The Man in the Middle

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128,634 words.

Previous: Beginning Again
(Book One From Dandelion Series 2).

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CHAPTER ONE: KEN HUTCHINSON

“Are you awake?”

Hutch heard the question, but it took the nudge to his hip to make him answer. “Day dreaming,” he explained. “Our lives are different now. Makes for an interesting future.”

“I suck your dick, you suck mine. I call that day-dream-come-truing.”

Hutch laughed, despite himself. They were naked and still wrapped in each other’s arms that Friday morning, having experienced mutual orgasms—Starsky’s by way of fellatio, Hutch’s by his own hand, a bliss that had been intensified by Starsky’s excitement and visible satisfaction. But already Starsky had his wits about him.

The phone rang. “Don’t answer it,” Hutch advised him. What could be more important than lazing on the bed all morning, refueling for another round of sex between them?

On the second ring, Starsky bolted off the mattress and hurried into the living room before the caller could disconnect the line, accidentally abusing Hutch as he climbed over him.

“It’s not even your phone,” Hutch reprimandingly said, disgruntled by how clumsily Starsky had scaled him, having been painfully kneed in his calf on the pass, albeit unintentionally, and jolting him fully awake. “Let the answering machine get it.”

But Starsky had the receiver to his ear before the fourth ring. “Who is this and what do you want?” he snapped, feigning irritation, as if he was prepared to give anyone a bad time that morning—male or female, friend or foe, colleague or mother. “Do you know how early it is?”

A short pause ensued before Hutch heard Starsky’s next few words, those in a serious voice, and somewhat sheepish, understandably. “Oh, hey, Cap. It’s Starsky. Hutch is still in … I mean, he’s around here somewhere,” he quickly caught himself.

From the bedroom, Hutch laughed at Starsky as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes; being unprepared would teach Starsky not to grab Hutch’s phone so quickly next time, wouldn’t it? But whatever Dobey wanted with Hutch, he wanted with Starsky, too, so Hutch was in no hurry to take the call. In fact, he pushed out of bed and headed for the shower instead.

As Hutch entered the room, Starsky told Dobey, “Yeah, we’re busy,” and sounded indignant. “We’ve got calls to make, letters to write, dogs to pat, hands to shake, babies to kiss, dishes—”

Dobey either interrupted Starsky or he interrupted himself. He lunged at Hutch as Hutch walked around the coffee table and quickly grabbed Hutch’s arm to stop him dead in his tracks on his way to the bathroom. And Starsky didn’t let go as he said to Dobey, “I mean, Hutch and I are going house-hunting today.” He smirked at Hutch, as if to say he recognized that they both knew how stupidly he’d wedged himself between a rock and a hard place as he fumbled over answers to their superior’s questions.

Hutch shifted his balance to one foot to let Starsky know he’d wait for further instructions, and Starsky released his arm, sat back on the sofa, continued his conversation with Dobey, all while fixing his eyes on Hutch’s flaccid penis, seeming to study it, without visible opinion.

A few “yeah”s later and Starsky told Dobey, “No point in moving back to my pad. We’re going to pool our resources for our retirement.” He eventually lifted his line of sight from Hutch’s penis and looked into his blue eyes instead—still without any apparent commentary on what he’d been so closely examining for a couple of minutes. “Yeah, we do practically live together 24 hours a day,” he said to Dobey, finally giving Hutch a wordless conveyance—a kind of, “if he only knew what we’ve been up to” flash of an eyebrow and pursed lips.

Hutch waved him off after that and headed to the shower, figuring Starsky was done with whatever reason he’d intercepted Hutch in the first place. But Starsky stopped him again, that time with a verbal command. “Hang on there, pal,” he ordered, having to quickly tell Dobey he’d said those words to Hutch and not to his captain. “Dobey is giving us a job, Hutch; maybe you’d like to hear about it?”

Only because he’d just been put on notice, Hutch went to the kitchen phone and cheerfully said good morning to his boss.

Dobey sounded warily optimistic. “I’m sorry to bother you guys on such short notice, but I thought you might be interested in escorting some kids this afternoon to—”

“Is this going to be another one of those decoy jobs?” Starsky snidely asked. He sat naked on the sofa, elbows on his thighs, inadvertently blocking Hutch’s view of his privates. “Recurring nightmares in corn fields come to mind.”

“It’s the real deal,” Dobey promised.

