The Last Mile on a Long, Long Trip

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While Starsky helps Hutch look for a new place to live, he tries to deal with the new feelings he’s developed for Hutch. His biggest concern — how will Hutch deal with them if he ever finds out?

This story is a sequel to “Milestone on a Long, Long Trip” from the zine, The Lucky & the Strong.

 

This story was originally published in the zine Turned to Fire, published in 1994 by Idiot Triplets Press.

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“I’d even make love with my partner… I’d even make love with my partner… I’d even make love…”

This internal litany had haunted Starsky these past weeks and he was no closer to reaching a level of peace and understanding with the still- startling concept. Often, he managed to put the thought aside, imagining it filed away permanently, only to find it creeping back into his consciousness. Any thought this insistent, especially as it centered on his partner, deserved serious consideration.

Observing Hutch with a small sideways glance, unnoticed through the cover of his long lashes, Starsky again catalogued every detail of his partner: tall and nicely muscled, creamy skin that many a professional model would envy, eyes the color of blue topaz, all topped with fashionably long hair of gold that would turn into a rare flaxen halo in intense sunlight.

But Hutch’s nicest feature has gotta be his hands, Starsky thought, sneaking another peep at the manly, long-fingered hands that rested so invitingly on his partner’s upper thighs, near the soft bulge of his groin.

These very same hands had clenched and trembled with the pain of heroin withdrawal nearly seven months ago. Since then, Hutch’s hands had proven their worth time and again — every time Hutch used them to cuff a suspect, squeeze a trigger, write a report that would seal a case, practically guaranteeing an open and shut conviction — confirming both skill and a strength of character that Starsky had never doubted.

But Starsky saw every aspect of his partner, not just the dedicated street cop — and he felt the privilege keenly. When they played basketball, he enjoyed the way Hutch’s hands would briefly encircle his waist, imparting a feeling of warmth and something… unnamed. He would watch as Hutch prepared an omelet, his hands deftly mixing the simple ingredients in a way that made more than just a late dinner for two weary warriors in the fight against crime. These things and more Starsky had noticed since that night he’d spent comforting Hutch.

Hutch had made no mention of the night he and Starsky had shared a bed — a bed and nothing else — but Starsky had felt the passing of a milestone in their friendship. Holding his distraught and doubt-wracked partner through the night, Starsky had tried to impart a sense of unconditional support, only to surprise himself with how unconditional that support would be.

Now, he was left with some unresolved doubts of his own — nothing that concerned his partner’s actions, but the action he himself had contemplated since that night… ‘I’d even make love with my partner’ — but how?

~~~

Hutch pored over the classified sections, looking for the perfect property. Something in the city, but not in the heart of town, he thought as he turned to the “rent-to-own” column. A place with natural light for my beauties, he mentally continued, thinking of his numerous plants — and of the plants he would add if he had the proper space and sun. Noting another ‘possible,’ he jotted it down in the back of his duty book. “That makes three,” he muttered aloud, finally sparing a glance for his partner who was chauffeuring them. “You’re awful quiet, Starsk.”

“You ignore me all day, stuffing your nose in the newspaper — and then you complain that I’m quiet,” Starsky intoned patiently as he looked heavenward. “You’re a hard man to please, Detective Hutchinson.”

“Yeah, well,” Hutch said, shifting uncomfortably in the Torino’s shotgun seat, “I’ve been busy. Got to find a new place. And several of these,” he added more brightly, “sound good.”

“I suppose that means we’re gonna go house hunting — again,” Starsky stated neutrally, driving on auto-pilot in the light traffic of early evening.

“What do you mean by again?”

“Just that we’ve been looking at apartments and houses every weekend for two months…” Starsky began.

“Seven weeks, not two months,” Hutch interjected.

“Two months — seven weeks — what’s the difference? We’ve looked at forty-two places and all you do is stand around and pick them apart,” Starsky groused softly, a hint of exasperation evident.

“Pick them apart?” Hutch demanded.

“Yeah — with a chain saw,” Starsky answered evenly. “Sometimes I think you wouldn’t be happy with the Taj Mahal.”

“Of course I wouldn’t be happy with the Taj Mahal! Do you know what the upkeep would be on a place that size?”

“Look… Why don’t we take the weekend off, let the realty market ripen a little bit before we look at what’s on the vine?” Pulling smoothly up to a red light, Starsky turned to his partner and allowed a little of his plaintive unhappiness to show. “You could come over to my place. We could put some steaks on the grill or even order out, if that’s what you want.”

“I want…” Hutch caught himself in mid-outburst and immediately moderated his tone. “I’m sorry, Starsk… I don’t mean to take it out on you. I just want to find someplace new, a place where I can totally relax.”

“Hey buddy, remember who you’re talking to… I know why you want to move.” His companion paused a moment, as if considering the sense of violation he’d felt when Vic Bellamy had invaded his own home. Not to mention that special shot he gave you. “Look how fast I cleared out of my place,” Starsky continued. “Man, I was out of there in no time.”

It was Hutch’s turn to sit quietly, as he contemplated how very close he’d come to losing his partner. Too close. He recalled how Starsky had tried to pull a fast one by taking advantage of Huggy’s vacation package. With a twinge of guilt he remembered his own evil delight when he’d poured an entire tumbler of water over his partner’s head. But what really hurt was the memory of how Starsky had trembled with real fear upon returning to the “scene of the crime” — his apartment. Without a word, Hutch had helped pack Starsk’s household and move it to the first apartment complex in the listings.

“I know, buddy,” he answered softly, dropping his hand onto Starsky’s lean thigh.

It took the blast of the horn from the Buick that had pulled up behind them to tear Starsky from his reverie and cause Hutch to guiltily jerk his hand away.

“Awright, already! Give it a rest!” Starsky yelled as he gunned the motor, breaking the mood irretrievably.

