take the entire length of the thick cock in at once. He held tightly for a moment, drawing back, sucking strongly in a rhythm he knew drove his partner wild. Moments later, the fingers in his hair clenched, the body above him strained against itself, and he found himself struggling to accept the rough thrust of cock and the hot flooding that bathed his throat.

Hutch eased the nearly limp body down into the tub. He carefully maneuvered the trembling man onto his lap, closing the tub’s drain with his heel. Wet, spiked lashes rose to reveal a languorous, blue gaze.

“Bastard,” Starsky accused.

“Yup.”

“Smug one, too.”

“Uh-hunh.”

“Show over?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your next act?” Starsky grinned, obviously reviving.

“Little of this, a little of that.”

“Now you’re being too modest.”

“Pass the oil.”

Starsky complied, stretching out from behind the curtain to retrieve the bottle from the back of the commode. He handed it to Hutch then bore him back, crouching over him on elbows and knees.

“So now you want to drown me?” Hutch protested jokingly.

“In my love, darling, in my love.”

Hutch snorted. “Tm going to be sick”

“Oh, no, the show must go on.”

“Oh yeah,” Hutch agreed, sliding an oily finger along the warm crevice of his lover’s ass. The puckered opening quivered as he gently probed. He was greeted by a searing heat and an insistent squeezing. “Sure you don’t have a fever?”

Starsky’s only answer was to sink back onto the pleasuring digit, pulling Hutch up into a fierce kiss. Withdrawing his hand, Hutch pushed the man attempting to devour him back to rest on his drawn-up knees. Guiding himself to his target, Hutch let his partner control the slide that would result in his impalement.

Through eyes glazing in passion, he watched the smooth descent. The head thrown back in pleasure-pain. The play of muscles in the tightly corded thighs that straddled him.

Hutch needed more, had to move. Hard. Thrusting was nearly impossible in the bathtub this way. Carefully, in the cramped quarters, he reversed their positions, taking control. Felt Starsky’s legs wrap around his waist. The tub was slowly filling with water, but he ignored the splashing water as he thrust again and again into his lover’s willing body. He could feel his partner matching him, racing with his towards the peak, higher and higher like Icarus, to reach for the sun. And suddenly, he was there, blinded by pleasure, hearing his name in the distance as Starsky accompanied him. As always.

Drifting slowly, Hutch felt Starsky groping behind his head, but couldn’t summon the energy to inquire. The water was still spraying down. It was still too much effort to get out of the tub, but he felt he could manage to sit up and pull Starsky out of the water, too.

“Thanks, Barnum. Thought I was gonna have to play fish there for a while.”

“Barnum?” Sometimes following Starsky’s train of thought was too much, even for a partner of eighteen years.

“You know, P.T. Barnum. ‘Greatest Show On Earth.’ ”

“Ahh. That good, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“Uh, Hutch?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Think maybe we could get out of here, now? The prune effect threatens.”

“Sure. Heaven forbid we suffer an attack of the prunes.” Hutch rose, pulling his companion up with him and began toweling them off. Glancing into the bedroom he saw the eyes of the lion still glittering in the moonlight that peeked in through the bedroom windows.

“Starsk…”

“Hmmm?”

“Uh, never mind.”

“Just ‘Starsk’? Well, practice makes perfect”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, too, Blondie, but I’m tired. Let’s hit the sack.”

Sliding into bed beside his lover, he snuggled down, resting his head on the lightly furred chest He felt Starsky’s gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Night.”

“Night.”

Silence reigned beyond the sound of their breathing.

“Hutch?”

“Mm mm nh?”

“You hear that?”

“What?”

“That rumbling noise.”

“Sure it’s not your gut?”

“‘Course not. I’m serious.”

“Don’t hear a thing. What’s it sound like?”

“Well, like a big cat purring.”

“Starsky,” Hutch growled.

“No, really. It sounds like Merlin is purring.”

“Starsky, shut up.”

“But, I’m not kidding. I hear it Lean over this way.”

“Go to sleep.” He wasn’t about to tell Starsky whether or not he heard that damn toy purring.

“But…”

“Sleep. Now.”

“Hutch.” A definite wail.

“Good night!”