“Okay, good, because, you know what they say … fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice—”

“It’s ‘fool me once, shame on you,’” Dobey corrected him.

“That’s what I said: shame on me.”

Hutch tried not to laugh; how he succeeded, he’d never know. But he did notice how unusually comfortable he was in his own home, fully nude in front of Starsky, as if they’d grown up together that way, and enjoying the casual study they did of each other because of it. They’d been lovers for less than a week with a few days of arguing about it thrown into the middle.

“You shame the deceiving party first,” Dobey explained. “If you’re deceived twice, then the shame—”

“Whatever, Cap. Tell us where you want us to go.”

“Denver.”

“Can I wear a cowboy hat?”

“Wear whatever you want, but you might try pants.”

“Funny guy. Who are we babysitting this time?”

“He means, who are we body-guarding this time?” Hutch said. He was curious, but more appreciative that Dobey was giving them a relatively easy task, and he wanted to show the man respect in return.

“Half a dozen sex-slave kids, various ages under fourteen. You’ll be returning them to the state; transfer of guardianship.”

Both cops were silent for a moment. Easy job, maybe, but a sobering one. Hutch waited for Starsky to accept the mission, understanding why he might not want to. He’d been through enough in the past few months.

“Do we have to be armed for this?” Starsky asked.

“You don’t have to be, but it might be wise if you were. I doubt anyone is going after these kids now that they’re wards of the state, but better safe than sorry?”

“Why aren’t the feds making the transfer?”

“The feds are the babysitters; your job is to escort.”

“Defend, you mean.”

“Defend, escort, oversee. More importantly, you’re undercover. No one will even know you’re there unless you need to make your presence known.”

“Watchdogs,” Hutch figured. “Incognito.”

Another half-minute of wordless quiet followed before Starsky finally said, “Okay, we’ll do it—on the condition we can stay some extra days. I saw this cowboy show a few years back about these two bank robbers trying to go straight, and the one in the black hat said that ‘Denver is a mighty fine town.’ I’ve never been there. I’d like to see some of it.”

“Take the weekend for yourselves,” Dobey agreeably replied. “I understand now why you want to wear the cowboy hat, but do put on some pants. We still have a reputation to keep around here.”

* * *

“Did he know we were naked when we were talking to him?” Starsky wondered, unceremoniously climbing into the bathtub behind Hutch and getting his fair share of the hot water—as if he’d done it every day of his life. “I mean, he kept telling me to wear pants.”

“How could he possibly know we were naked?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

Hutch angled the shower head in such a way that they could both be under it at the same time. He was surprised when Starsky joined him for a shower; it seemed their entire way of relating had suddenly become as comfortable as a decades-long married couple—and it felt immeasurably natural. “We’ll need a two-man-sized shower in our new house,” Hutch figured, adjusting the temperature as well. “Better yet, a two-man-sized shower with two shower heads.”

“We’ve already got two heads that shower,” Starsky chuckled as he washed himself. He must have dumped a handful of shampoo into his hands and lathered them up; Hutch felt the suddenly pleasurable and unexpected soapy, slick stroke of his penis begin as Starsky pressed up against his back and buttocks for the reach-around. “If we play our cards right,” Starsky added, seductively, “we can get them to shower right now, too.”

“I need more lead time,” Hutch warned him, but his body seemed to tell a different story. The sexual arousal was immediate and he quickly hardened in Starsky’s lubricated hand. Starsky’s heavy breath in his ear, and his warm body snug to Hutch’s backside, spurred those feelings along. Hutch braced himself against the wet tile with his hands, dropped his head, closed his eyes, and completely surrendered to the desire he felt. Hot water drenched his hair and rolled off his back and arms, raising the degree of orgasmic heat inside him.

“That feels good, doesn’t it, hm?” Starsky rhetorically asked, his voice subdued and soothing, masculine and male, as was his way. He rolled his hips against Hutch’s buttocks, hardening his own shaft. “See how it turns me on, too? We’re never going to not have sex again now that we’re bona fide.”

That promise alone was sexually stimulating. Hutch had to watch the action: Starsky’s hand skillfully pumping his stiffened phallus, its tumescent crown fully exposed from its foreskin and dripping wet, the whole of his penis covered in soap and steaming hot water, and Starsky’s perfect grip. Hutch closed his eyes again; he had no words, could concentrate on nothing else. Other than his labored breathing, the only sound he made was a light laugh when Starsky nibbled his earlobe. It was a playful gesture—and new to them.