~~~

They’d gone apartment-hunting that weekend, anyway, Starsky being unable to deny the need in his partner’s eyes. Hutch tries, but he’s right… he won’t relax — totally relax — until he gets away from the yellow house. No matter how many carefree dates or raucous parties his partner threw, the site of the kidnapping was tainted ground — and Hutch’s well-being depended on making a fresh start.

~~~

It was a rainy Saturday and Starsky had wangled Hutch into a movie to kill time until their last appointment with the realtor. Parking in front of the ground-floor restaurant, the two men double-checked the address; it was the only place left on the list. Hutch looked up at the second floor apartment, a dubious expression evident. “I don’t know, Starsk — this place looks like a dump.”

“Will you quit wid da negative waves, Moriarty?” Starsky asked, imitating a character from the movie they’d just departed.

“Will you quit with the ‘Kelly’s Heroes’ quotes? I’m trying to find a place to live,” Hutch groused over his shoulder. Wandering into the restaurant where the realtor was to meet them, they learned that Mr. Simmons had been unexpectedly called away, but the manager had the keys. Would they like to look?

Climbing the stairs in near dark due to the lack of electricity and the extremely overcast afternoon, Starsky’s other senses were sharpened in direct proportion to his decreased sight. He could sense his partner’s exact position on the steps above, could acutely hear the slightest creak of Hutch’s leather coat, smell the good cologne he favored… and it excited him. Down boy, Starsky commanded his wayward cock, shifting his pelvis in the tight fabric. You’re going to get us in trouble. Listening to the unfamiliar jangle and scrape of keys as Hutch, by touch alone, opened the stiff deadbolt, Starsky managed to think his prick into submission and deflate the situation.

At first, very little was evident in the musty apartment — just a sense of space and little rooms off to the sides. “Watch out, buddy,” Hutch warned, stumbling on the threshold, almost tripping over the aged and warped carpeting.

Hutch felt a hand graze his shoulder and rest there as Starsky allowed him to lead the way into the middle of the great-room. Dragging his feet in an effort not to trip over the accumulated trash and bundled newspapers, Hutch found himself momentarily distracted by the warmth of his partner’s touch. How good it felt to have Starsky at his back, how strong and comforting. Reaching up, he took Starsky’s hand in his own and slowly turned, facing this man who meant so much to him. Damn, Hutch thought guiltily, I’ve made his life hell these past weeks. “Starsk…” Hutch began, only to feel his partner inexplicably pull away.

“Well, buddy-boy, this time I have to agree with you. This place is a dump…”

But Hutch wasn’t listening. Instead, he was thinking about how natural it had felt holding Starsky’s hand. He was thinking about how he would like to continue holding Starsky’s hard, gun-calloused hand. What’s wrong with me? he thought, a little scared by his feelings. Why do I… But his confused contemplations were suddenly interrupted. Without warning, the thick clouds that had blanketed L.A. all day parted, allowing an intense wash of sunlight to stream through the skylights above. The brilliant rays, overwhelming the grimy glass panels, engulfed the two men. Hutch tilted his head back, looking up at the wide expanse of natural light, unaware that his hair, by some trick of the light, gleamed pale and heavenly.

Starsky’s breath caught in his throat as Hutch turned to him, as beautiful as an angel and said, “We’ve found the perfect place.”

~~~

“I don’t know why you couldn’t rent a furnished place! Hauling this junk you call furniture up these stairs is gonna kill me,” Starsky groused as he pushed on the mattress. Hutch was trying to bend the mattress through the opening without damaging the beautifully carved wood door.

“Antiques, Starsk, not junk,” his partner retorted. “I’m tired of using other people’s cast-offs. I had most of this stuff in storage, anyway — it was time it got put to good use.”

“The box-springs nearly became my murder weapon, buddy-boy,” Starsky bitched.

“Come back with your shield or on it,” Hutch sniggered too softly for his partner to make out. Starsky’s retort was lost to posterity as just then the offending mattress shot into the room, dislodging both partners from their stations.

The next hour was spent putting the old brass bed together in the gathering twilight. It wasn’t until Hutch had to squint in the semi-darkness that he tried putting on a light with no results.

“Starsk, did you remember to call the electric company?”

“Oops.”

“Oops? Oops, Starsk!” Hutch whined. “Oh great, just great, buddy. What am I supposed to do tonight?”

