The Lost Hours

Missing Scene for “ACFS.”

After collapsing outside of Janos Martini’s warehouse studio, Starsky was in no condition to continue running around looking for their third prime suspect, Al Wedell.

He needed to rest, regroup.

Helping his partner to his car, Hutch tried to have his partner let him drive, but Starsky needed some control, and silently insisted he could still handle driving.

Hutch sighed and got in the passenger’s side. “Starsky you need a break. Let me take you back to the hospital.”

“No.” Even though his voice was soft, Starsky’s tone brooked no argument. “Not goin’ back. Not yet.”

Hutch was worried. The poison flowing through Starsky’s veins was producing more and stronger symptoms: Lack of motor control, sweating, cramps, difficulty breathing and dizziness, for starters.

“Then let me take you to your place to rest for a while. You can’t keep going at this pace.”

“We gotta keep looking, Hutch.”

Arm around his partner’s shoulders, Hutch agreed. “I know, buddy. And I’m not diminishing the importance of finding Wedell. But let’s take a break and let Dobey and the others continue to look for him.”

Sighing and leaning back against the seat, Starsky knew he needed to regroup, take it easy; but when you see the end date of your life fast approaching, every minute of rest seems a waste. However, his muscles were tired and sore, his breath harder to catch. Perhaps taking an hour out wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay, Hutch. An hour. My place. It’s closer.”

Within the 15 minutes it took to get to Starsky’s apartment, his heavy breathing had subsided and the cramping had released his muscles. Parking, he was about to suggest to Hutch that they continue the search. However one glance at his partner was all it took before Starsky decided that Hutch’s demeanor recommended he not make the suggestion.

“Okay, babe. We’re here. Now what?”

“Now we get you something nourishing to eat, get some aspirin in your system to help with the aches, and then you rest for a bit.”

Starsky rolled his eyes as he opened his door. “Yes, mother.”

Walking up to the 2nd floor apartment didn’t appear to tax Starsky any, Hutch noted with relief, but he knew from what Cheryl told him that as the day went on Starsky would get progressively worse. Chills, sweating, cramps, possible vomiting, loss of muscle control, eventual paralysis. It was better to conserve needed energy now.

And Hutch was planning to be with Starsky every moment to do all he could to help and comfort his partner.

While Hutch prepared a meal of tomato soup and cheese sandwiches, he tried to convince Starsky to shower and change, to help loosen the muscles and clean the drying sweat from his sore body.

Rather than waste time on duties that may not matter in ten hours, Starsky just took off his shirt and washed down with a wet cloth. He put his blue robe on in lieu of his shirt, and sat down at the kitchen table waiting for Hutch to put the finishing touches on their light repast.

As he shook out a napkin and handed it across the table to his partner, Hutch asked, “Did you shower?”

“No. Just washed up.” Starsky looked down at the steaming bowl that he all of a sudden found very unappetizing. “Not hungry….”

“Starsky….” Hutch began, but was cut off by a pair of intent blue sapphire’s staring into his own crystalline ones.

“Hutch…” Starsky whined back. His eyes speaking clearer than any words ever could. Of his desire to control what could be controlled. “Okay, I’ll try.” He relented at the pleading and worried face across the table.

It didn’t take long to finish the light meal. Expending extra adrenaline that morning, and having a semi-full belly, caused Starsky to relax to the point of drowsiness. Grasping his elbow, Hutch helped him to get up and walk to the bedroom, where he pulled down the bedcovers and tucked his friend in once Starsky toed off his shoes.

Leaving his partner to rest, Hutch went back to the kitchen to clean up. Not long after, he heard groaning and panting coming from the direction of Starsky’s bedroom.

From the doorway, Hutch watched as his ill friend curled in on himself; arms clasped around his stomach, eyes clenched shut, mouth opened as he panted.

Stumbling over to Starsky’s side, Hutch fell on his kness and pulled Starsky’s arms from his waist. Instead, he settled his own large hand in their place, and began a light, circular motion to soothe Starsky’s cramping muscles.

“You’re gonna hyperventilate if you don’t calm down. Let’s do it together; one deep breath at a time.”

Together, over the next few minutes, they worked in tandem – as they did on the job – to ease Starsky’s discomfort; the only sound in the apartment their concentrated breathing echoing together.

Out of the quiet and calm borne of their patterned breaths, Starsky spoke. “Hutch, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, buddy, anything.” Hutch’s voice was purposely soft, soothing. In Starsky’s present state it was mesmerizing to his ears.

“Would you…could you…”

“What, Starsk?”

“Hold me. You know, like, before?”

Heart aching and melting simultaneously, Hutch could barely get his response in the affirmative past his vocal chords.