“Can I come in?” Starsky breathlessly asked. He slid his erection into the division between Hutch’s buttocks with a soapy lubriciousness. “Hm? Can I?”

When Hutch felt the swollen head of Starsky’s fleshy hard-on press for entry near his anus, he instantly snapped out of his delirium and thwarted the man’s intentions. “Wait,” he urgently said, opening his eyes with a start and straightening. He’d panicked—or something. His reaction was sudden, without pre-thought or reason, and it sent home a message he never intended.

“I thought when you didn’t answer it meant I could come in,” Starsky defensively complained, letting go of Hutch completely and stepping back. His rather meek ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t land well, either.

Hutch’s heart pounded and his erection began to subside. “Were you asking if you could fuck me?”

Starsky gently pushed past Hutch to rinse his hands under the shower head and splash water on his arms to do likewise. “It’s okay,” he reluctantly said. “I get it. I might not want that kind of thing, either. I don’t know.”

“Clarify it for me in case I misread you. Were you asking if you could fuck me in the ass?”

“When you put it like that,” Starsky said with disappointment, “then I think we should talk about it some other time. Or not at all. It’s not a deal breaker.”

“For what deal?”

“Never mind, Hutch,” Starsky insisted, more boldly as he pushed Hutch away from the shower stream to fully rinse himself off. “I was hornier than I should have been and I took liberties I now regret.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you wanted and whether I can—”

“You know what I wanted, but let’s forget it, okay? We’ve got letters to write, dogs to pat, babies to kiss.” He quickly stepped out of the bathtub, wrapped himself in the nearest towel, and immediately left the room. “And no time to waste.”

* * *

“I have an idea,” Hutch said, pulling a chair up to the breakfast table. Starsky had helped him make pancakes and a fruit dish, but the strain in the kitchen that morning was palpable, and he wanted to put closure on it. While he flipped hotcakes and watched Starsky cut up apples for their salad, his mind reeled in search of a solution. Now at the breakfast table, and Starsky being held captive to his plate of food, Hutch offered an olive branch.

“We’re going to Denver,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You want to do some sightseeing.”

Starsky nodded, ate in silence, and avoided eye contact. Hutch didn’t think he was pouting; Starsky’s facial expression and body language were ones of embarrassment—perhaps for having made a pass and been rejected. More than that, Starsky must have felt he’d badly misread Hutch.

“Did you have any particular place in mind you want to see?” Hutch asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

Starsky shrugged, kept his eyes on the table, continued to eat. After half a minute, he suggested, “Whatever is worth seeing in Denver, I guess.” Maybe he was pouting, after all.

“Museums. The zoo. Old West buildings,” Hutch proffered.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Colorado is known for its natural beauty, too.”

“There are mountains in the area, you said.”

“The Rockies,” Hutch reminded him.

“I would like to see those while we’re there.”

Hutch didn’t laugh: it was nearly impossible to not see the Rockies from Denver, but he pushed forward instead. “Here’s what I’m thinking, Starsk. After we’ve transferred authority for those kids, we find ourselves a five-star restaurant.”

Starsky noticeably blinked while he chewed, but he didn’t look at Hutch.

“Let’s really light the match to it,” Hutch said, also noticing the subtle change in Starsky’s demeanor and knowing he’d touched a nerve—in a good way. “An Italian restaurant, the kind you like, one with candles and the best food money can buy.”

“I love spaghetti.”

“Find ourselves a historic landmark of a hotel—maybe one with some 1870s architecture that offers homespun hospitality.”

“That sounds nice,” Starsky said, nodding again.

“Wine and dine me,” Hutch added, laying it all on the table.

Starsky finally looked over at him; their eyes met—friendly, warm.

“After dinner and a walk along the river,” Hutch continued, “take me back to the hotel—”

“There’s a river in Denver?”

Hutch shrugged. He didn’t know. “A romantic walk downtown then,” he said as backup, “something to relax us, and then let’s have a first-time the right way.”

“I don’t want you doing something like that just for me.”

“I do it for us.”

“These are delicate matters, Hutch.”

“Don’t I know it? The delicacy of the matter wasn’t lost on me when you went for the gold this morning.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Neither was I, and I reacted without empathy. It’s also why I’m suggesting we enjoy the upcoming weekend—in Denver—and treat ourselves to the romance and the excitement that is sure to lead into the un-flowering of my virginity.”