“YOU are going to take a shower while I go get wine, pizza, and a box of candles — got that?” Starsky asked archly, not the least bit apologetic over his goof.

~~~

Thankful that the hot water heater was gas and not electric, Hutch took a relaxing shower, only exiting when he heard Starsky struggling with the unfamiliar lock. Towel-clad, he was just in time to save the pizza from the floor as it tried to slide out of the precariously balanced box.

“Good save, partner,” Starsky said with one of his endearing smiles flashing white in the near darkness. “My turn at the water, big guy.” So said, Starsky’s nimble fingers plucked the towel from Hutch’s waist and slung it about his own neck. “Unpack the groceries, okay? You’ll know where you want to put things,” he finished, heading toward the still-steamy bathroom.

Naked and left holding the bag, Hutch was surprised by Starsky’s actions — surprised and not a little titillated, if the state of his cock was any indicator; he was already half hard. Crossing to his new kitchen, Hutch popped the pizza into the oven to keep warm and started to put the wine in the freezer to quick-cool, but remembered, with some irritation, that the power wasn’t on. Just have to drink it hot, he thought as he rummaged around for glasses. Not even hoping to find the stemware among the stacked cartons, he settled for mismatched coffee mugs.

Digging into the bag, he removed the last of the items there — a box of votive candles and a blue and white tube that bore the legend “Clear and Tasteless — SURGI-LUBE!” Just holding the tube in his hand caused Hutch’s breathing to deepen, his heart to race. Banking down his emotions, he glanced at his now rock hard cock. “Down, boy,” Hutch muttered to his erect member. I can’t imagine any other reason why Starsk would bring this here, but better safe than sorry. His policy internally defined, the he looked for the PanAm bag that contained his bathrobes. Donning at random the lighter colored robe, he selected the dark blue one for Starsky and cheated it through the bathroom door to hang on the hook.

“There’s a robe on the door, buddy,” he called over the sound of the water. Shutting the door, he brought the candles into the living room. Scavenging matches from his jacket pocket, he lit nine of the twelve candles and scattered them artfully around the room — the golden glow masking a multitude of stacked boxes and jumbled furniture, turning the great-room into a hall of long shadows. Taking the bottle and both mugs, Hutch crossed to the sofa to wait patiently for his partner, the idea foremost that no matter what did or did not happen this night, he would never feel as close to anyone as he did right now with Starsky.

~~~

The tiny bathroom had still smelled of Hutch. Not the expensive cologne that Starsky knew he preferred, but rather the essence of Hutch as a man: clean sweat, oatmeal soap, and something a little… wild… like an animal odor — sharp, distinct as musk used to mark a territory and slightly erotic.

Shedding his clothes quickly, he’d barely adjusted the taps before stepping into the combination shower-tub. His body was charged and ready for this evening with his partner; Starsky already felt his cock filling, expanding with the hot blood that pulsed through his veins, in beat with his frightened, pounding heart. It was a welcome relief when the water almost immediately turned cold.

I can’t believe I just handed Hutch a bottle of wine and a tube of KY, Starsky thought, shivering slightly under the cool, needling spray. In the dimness, he searched for the shampoo, intending to finish quickly, but his penis had other ideas — the thought of his big, blond partner standing naked in the next room with a handful of lube caused his cock to leak a pearl of precum. Placing his hand on the needful cock, Starsky began to massage his groin, seeking quick, easy relief before he went out to again face his partner. It was fast — the need to come was imperative. Starsky jerked himself off with rapid strokes, the water cooler by the second. Just as it seemed he could finally slip over the edge into blinding white orgasm, he froze at the scrape of the bathroom door and the sound of Hutch’s voice.

“There’s a robe on the door, buddy.”

Locked in place, not by the now-frigid shower, but by the fear of discovery, Starsky waited to be certain his partner had left. The embarrassingly close call had accomplished what a cold shower hadn’t — his burning desire was, at least temporarily, curtailed. Quickly finishing his wash-up, Starsky rinsed his moisture-heavy curls and turned off the taps. Reaching for the towel he’d tossed on the toilet, he couldn’t help but think, Robe? What do we need with bathrobes?

Toweling his hair and giving his taut muscles only a cursory rubdown, the Starsky shrugged into the comfortable, midnight blue bathrobe. Fear caused his stomach muscles to tighten as he thought, Oh Hutch, I hope I haven’t played this hand wrong. Bracing himself, Starsky opened the door and walked purposefully into the living room.

Entering the room, Starsky noted how dark it was outside and how surprisingly light it was inside the apartment. Hutch had taken the dime store candles and placed then around the room, making the place look like a warehouse fairyland. Sitting on the couch, waiting for him, was Hutch — his tow-headed hair mostly dry as it gleamed pale, golden, and inviting. The gentle lighting also softened the care lines that had already begun to carve this young man’s face — making Hutch appear younger than his actual years. Starsky, without conscious thought, held his breath — drinking in the sight of his handsome partner. As if hypnotized, he moved forward to join Hutch on the couch… And knocked over a tall carton with a crash.

Bending to straighten the mess, he noticed that Hutch’s hand clenched his forehead and that his shoulders shook silently. With a pain that was palpable in his groin and his heart going out to the big man, Starsky freed his stilled breath. Ignoring the overturned box, he knelt in front of his partner, convinced that Hutch was crying as before.

Reaching up, he placed a comforting hand on Hutch’s shoulder while covering the hand that obscured the handsome face. Pulling gently, Starsky exposed his partner’s face for his evaluation, but was surprised to see a broad smile twined with what had to be… tears of laughter?!