Removing his own shoes, Hutch pulled down the bunched up covers and spooned his body behind his partner’s. He continued the circular massage to Starsky’s stomach.

The effect was almost immediate, as the tension drained from Starsky’s body and he loosened his limbs.

Without thinking, as a reflex, Hutch leaned in and kissed the outer rim of Starsky’s left ear.

“Mmmm… That feels good.”

Realizing what he’d just done, Hutch stiffened and apologized. “Sorry, Starsk.”

Turning over in Hutch’s arms to face his friend, Starsky opened his eyes and gazed directly into Hutch’s. It hurt him to see the edge of fear in that beautiful face. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry. Don’t *ever* sorry. You got nothing to apologize for.”

The two friends gazed into each other’s eyes for what seemed like eons.

Finally Starsky spoke. “You’re my best pal, Hutch; you know that, right?”

The gamut of emotions that were apparent in Starsky’s eyes and in his face, floored Hutch to the extent that he couldn’t speak.

Not needing a response, Starsky continued. “No one knows me better than you.”

Clearing his throat around the lump that had grown there, Hutch finally spoke to erase any embarrassment either men might’ve been feeling.. “Getting awfully soapy there, pal.”

Dipping his eyes briefly, Starsky refused to apologize for the contradiction of his earlier statement about soapy scenes. “Tough. I don’t care. Not anymore.”

“No need to be all tough and macho with me. You know that, buddy.”

To reinforce, Hutch placed his left hand on the back of Starsky’s head and pulled it forward; lips just brushing his forehead. An affirmation of comfort, love, acceptance.

That was the only signal that Starsky needed. Wrapping his right arm around Hutch’s back, he pulled his taller friend closer so that atoms wouldn’t be able to expand between their bodies. And without further ado, he kissed Hutch on the lips – hard, with a hunger and a need that Starsky didn’t know if could be met.

Separating, and for a reason neither could place, both men began chuckling as their foreheads came together familiarly. Whether the laughter was embarrassment or joy, it ended just as quickly as it came upon them. Emotions running high, fast, deep, Starsky needed something more; a connection, a confirmation…a good-bye?

“I need this Hutch. And I need it from you.” Though his voice was soft and unsettled, his grasp on Hutch’s hair was firm. His eyes were clear and intense. Before Hutch could respond, Starsky placed his forefinger over Hutch’s lips. “Let me finish. I’m not going crazy. My mind’s perfectly clear. Unless some miracle happens, both you and I know that I don’t have much time. I’d rather spend it with you; giving you something to remember me by. I don’t want any vows, promises, or declarations from you either. I just want to enjoy the few remaining hours I left with my best friend. The person who knows me better than I do.”

“Starsky, you know I love you, but…”

“But what? Don’t get those blond locks of yours in a twist. I’ve had these slight urges every once in awhile. Hell, no one could work day in and out beside you and not get turned on, unless—”

In order to get his normally emotionally reticent partner to stop talking, Hutch put his fingers over Starsky’s mouth. “What’s your favorite complaint about Commissioner’s Office? ‘Too much talk, not enough action’?” His blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

After a half-second hesitation, Starsky grasped harder onto Hutch’s shoulders, his fingers tight enough to bruise, and pulled the blond in to clasp lip to lip; devouring the full mouth and intoxicating aroma of Hutch.

Instinct took over and hips ground together; the heat of their groins searching out the other. Hands came down to unbutton shirts and explore the chests beneath their fingertips.

Starsky found that tweaking Hutch’s nipples between forefinger and thumb, caused shivers to run through the blond’s body; while Hutch found that petting the fur covered pectorals of his friend made Starsky purr in response.

All this exploring took place with both sets of eyes closed; but when Starsky’s hand traveled down to the zipper on Hutch’s corduroys, their eyes flew open. Seeing desire and heat radiate from Starsky’s nearly blackened eyes, Hutch nodded slowly, giving his acquiesce.

Gently, Starsky lowered Hutch’s zipper and his fingers sought out the large cock straining behind cotton boxers. The feel of that smooth, hard, yet vulnerable part of Hutch in his hand made Starsky’s own cock throb in anticipation and need.

On one hand, the feel of Hutch’s penis wasn’t so different from fondling himself, but on the other it was. This was *Hutch*. And though Starsky would never hurt him in any way, and Hutch knew that, but the trust required for such an act gave Starsky a feeling of protectiveness and power all at the same time.

Hutch saw a similar plea in Starsky, and met that plea with large, gentle hands. The sound of Starsky’s straining zipper being released, silenced by his gasped panting.

Together they stroked their way past desire and need, over into pleasure and satiation.

Taking a deep breath to recover lost vigor and to calm his nerves, Hutch noticed that Starsky had immediately fallen asleep once orgasm hit; a small grin lit upon his face.