Starsky couldn’t repress his smile, especially because Hutch had a singsong warmth to his words. “Okay,” Starsky said, sounding relieved and foreclosing. “I like your plan, partner. A lot. But don’t forget that I’m a virgin in this thing, too. I’m no smooth operator, despite what I’ve tried to make you believe all these years.”

“Surely you’ve enjoyed the practice at some time in your life,” Hutch surmised, finally beginning to eat, satisfied that Starsky had emerged from his funk.

“Surely I haven’t—and don’t call me Shirley.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “You think you’re funny, Starsk, but not even Hollywood would buy that stupid line.”

“We’ll see. But I redress: you’re the touchy-feely one between us; you’ve done that with a woman, haven’t ya?”

“Called her Shirley?”

“Had the backside entry.”

“Doggie-style?”

“C’mon, man, you know what I’m asking you. Don’t make me be crass and have you mad at me for that, too.”

“I’m not mad at you, I love yanking your chain, and no, I’ve never had anal sex, to answer your question.”

Starsky stopped eating and stared at Hutch. “So, neither of us have—?”

“Looks like not,” Hutch said with a gentle laugh. “Seems we have more blind-leading-the-blind fun ahead of us.”

Starsky had definitely cheered up. “That’s my favorite kind with you, Hutch: the kind where we feel our way along.”

“Mine, too, Starsk. Mine, too.”

* * *

“So, what’s the plan?” Starsky asked. He slumped in a chair in front of Dobey; his voice tinged with an even-tempered masculinity, bravely defying the fact that he was the captain’s subordinate. Both he and his partner were casually dressed in jeans and shirts; Dobey in his usual suit and tie, no jacket.

Hutch felt as relaxed, but was afraid he’d give away the private reasons behind his absolute contentment, so he leaned forward, waited for instructions, and did his best to ignore his partner’s visible comfort, as if it wasn’t related to him. Their daily sex had dampened his energy and he feared it was noticeable.

Dobey slid an envelope toward them on the desk. “Board the plane,” he said, matter-of-factly. He seemed to humor Starsky’s casualness. “You’re seated separately on either side of the aisle behind the last row of children.”

“They’re not window seats,” Starsky hoped, pushing himself into a more respectful position, mostly to take the envelope. He peered inside of it for answers when Dobey rolled his eyes, and then defended his stupid comment. “Well, I mean, Cap’n, we’re not as young as we used to be. We can’t climb over—”

“Shut up,” Dobey said. It was apparent that he already knew the facts—and common sense itself required that both cops would be seated on the aisle, opposite sides of it. “Get on the plane like everybody else; pretend you’re tourists on your way to a ski resort.”

“But not together,” Hutch presumed.

“Snow—in August?” Starsky wondered, but he quickly bit his lip when Dobey scowled at him, and decided instead, “If anybody asks, I’ll say I’m going home to see my mom.”

“Suit yourself,” Dobey grumbled.

“I assume we follow the custodians to the station, too,” Hutch figured, racing ahead to scout the assignment in his mind. “As soon as everyone is signed off, we’re free to go?”

“Enjoy Denver in a cowboy hat—and pants,” Dobey confirmed. He slid another envelope across the desk toward both men, this one much larger than the first. “Your airline weapons permits, and all the other information you need—who the kids are, where they’re from, their ages, gender, height, weight; pictures if you need them—and the documents on the case are in there, too. Familiarize yourselves.”

Starsky took that envelope, but didn’t open it. Like Hutch, he understood that he and his partner would study the paperwork on their own time. “The feds know we’re tagging along, right? I mean, we don’t want them mistaking us for bad guys with guns.”

“They’re aware,” Dobey said, “and they have the files on both of you.”

“How long has this abduction ring been in business?” Hutch asked.

“Ten months that we know of. They’ve grabbed kids from Denver, Phoenix, Las Vegas—cities where they could easily snatch them.”

Starsky fidgeted with the envelope flap. “But why us?”

“Why you, what?”

“I mean, we’re not exactly Child Services.”

“You need a job right now and we need quality cops.”

Starsky nodded that he understood. “I think he likes us,” he playfully said, glancing at Hutch with a wry smile.

“Love, more like it,” Hutch replied with a wink.