“Oops,” Hutch said, then giggled aloud.

Sitting back on his heels, but still maintaining his hold on Hutch’s hand, Starsky abashedly grinned. “What can I say?” he answered quietly.

“You,” Hutch pronounced, as he laced fingers with his partner, “are the most endearingly exasperating man I’ve ever known. And the best partner a man could ask for.”

Starsky had looked down during the proclamation, a little embarrassed, shrugging off what could be taken as a sideways compliment. Looking up with the intention of renewing their running verbal battle, he paused, momentarily stunned by Hutch’s eyes. Normally a cool, pale blue that could turn alternately stormy on a case or fade in anger, tonight his eyes were warm and inviting in the candlelight. Starsky wanted to speak, say something — anything — to the man so close to him, but it was as though his tongue were lead. Stretching his neck upward, as if this would free his vocal cords, he tried to form words, but the time for words passed in a blaze of heated need.

Leaning forward, Hutch kissed him — their passion ignited by the first velvety meeting of soft lips. Twined fingers maintaining their grip, he rose off his heels to kneel more firmly between Hutch’s legs. Now that he was closer, Starsky could breathe in the clear, sweet smell of his partner’s hair. Hutch’s left arm encircled his torso, pulling him forward in a powerful embrace; Starsky’s narrow hips were clenched by long athletic thighs. His own muscular belly and chest were pressed against Hutch’s slightly softer abdomen. Trapped between them, clearly evident through folds of terry cloth, was Hutch’s hard-on — proud, long, and firmly erect. His own aching cock, due to the angle of his position, was pressed against the edge of the couch cushions.

Chest heaving, shifting his weight on his knees, Starsky pulled back slightly from the arms holding him so tight. “Hutch,” he said between tiny gasps, “what are we doin’, buddy?”

Hutch’s hands traveled up the bathrobe, exploring the planes of his back — his fingers finally becoming tangled in damp curls. Hutch tugged gently, bringing Starsky’s face closer to his. Starsky expected a kiss, but he was instead cradled to Hutch’s chest. The moist tip of Hutch’s tongue traced the shell of his ear as hands massaged his scalp, leaving relaxation and erotica in their wake. “Hutch…” he repeated weakly into the masculine dip of his collar bone.

“We’re doin’ what feels good… we’re doing what feels… right,” Hutch whispered breathlessly, intimately. Starsky’s body arched with electric desire as Hutch dipped his head, fastening lips to his neck, sucking and nibbling his flesh. Unable to stand even this simplest of loving onslaughts, Starsky’s arms shot upwards to grasp double handfuls of the mustard-colored robe, conversation and explanation forgotten in the necessity to feel more — all — of his partner. Using all the considerable strength of his upper body, Starsky pulled Hutch off the couch. Contact wasn’t broken his partner followed him down, hands leaving Starsky’s hair to clutch his back, laving and kissing the corded neck even as they crashed to the floor.

Writhing among the boxes, the two men rolled over and then again — not in a battle for supremacy of position, but in a fit of love and passion long buried. At last, Starsky lost the upper hand in their embrace; lust overcame intellect and he forfeited leverage in favor of yanking open his tangled robe, exposing his hairy chest and heaving ribs.

Needing no other invitation, Hutch bent his head, breathing in the sweat gathered on Starsky’s sternum before licking it off. The masterful tongue continued its travels as Hutch’s broad hands kneaded his back, lifting him off the carpeting as his nipples — now hard, brown nubs — were delicately devoured. Instinctively needing to thrust, Starsky was only momentarily surprised when the head of his cock passed under the hem of Hutch’s bathrobe; exquisite quivers shook him as the tip of his penis grazed his partner’s balls.

His hands clenched uselessly, seeking an anchor against the wave of a pure joy too good — too fast — to last. More urgent, his cock nuzzling blindly, he ground his hips against the golden man who was giving his chest so much pleasure. The hot rod of Hutch’s cock found its mate and they slid together, tantalizingly slick with precum and perspiration. Finding no other purchase, Starsky’s hands sought the silk-soft hair tickling his breast. Gripping his partner’s head between his hands, he gently pushed down — directing the talented mouth toward his own aching hardon.

“Suck me,” Starsky moaned, raising hips off the floor in supplication. “Please…” But the remainder of his sentence was lost to a harsh groan as his cock was consumed by slick, wet heat. With no hope of making this slow, Starsky thrust up into Hutch’s throat. Devoured and dancing with delight, he felt strong arms encircle his thighs — holding his hips still as he was voraciously swallowed to the root again and again. A tiny whine of pleasure turned to overload passed Starsky’s lips. Releasing Hutch’s hair, he instead dug his fingers into the dense mass of shoulder muscles wedged between his thighs.

“I’M GONNA COME, BABE…” Starsky warned, but to his seemingly everlasting pleasure, Hutch did not move off his pulsating penis; his partner took all of his love and swallowed.

Gentling him down were the hands that used a magnum with such accurate and deadly intent. Those same hands stroked him now, brushing his chest hairs, delicately rolling a nipple — not to arouse, but to relax — massaging the tense muscles of his thighs. Cool air bathed his cock as Hutch opened his mouth, releasing the spent organ. Warm breath offset the room’s cooler temperature as fingers combed through his abundant pubic hair. The underside of his penis was now nudged by a questing nose as first one, then both balls were sucked into the warm cavern of his partner’s mouth.