“Aw, Starsk.” Hutch pulled his clothes together and quietly got up from the bed, going to the master bath and bringing back a warmed, wet washcloth. He blotted down both his and Starsky’s abdomens.

In order not to disturb his friend’s sleep, Hutch zippered Starsky’s pants, but did not bother to button them close.

He made short work of cleaning up the kitchen of their light lunch. Less than half an hour later he was back in Starsky’s bedroom doorway, checking on his partner. If Starsky knew he was checking in on him, his friend would complain and call him over-protective. But Hutch couldn’t help it. He needed to be Starsky’s source of comfort and his shield against the outside forces falling upon him. Especially after what they just shared.

To his surprise, Starsky had woken up and was lying there quietly, staring at his image in the mirrored ceiling. He looked calm, reflective, and had none of the appearance of someone dying.

“Hey, Blondie, come here.” Starsky patted the mattress with his hand, indicating that Hutch should join him.

“You ready to hit it?” Hutch asked

“No. I want to get it on again.” Starsky grinned wickedly while rubbing his hand over the mattress in what he thought was a seductive manner.

“Pardon me? I don’t know, Starsk. We shouldn’t get too involved, here.”

“Come on, Hutchinson. You and I both know that even if we find Wedell, it’s a long shot that he was involved. If I only got a few more hours left I plan on making the most of it.”

“And this is the best way to make the most of it?”

“Just strip and get your blond ass in here.” Starsky patted the bed again, harder. “For me?” It was the closest he ever came to begging his partner for anything before.

As Hutch unsnapped and dropped his trousers and boxers, he watched Starsky’s eyes darken and narrow with lust burgeoning on the unnaturally paled face. Without taking his eyes off Hutch, Starsky lifted his ass and shimmied out of his jeans and briefs.

Starsky placed his hand on Hutch’s broad chest, and petted. “Smooth…nice.”

Overwhelmed with emotions he didn’t completely understand and that overwhelmed him – fear, love, lust, sorrow – Hutch grappled with his friend’s arms and pulled Starsky over so that he lay ontop of him; chest to chest, lips to lips.

Instinctively Starsky began to thrust his hips and groin against the smooth, hard body beneath him.

Pleasurable feelings roiled from the tips of their toes to the tips of their fingers as they held tight on to each other so their cocks didn’t lose contact.

As they ground and thrust their way to the peak, the feelings of pleasure did nothing to lessen the underlying fear that in less than 24 hours, Starsky could be dead.

An edge of panic colored their hurried thrusts; Starsky needed to know that he was still in the land of the living, for Hutch it was to hold on and preserve good memories of his friend in case they were unable to locate the source of the poison.

Once they reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, Starsky rolled off his partner; arms spread wide, the left one against Hutch’s chest. His heart was beating so fast, and so loud, that Starsky was sure Hutch could hear it. His skin tingled like an electric current humming through his body, and it made Starsky restless. Whether the tingling sensation was from the poison or the after effects of orgasm, Starsky didn’t know, and was not sure he wanted to know. He preferred to believe that it came from the ultimate release of sex with the one person he truly loved above all others, except his mother.

Nothing was said; neither man looked at each other for long moments. To break the mounting tension, Starsky joked, “I guess this is where I should say I need a smoke.”

Hutch snorted a chuckle. “Don’t you think you’ve got enough poison running through your body.”

Grimacing, Starsky turned away and ran a hand over his face. “Don’t remind me.”

Wanting to comfort, not upset his partner, Hutch patted Starsy’s bare shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Starksy turned back and looked into Hutch’s shimmering eyes, with clear and steady eyes of his own. “Thank you, Hutch.” His eyes spoke the rest of the sentence for him. //For loving me, for being here, for giving me your all.//

Not knowning how to respond without tearing up, Hutch just asked, “How’re you feeling?”

Starsky had a need to lighten up the atmosphere. “I’m feeling *fine*.” He grinned lecherously. “You should’ve been able to tell that.”

“Ha, ha. Seriously, how are you *feeling*.”

Annoyed and frustrated – more with himself, Starsky got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. “I’m fine, Hutch. I can do this. I *need* to do this. If I can have hot sex, then I think I can track down a perp without too much effort.” He walked out of the bedroom; his gait slower, his strut less pronounced, but Hutch didn’t see any effects of the poison to his person.

Without further conversation, they finished getting dressed, collected their weapons, and walked out into their reality. The closing of Starsky’s door behind them a metaphor of his current situation.

//No matter what happens, we’ll always have Paris.// Hutch thought with a mixture of love, pride, and sorrow, as he joined his partner at the Torino to try to find an antidote for the poison slowly killing his best friend.