Dobey flicked a single sheet of paper toward them; it landed at the edge of the desk. “Your hotel details,” he explained, ignoring the men’s wisecracks. “Three nights on the house.”

Starsky didn’t reach for the document. “We’ve actually decided to stay at—”

“We’re grateful for the extra time you’ve given us to see the city,” Hutch quickly said to Dobey, purposefully cutting Starsky off, his heart noticeably beating when he realized how close they came to Starsky telling Dobey more than he should know—or so it seemed. Hutch picked up the hotel reservation and folded it into quarters as he thanked Dobey for the free room-and-board, and avoided Starsky’s dumbfounded reaction.

“It’s the least we can do,” Dobey said, sounding sincerely appreciative. “I speak for the Department when I say it’s good to see you both back to work, despite that this assignment is outside your neck of the woods.”

Hutch imagined the truth was closer to easing Starsky into the routine of work since the shooting, and this non-threatening appointment was simply a meaningful way to do it.

* * *

“I thought we were going to find an old hotel in the city,” Starsky complained when they got into the car and left the police station before stopping at their apartment for essentials and then driving to the airport. “Now we have to stay where the Department puts us?”

“We don’t have to,” Hutch said, rolling down his window. “But I didn’t want Dobey knowing our plans. Let’s just get to Denver, finish the job, and figure out where we go from there.”

“Suits me.”

But the ‘figuring’ didn’t go as planned—except the parts to which they’d been assigned. By the time they boarded the plane, flew to Denver, and supervised the release of the rescued children to local authorities, they were too tired to use their brains. When the last of the paperwork was signed, they made their acquaintances with the federal agents, said their hellos and goodbyes, and then left the Denver Police Station. Not a hitch had compromised the hours-long transfer under their watchful eyes, but it had still been mentally exhausting.

“That felt good,” Starsky said with deep satisfaction once they were outside. “I might like being talked into this kind of thing more often.”

Hutch studied the itinerary Dobey had given them, but he couldn’t concentrate on the fine print. Their flight had been between lunch and dinner, so only peanuts and drinks had been served. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“I worked up an appetite,” Starsky admitted.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Besides a good cock-sucking?”

Hutch laughed, mildly amused, but he wouldn’t allow himself to think about anything besides eating—food. And he knew Starsky had to be as interested in killing his hunger, too; he simply enjoyed rattling Hutch’s cage whenever the chance materialized. “Save our dinner date for tomorrow night?” Hutch suggested. “Hamburgers and fries for now?”

Starsky picked up the only backpack between them, the one he’d temporarily dropped at his feet, and pushed Hutch into walking with him along the sidewalk. “There’s a joint up there,” he noted, apparently having already spied one. “We’ll think better on a full stomach.”

Once seated inside the diner, and having ordered their beers, Starsky offered an alternative. “I think tonight is a bust,” he said, sitting across from Hutch on the bench inside the booth. “Our plan is to have a spaghetti dinner—and not from a dive like this.”

“We can look for someplace else to eat.”

“Hear me out. I say we call this a work day. We stay at the hotel the Department gave us so we can be settled tonight, and tomorrow we look for the romantic place.”

“We do have to check into the Department’s hotel—and check out,” Hutch said, agreeing that it might be best to use the room for the one night and be certain to check out of it Monday morning for appearances.

“We get up early tomorrow,” Starsky suggested, “have a nice breakfast somewhere. Find us an Italian restaurant and a historic hotel—”

“And not necessarily in that order.”

“—and I’ll wine and dine you like we planned. What do you think of that idea, hm?”

“I think you stole it from me.”

Starsky smiled at him, despite how tired his blue eyes appeared.

Hutch was glad his partner wasn’t disappointed in their slight change in plans, despite that they had all been Hutch’s idea. “We’ll make up for lost time,” he promised.

“Yeah, cuz you’ll at least suck my dick tonight, won’t ya, Hutch?”

“Only if you suck mine first.”

Starsky winked at him and raised his beer in a toast. A twinkle had come to his eye. “Well, buddy,” he said with a light laugh of sincerity, “truth be told: I don’t mind coming last.”

* * *

They had breakfast the next day at a nearby cafe, having packed their one bag with the few items they’d brought with them from Los Angeles: toiletries—toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving cream and a razor, cologne and mouthwash—and clean shirts, one pair each of jeans, and enough socks, and they wore lightweight jackets to hide their holsters and weapons. Despite that the Department’s hotel had actually been an unexpectedly rather nice one—albeit with two double beds—they were still in pursuit of something much more romantic, and didn’t plan to return to the previous night’s accommodations.