…Went off like a teeni-bopper, Starsky thought disjointedly, like I was the one who’s been without sex six months.

With a gentle sucking noise, Hutch pulled away from his balls and moved to sit on his heels between Starsky’s widespread thighs. The natty bathrobe was pushed off his shoulders, revealing the long torso and near perfect Nordic skin; the well-developed shoulders bore passion bruises from Starsky’s hands. Arching proud, and casting in the candlelight a long shadow across his belly, was Hutch’s stately prick. Rosy with the flush of ardor and the athletics of lovemaking, his partner’s cock curved upward from a trim nest of golden curls. Long and in proportion to its length, Hutch’s cock was impressive not only for its size, but its beauty. Uncircumcised, the delicate mushroom cap topped a foreskin stretched taut around a column of hard white flesh.

Mesmerized by the dick on display, Starsky was barely aware of his surroundings as Hutch bent over his body. At first, he thought that his partner intended to bring the cock to his lips — to be, in turn, lovingly suckled, but instead Hutch kissed him lightly on the mouth and eyes. Hutch raised himself up and turned to the nearby box that was doubling as a bar. He cracked off the wrapper and opened the screw-top bottle of wine. Pouring two coffee mugs full of the red liquid, Hutch sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. He handed one mug to his partner while slowly drinking from the other, seemingly savoring the feel of the warm wine passing down his throat.

Starsky’s hand trembled as he, too, took a swig of the wine. Reaching out, he caressingly laid his hand high on Hutch’s thigh; it was immediately covered by a strong, lean fingers.

“That’s all right,” Hutch said, holding his hand immobile.

“What do you mean?” Starsky tried unsuccessfully to catch his partner’s eyes. “What do you mean,” he repeated.

“You don’t have to… do anything you don’t want to do,” came the quiet reply.

Firmly, Starsky took his partner’s chin in his hand, positioning Hutch for a piercing kiss. Sharing the same air, their breathing again heated, Starsky took Hutch’s tongue into his own mouth and sucked it powerfully, suggestively, tasting the cheap red wine made exotic and more rewarding for coming from his lover’s lips. Straddling his partner’s hips, he deepened the kiss; with a shared moan, Starsky realized he was slowly getting hard again — a feat he would have believed impossible a minute ago.

Helplessly excited, Hutch rubbed his erection between them; his hands gripped Starsky’s muscle-girded waist, his thumbs sinking into the natural indentations of pelvis, his fingers stroking small, firm buttocks.

A wash of dizziness and deja vu passed through Starsky as he asked, “Hutch, tell me what you want.”

Mute and sweating, the hair at his temples slicked back, his face sheened with desire and open longing, Hutch’s mouth opened, but could at first express no sound. Adam’s apple bobbing, he shut his mouth with a click, turning his face to one side. Starsky took his face between his hands and turned his gaze back. Hutch shut his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head.

“Look at me, babe,” Starsky whispered gently. “Tell me…”

Hutch relaxed his facial muscles, the candle light and banked love making his pale eyes appear moist and sad as he spoke.

“I w-want to make love to you — to fuck you like a man.”

His heart burning like paper, Starsky acknowledged Hutch’s words with a slight nod. It was his turn to struggle for words, but they came.