A full meal later, and while enjoying their respective second cups of coffee, Hutch read through the travel guide he’d grabbed at the Denver International Airport on his way out of the terminal the day before, and gave Starsky the highlights. They had a couple of promising leads by then, coupled with a few more from their Denver-native waitress, and the two most interesting hotels were within a short walking distance from where they sat.

“You’ll be okay if you don’t have a cowboy hat to wear this weekend, huh, buddy?” Hutch asked, tossing the tourist brochure onto the table and making eye contact with Starsky. He noticed right away how refreshed Starsky appeared, how handsome and alive he was, and how friendly his expression of mutual love and admiration conveyed his unspoken and deeper feelings.

“I’ll live,” Starsky said, not reluctantly, “but if we see a cowboy store, I get to shop, no complaints from you.”

Hutch was silently agreeable to the plan. Starsky had worn cowboy hats in the past and looked rather good in them, but Hutch preferred to see his dark wavy hair and the way it perfectly accented his blue eyes; the contrasting colors were a deadly combination. “So long as you don’t pick up a hillbilly drawl, Starsk, I can handle your poor choice in clothes.”

“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky said, as if he had something new and exciting to tell his partner, and had just remembered it.

“Yeah?”

“That was some good dick you sucked last night—and again this morning.”

Hutch laughed. “It was,” he agreed. “You’ve got a fine piece.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was talking about your skill.”

Hutch pretended to misunderstand. “But it’s what you said—that I sucked a good dick last night and again this morning.”

Starsky rolled his eyes; his apparent effort to unnerve Hutch had failed. Then he seemed to want to pay back the compliment. “I sucked some good dick, too, both times.”

“So, we have that in common.”

“And the thing is…”

“Yeah?”

“We’re just getting warmed up.”

“Not bad for a couple of amateurs.”

“I’ve never felt this good in sex before. Damn, Hutch, why did we take so long to get around to it?”

“We needed the catalyst.”

“I shouldn’t have had to almost die.”

“No,” Hutch said, solemnly, “but it is what it took.”

Starsky thought for half a minute, staring at the table top, and then lifted his eyes to Hutch. “Yeah, okay, and I do like how we’re making up for all that wasted time.”

“Sex twice a day will be our norm now,” Hutch said, thinking about what the future would bring. “And, like you said, we’re just getting warmed up.”

“Yeah. We’ll be pros in no time at this rate.”

* * *

“Hutch?”

“Buddy?”

“How come I’m not feeling so good today, hm?”

“Something you ate?”

“More like … my head feels … swishy.”

“Altitude,” Hutch assumed. “They don’t call it the mile-high city for nothing.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Stay hydrated. Lots of water. We’ll acclimate sooner if we do.”

The window fliers stopped them on their way from the cafe to the first hotel they planned to explore. Dozens of colorful real estate ads covered the interior side of the glass, enticing the boys into an immediate perusal of each property offered for sale in them. They read house descriptions and prices aloud to each other, as if every new feature they discovered outdid the house they hoped to buy in California.

“And the Colorado Rockies aren’t a shabby backyard, either,” Hutch noted after reading about a 35-acre cucumber and eggplant plantation abutting Corwina Park. “Shall we rethink our retirement plans?”

Starsky leaned in to read Hutch’s latest find. “Hmm. Trade copping for farming?” he jokingly asked. “I mean, what do we know about cucumbers?”

“Or eggplants,” Hutch wondered, “except that they’re both cock-shaped?”

They busted up laughing.

“Hey, look at that!” Starsky exclaimed, leaning into Hutch as he pointed out the small poster at the edge of the window frame. “Is that a bald eagle?”

“It’s a picture of one,” Hutch said, silently reading the finer details under the photo as Starsky voiced his own discoveries.

“It says they’re going to let that bird go tomorrow,” he said, sounding awed. “I want to see that!”

Hutch quickly learned that the bird-in-question had been nursed back to health by the Hidden Valley Wildlife Center and was scheduled to be released from captivity in the afternoon. As Starsky tugged on Hutch’s jacket sleeve, nudging his partner into obliging his wishes, Hutch gave him additional facts so he could make an informed decision.