“I know… a part of me — I guess — has always known. That’s why I brought… you know… the stuff,” he ended quietly, though inelegantly, with a red-faced shrug.

~~~

Hutch’s heart leaped in his chest at the words that had just crept from his partner’s lips. At this moment, he could die happy — warmed forever by that confession delivered in honesty and embarrassment. It was his turn to caress a face gone hot and still as he said, “Let’s go try out the brass bed.”

Starsky helped him up and they crossed to the antique bed. The glow from the candles barely reached this section of the apartment, but the light was enough for their needs. Indicating a stack of bedding, Hutch said, “Just toss a blanket over the mattress. I’ll be right back — forgot something in the kitchen.” Retracing his steps, he went to the kitchen counter and snagged the tube of lubricant. Sudden inspiration hit and he placed the tube under the hot water tap. He leaned on the counter, listening to the gush of water, waiting for the lube to heat up — trying to calm his thoughts and desires — wanting to make this good for Starsky, wanting to submerge his own fears and inadequacies in the act of loving his partner. When the gel was warmed enough, he turned off the water.

Standing at the bedside, he noted that the bed had been completely made up — though the pillows were bare of linen, a fitted sheet and colorful quilt were evident; obviously his partner had found everything except the pillow cases in the jumble of moving. The blue bathrobe was draped over a box at the foot of the bed. Starsky lay on his back, naked and waiting beneath the patchwork quilt.

Hutch put the lubricant on a box that approximated the position of where a nightstand would soon sit. Shedding his own robe, he placed it beside Starsky’s and climbed into bed. Settling under the covers, propped on his right side, Hutch reached out and soothingly stroked his partner’s cheek.

“We don’t have to go through with this…” he began, but Starsky suddenly rolled into his arms, cutting off further comment with wine-sweet lips.

His arms were filled with the warmth and furry hardness that typified Starsky in his mind. It’s like a wet dream come true, Hutch thought, as he cupped a small butt-cheek. In one smooth motion he brought his hand up to stroke the compact, muscular back and black ringlet hair. With gentle pressure, it was Starsky, not himself, who deepened their kiss. Pliant with pleasure, Hutch allowed himself to be pushed back into the pillows; with a hand on either shoulder, Starsky began to massage. Bending close, Starsky brushed soft lips against his neck, causing gooseflesh to gather. In response, his curly-haired lover rubbed his slightly stubbly chin across the sensitive skin.

Practically purring, Hutch tipped his head back, providing greater access to his long neck. His partner obliged by licking him from collar-bone to earlobe and back again. Shivers shook the big blond as the scratchy, but erotic feel of Starsky’s chin grazed his chest. With a groan, he reached for Starsky, who tenderly caught his fingers between his own.

“Uh-uh,” Starsk said by way of denial. “It’s my turn at you, blintz. If you need somethin’ to latch on to, hold this,” which he demonstrated in the near dark by placing his hostage hands on the brass rails slatting the headboard. Trying not to imagine how he must look, arms wide spread and cock half-hard, Hutch curled his hands around two convenient bars. He couldn’t suppress a groan as neck and chest were sensually laved by a tongue that seemed committed to dismantling his overcharged nervous system. Perhaps sensing that this was a little too fast, Starsky changed the wet caresses to little kisses that traveled from nipple to nipple and back up Hutch’s torso to his shoulders. Ten tiny pecks later, Starsky spoke again.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

More coherent with the lesser stimulation, Hutch was able to mumble a really inteffigent reply, “Whuuu?”

Tucking his face beneath his partner’s jaw, Starsky answered sorrowfully. “Your shoulders. You gave me something great and I repay you with bruises. Looks like you booked me and used your skin as the ‘print card.”

Releasing his hold on the headboard, Hutch wrapped his arms around the man. “It’s nothing.” Curled together, he could feel the half-hard prick that jabbed into his thigh; Hutch reveled in the masculine weight and smell of his partner. Overcome with the new and wholly welcome sensation of holding and being held by a man, Hutch shifted his hips, trying to bring his own bobbing, half-mast cock to meet his partner’s sex. Unannounced, Starsky’s hand cradled his cock, which instantly began to fill even more.

He felt Starsky begin to masturbate him, the stroke and rhythm one undoubtedly meant to lengthen and complete his erection. Perhaps frustrated by the dryness, Starsky left the comfortable position under his chin and moved lower, to the groin he was so expertly manipulating. Hot breath tickled Hutch’s pubes as a tongue-tip, saliva slick, touched the head of his cock. With a tantalizing tickle, Starsky circled the glans, tracing his foreskin with an almost electric touch. Unable to restrain himself after so long an abstinence, he thrust upward, banging the head of his cock on the roof of Starsky’s mouth. Not the least repelled, his partner understood his need and placed a calming hand on his abdomen.

“Shhhhh… It’ll be all right, just wait.”

At those gentle words, Starsky took him into his mouth. Unable to completely accommodate the length, wrapping his fingers around the root of his cock, his darkly beautiful partner began to stroke his aching manhood using tongue and hand in tandem. The pleasure was so intense, Hutch again groaned, only this time loud and non-stop. Going with the feeling, he alternately jerked, thrust, and circled his pelvis. Riding the tide of his passion, Starsky sucked him, making it good — oh so good — as he was nuzzled, licked, and thoroughly pleasured by the mouth of this man.

Just as he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Hutch was startled back to reality as his partner released his cock, the cool air shocking after the hot, wet warmth of a welcoming mouth and tunneled fingers. His face a grimace of almost painful need, he reared back, sinking deep into the pillows. I knew Starsk would have second thoughts, the voice of failure screamed in his thoughts, but he was brought rudely, wonderfully, back to reality as Starsky shifted, reaching across his body and dropping the tube of lubricating jelly on his chest.

“If we’re gonna use this…” Starsk began, but his voice trailed off.

“Then now’s the time,” Hutch finished for him.

Directions unnecessary with two who knew exactly which way the other would break in a fire-fight, they traded places in the bed, the big blond moving toward the foot and the other man moving to the head of the bed. Starsky, unbidden, turned onto his stomach, spreading his legs shyly, but inviting none-the-less. Drinking in the sight of the perfect figure, Hutch reached out to stroke the broad shoulders and narrow waist. Not an ounce of fat, he thought as he worshipfully traced the knobby spine beneath his fingertips. Gathered in the small of Starsky’s back, Hutch noted, were a profusion of short curly hairs that continued on down to the raphe of his buttocks. Hands shaking with suppressed longing, adrenaline, and fear, Hutch moved lower, brushing the dry puckered opening to his partner’s body.

Hoping that Starsky wouldn’t feel his trembling and then interpret it as mere lust, he began to circle the muscle; thankful the lube was still warm to touch, Hutch snapped the top off one-handed. Squeezing a liberal amount between parted buttocks, he continued to circle his lover’s asshole. Always maintaining contact with his other hand on some part of Starsky’s sun-browned body, Hutch continuously murmured soothing nonsense. After several minutes of this, he felt sufficiently calm enough to experimentally press the first digit of his index finger through the clenching ring. He felt Starsky freeze beneath him.

“You okay?” Hutch asked with a kiss for the small of his back, not advancing or retreating the intrusive finger.

“Yeah,” Starsky answered after a long pause, muffled by the pillows. “Go on.”

With another kiss, Hutch pressed in to the second knuckle and held steady there. Giving Starsky a moment to adjust to the new sensation of having a finger inserted in his rectum, Hutch slowly withdrew the invader, gently circling all the way out, relaxing the virgin muscle further.

“Okay,” Hutch said reaching for the tube. His own erection was firm and sturdy, though no longer the rampant tower of need that it had been. He felt sexually charged and firmly in control of his desires for the first time since Jeanie walked out. As he thoroughly coated the fingers of his right hand, a small blob escaped the tube to land wetly on one small buttock. Hutch bent and licked away the clear droplet of lubricant. Starsky had turned slightly, pulling one knee half-way to his chest, making access to his ass easier and allowing a broader range of vision for himself; he watched Hutch make the preparations of safe loveplay.

“Is it?” Starsk asked him suddenly. Hutch thought a moment, not wanting to admit that he had no idea what his partner was talking about. Then it came to him.

“Is it clear and tasteless?”

His partner nodded solemnly, but with a twinkle in his sparkling blue eyes.

“Mostly. Kind of like unflavored gelatin before it completely sets,” he replied.

Starsky grinned broadly. “I wouldn’t know — I only eat red jello, you know: Cherry, Very Berry, Strawberry.”

With a shared chuckle, Hutch slowly reinserted his finger all the way to the palm. Alternately advancing and retreating, he stimulated his lover’s anus, coating the delicate inner walls with the clear gel. On one of the out strokes, Starsky gave a small gasp and a thrusting wriggle. Hutch pulled out. “I’m sorry,” he said with a pat to his partner’s ass, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t hurt, babe,” Starsky said with a small voice. “It felt. I dunno great, but intense — like how the tip of your cock can feel when you’ve just come. Like, it’s too sensitive, but that wasn’t exactly how this felt.”

“Want me to try again?”

“Yeahhhh,” came the lush reply.

Starsky’s ass was gradually loosening its tight hold as his finger slid in easily this third time. Pressing in deep, Hutch stroked, feeling about for the same spot that had elicited the electric response. Finding a rounded. internal nub, he experimentally circled it, nudging it with a light touch. His partner’s response was immediate. His back arched in pleasure, causing his shoulders to rise off the bed and his ass to push back, cheeks clenching the questing hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Hutch said soothingly, placing his other hand on a flailing arm to calm the purposeless movement. Instead of calming the stormy motions, Starsky flipped over, to lie on his back. Placing his legs on either side of his partner’s thighs, Starsky spread himself wide. In innocent pleasure, but seductive anyway, he began to handle his swollen organ.

“Am I to take it that ‘it’,” Hutch said pointing his chin at his partner’s thick cock, “likes what I’m doing?”

“You’re talking to much.”

Furrowing his brow in mock rage, Hutch lay down between Starsky’s legs; his mouth brushed the glans of the thick cock as he spoke. “Think I talk too much? Well, buddy-boy, actions speak louder than words.” With that, he consumed the willing cock beneath him.

If the tiny squirms were any indication, Starsky was enjoying his ministrations. Going with his desires, Hutch caressed hirsute balls. sliding lower to tease at the now slick, soft opening beneath; the blond man added another finger, encasing both digits in the inviting ass. Going so slowly, expecting resistance, but meeting none. he gently worked his fingers in and out. Starsky stilled, but as he didn’t seem to be in pain or even discomfort, Hutch continued his movements, stretching the ring of muscle.

After a few minutes of this stimulation, alternately scissoring his fingers and circling the spongy, hidden button of pleasure within his partner’s body, Hutch decided to add another finger. Allowing the hard cock to fall from teasing lips, Hutch folded three fingers together and paused at the warm dilated opening. With a kiss placed on a washboard-flat belly for good luck, Hutch pushed in. fully opening his partner’s ass.

When they were as ready as they would ever be, Hutch changed positions, kneeling on the mattress between strong, widespread thighs. Running his hand over quivering, defined leg muscles, Hutch cupped his partner’s ass — pulling him partway into his lap, resting the small buttocks on his thighs. Using the remainder of the lube on his hand, Hutch coated his sex, readying himself for entry into the virginal body of the man beneath him.

Anchoring Starsky’s hip with a steadying grip. Hutch used his other hand to center the head of his cock on the glistening opening. Pausing, uncertain even this close to completion, Hutch looked at his partner’s face — and into the eyes of love. Face suffused with banked sexual tension, Starsky’s eyes were dilated with dark pleasure. The dimness contributed, leaving his eyes huge and black, with just the tiniest of brilliant blue rings surrounding the pupils. In the face of so much love nd trust, Hutch groaned aloud as he pushed into the welcoming body.