“According to this map,” Hutch said, “Hidden Valley is roughly two hours from Denver.”

“We could get there and back tomorrow, no problem. Maybe there’s a bus.”

“I think it would be wiser to rent a car.”

“I’m good with that,” Starsky quipped.

Hutch didn’t argue. It would be quite a thrill to see an American bald eagle returned to the wild right there in the Colorado Rockies. Besides, whatever made Starsky happy made Hutch happier. “We’ll rent the car and leave before noon tomorrow,” he suggested. “Unless…”

“Unless, what?”

“Unless you also want to go to the pancake breakfast they’re having in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky said, giggling like a kid in a candy store. “Pancakes and bald eagles. That would be a romantic day, wouldn’t it, Hutch?”

“Except…”

“Except, what?”

“Except the breakfast is at 10; we’d have to rent the car before 8 a.m.”

“We could do that, couldn’t we?”

“Two things.”

“One?”

“Assume a car rental company is open at that hour.”

“Probably at the airport,” Starsky figured. “Two?”

“That we get up and out of the hotel by 7 to catch a cab to the airport to rent the car in time to drive to the breakfast.” The stall in Starsky’s reply to that news made Hutch suggest something else. “Or we can rent the car today; be out of the city first thing in the morning.”

He turned away from the window and looked up the busy street as he examined the logistics in his mind. It was all doable and, like Starsky said, it was also a romantic plan. But that would mean they had one day in Denver to kill, so what intimate experience could they have that Saturday? A walk around historic downtown? A visit to a local museum? A cowboy hat-shopping excursion in an Old West souvenir store?

Starsky seemed to have an answer. “Hutch, check this out. It says they’re having a baseball game at that wildlife place today.”

Hutch turned back to the poster and read the paragraph Starsky pointed to. The Wildlife Center was to play against the County’s team; if it lost, it forfeited nothing, but if it won, the County promised to match all of the Center’s donations it had raised since the beginning of the year—needed funds the Center would use to build an animal hospital on its premises.

“Well, there’s a good cause,” Hutch said. He checked game time and also noticed the fine print. “They’re in need of players, too.”

Starsky grinned at Hutch. “What do you think? Rent the car now … drive up there for the game?”

“It’s a four-hour round trip, Starsk. Four hours today, another four tomorrow? Is that how we want to spend our time? Suppose you just pick one day’s activity.”

“Who says we’d have to come back, hm? I mean, we could maybe find a hotel somewhere near that place.”

Hutch studied the map again. “Estes Park,” he concluded. “That’s the only town of significance in a ninety-mile radius.”

“I’ll bet it’s made for tourists,” Starsky wagered. “I mean, why else would somebody put a wildlife center near there with bald eagles and baseball games if it wasn’t a touristy thing to do?”

“True. But it’s not Denver.”

“We can do Denver tomorrow night.”

“True. But on such short notice, tonight’s hotel might be a truck stop.”

“Not if that’s skiing country up there.”

They’d both seen the ski resort ads. “True,” Hutch said. “And you do like marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows?”

“It says there’s a marshmallow roast around a campfire this evening.”

“No shit?”

“And you call yourself a detective.”

Starsky smirked at him, but immediately dismissed the dig for a bigger picture. “So … how does this sound, Hutch? Rent a car. Drive to the mountains. Play baseball. Roast some marshmallows. Call it a day and stay overnight. Not a bad plan.”

Hutch could tell Starsky wanted to do it all—and what made Starsky happy made Hutch happier. “True,” he said again. “And there’d be pancakes in the morning and a bald eagle to watch fly back into the wild. Then it’s tomorrow night in Denver.”

“Don’t forget some cock-sucking somewhere in all of that.”

Hutch laughed and pushed away from the window to head up the street to a busier intersection. He liked Starsky’s plan, but he refused to let Starsky know how aroused he was by the sexual reminders, especially when there wasn’t anything he could do about them right then.

“Where are you going?” Starsky whined, falling in step as he reluctantly trailed behind Hutch.

“To find a cab.”

“I thought we were renting a car.”

“To find a cab to take us to the airport to rent a car.”

Starsky laughed at himself. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Hutch.”

“As lost as you are now,” Hutch affectionately said. “In other words, buddy, you’d be nowhere without me.”

* * *

“Why are we stopping here?”

“For food,” Hutch said as he shifted the gear into park and left the vehicle. “C’mon. Let’s not waste time talking about it.”