~~~

Starsky felt the head of Hutch’s huge cock enter his body. He had expected pain, but their preparations had been so thorough and relaxing it was not nearly as bad as he had anticipated. Striving to maintain that aura of relaxed sexuality, he breathed out, bearing down slightly as Hutch carefully slid in the first inch. Slowly, he felt his ass being filled with hard cock as the big blond inserted half of his hot length. With a moan that was part pain/part pleasure, he felt a searing, fire-like spasm in his bowels; the entry stopped. All movement stilled, to give his body time to accept the new sensation of his ass being filled with cock. Concentrating on how his partner must feel locked halfway out of his body, instead of the agony in his gut, Starsky thought how superhuman Hutch’s control must be. Given the reverse situation, the darker man wasn’t certain he would be able to refrain from thrusting.

“Give me a minute,” Starsky mewled quietly.

“All the time in the world, babe.”

Gradually, pain receded, leaving behind a fearful memory. Instead of dwelling on pain, Starsky chose to think of how great it felt when Hutch had played with his prostate. Hutch must have felt my body relax, he thought, but the Blond Blintz is waiting for permission. Overwhelmed with emotion at this consideration, Starsky’s long eyelashes clotted into points as he blinked away a few small tears of happiness. Not wanting his partner to misinterpret the tears, he spoke warmly and invitingly.

“You can move now, Hutch. Give it to me good.” To emphasize the desire behind his words, Starsky wrapped his legs around his partner’s waist, hooking his heels in the small of Hutch’s back, pulling him in another inch. With a soft sigh of relief, he felt his ass open completely as he was filled to the. brim with Hutch’s long cock, the fullness seemingly to his heart, leaving him gasping and short of breath.

With a long, slow outstroke, the cock eased almost completely out of his body. His anal ring tightly gripped the cock head as Hutch began little thrusts meant to stimulate the glans. After three or four of these little thrusts, Starsky felt the prick prying its way back up his anal canal.

“Tell me when I reach your prostate,” Hutch murmured between clenched teeth. He was more than half way in when Starsky laid his fingers across his partner’s anchoring hand.

“Right there…” he began, before an uncontrollable cry of pleasure ripped from his throat. Using the same repetition of nudging thrusts that he had used at the opening of his body, Hutch rubbed the head of his cock against his inner button. Stimulated to his limits, he shamelessly writhed on the long cock piercing his body. Hutch stopped, then continued the penetration until Starsky could feel crisp hairs trapped between buttocks and hips. Hutch pressed powerfully into him, cock buried as deep as it could go and wanting more. Maddeningly, the sensation unlike any he had ever experienced, Starsky felt the teasing penetration repeated in reverse.

Groaning wildly now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from coming soon. Unmindful of the bruises he had already made, Starsky gripped his partner’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life as the fire between them spread, engulfing Hutch in a storm of desire. All stops pulled, Hutch fucked his ass, driving deep. There was some pain at the deepest, stabbing penetration, but small in consideration of the out-of-control orgasm that was trying to rip apart his body. Too much — and he coming, shooting a creamy white rope of  jism onto his chest. Unable to be left behind, his partner came seconds later, slamming into his ass, filling him with a hot load of cum.

~~~

Waking near dawn, Hutch found his partner — his lover — snuggled against his shoulder, a brown thigh thrown across his hips and hand tangled innocently in longish blond hair. Disengaging gently, Hutch padded among the scattered boxes to the bathroom. Returning to bed after relieving himself, he saw that Starsky, though sleep-tousled and dopey, was also awake. Starsky took his turn at the toilet, and when he came back to bed, it was with two slices of last night’s forgotten pizza. Handing a petrified slab of dried crust and tough cheese to Hutch, he flopped on top of the covers, munching on his slice of impromptu breakfast. Unable to devour the pizza with the same relish as his bedmate, Hutch nibbled on the crust, watching with pleasure as Starsky wolfed down his slice.

“This is good pizza,” Starsky mumbled happily.

“Starsk, this is terrible pizza — it’s been in the oven all night,” Hutch answered, trying to renew their old banter, praying that what happened last night wouldn’t change them irrevocably. But he should have known better; even at his most soppy and romantic, Starsky would always be Starsky.

“Yeah, but I bet it was terrific pizza when it was hot. You got to use your imagination, Hutch.” Dropping into his Donald Sutherland voice, Starsky made him laugh with the terrible impersonation. “Ya gotta watch wid da negative waves, Moriarity.”

Throwing his slice aside, Hutch rolled over, coming to rest on top of this wonderful man. Face mere inches apart, he addressed his partner in all seriousness.

“Starsk, what are we now? What do we have?”

“Friendship,” Starsky answered with no hesitation. “Love…”

Weak with relief, Hutch allowed his head to sag against his partner’s collarbone. With seeming great care, he felt the man beneath him gently entwine fingers in his mussed hair.

“Love is friendship turned to fire,” Starsky murmured, finishing his thought. The truth of the statement, despite the fact that his partner had misquoted the line, struck a chord in Hutch’s heart. He knew then that, while the future might bring other women into their lives, there would never be other men.

Content at last and feeling as though he was coming home, Hutch kissed his partner with all the love he could muster. Monk’s remembered words would no longer haunt him; finding comfort and passion with his partner had been the last mile on a long, long trip. Starsky returned the kiss, pulling Hutch tight against his chest. Plastered together, their arms formed a circle of friendship, passion and respect that would withstand anything the world could throw at them — even love from an unlikely quarter.