They’d pulled into the parking lot of a delicatessen in the popular mountain town of Boulder. Hutch feared it might be the last place right off the highway to find the kind of food they would need to buy.

“We just had breakfast,” Starsky complained as he followed Hutch into the store after having held the door open for him. “Let’s eat closer to Estelle’s Park, hm? I might be hungry again by then.”

Hutch ignored him and beelined to the deli counter, happy to feast his eyes on a wide variety of entrees, side dishes, and pre-made salads to choose from. The trick was to—

“Are you thinking about having a picnic?” Starsky asked, stopping beside him, hands on his hips, surveying the situation—like the good detective he was, or at least the one he pretended to be that day.

A picnic wasn’t a bad idea, but they should have thought of that before agreeing to arrive at the Wildlife Center in time for the baseball game.

“You’re really not up to par,” Hutch noticed, speaking to Starsky after telling the shopkeeper that he needed a few minutes to decide on a couple of to-go orders. “This isn’t about you and me, Starsk.”

“What’s it about then?” Starsky wondered, sounding deflated.

“It’s for the potluck.”

“Potluck?”

“The one listed on the poster—the one they’re having between the game and the marshmallow roast.”

“Oh.”

“We can’t go empty-handed.”

“I suppose not,” Starsky agreed in a low voice. He obviously preferred the idea of a private picnic instead.

“C’mon, get in the spirit,” Hutch encouraged him, nudging Starsky with his elbow. “Let’s help these people build their animal hospital.”

That idea seemed to cheer Starsky. “Yeah, okay.” He leaned over to examine the food in the display case. “How about some chicken salad?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“To what?” Starsky asked, dismayed. He straightened and made eye contact with Hutch. “What am I missing?”

“The finer print on the poster,” Hutch replied, drawing an invisible line in the air with his finger as if to highlight it. “‘No animal products—including fur coats.’”

“What the hell?”

“It’s a wildlife facility, Starsk. It’s run by a bunch of animal lovers.”

Starsky blinked. “Oh. Okay.” He thought a moment. “So, no chicken salad then.”

“You just might make detective grade after all.”

Starsky looked for something else, closely examining every tray in the case from one side to the other. He seemed to be on a dedicated mission, which admittedly amused Hutch.

He asked the clerk to wrap up the entire batch of roasted rosemary potatoes. “You pick something, too,” he told Starsky. “We don’t want to come off as a married couple showing up at the block party with a single dish between us.”

Starsky chose the tray of angel hair pasta and eggplant—with marinara sauce—and then suggested they buy a couple of bottles of wine while they were in the store.

* * *

Choosing the first open space in the makeshift parking lot upon leaving the highway, and having entered through the Wildlife Center’s wrought iron gates, Hutch parked their rental car, a white 1976 Cadillac Seville, and he and Starsky immediately left the vehicle. No sooner had they emerged from it when they were greeted by Sally and Sarah, two twenty-something women, presumably staff or volunteers, dressed in tees and shorts, and were invited to hand over their trays of food and wine bottles so their guests could make themselves at home. For diplomatic reasons, Hutch and Starsky had since stopped along the highway to conceal their badges, holsters, and weapons in the trunk.

Taking the cue, they gave the food to the women and then walked across the gravel driveway to the fenced pasture that abutted the road, turning their attention to a small herd of elk—and a lone male bison—that grazed in the late morning sun. Starsky and Hutch had seen the animals from the road as they approached the facility—Starsky yelling out, “A moose elk!” just to bait Hutch, or so Hutch believed—and they figured they’d finally arrived at the Center following a two-hour commute from Denver. The last 40 minutes of their drive had been on a winding mountain road, becoming even more scenic and wild the further they drove from Estes Park, the town where they planned to stay for the night after the marshmallow roast ended, even if it meant sleeping in the car.

That was the plan, anyway.

Starsky climbed onto the fence to get a closer look at the grazers. He was soon caught up talking to others who had gathered to marvel at the uncommon animals, at least from a tourist’s point-of-view, and Hutch used the time to take inventory of their surroundings.

There were a number of recreational vehicles parked in an open area across the driveway from the large ranch house. Nearly a dozen tents could be seen among the trees further into the woods that sparsely surrounded the noticeably peaceful premises. There were carefree voices in the air, and the laughter of children, as well as the occasional call of an unknown bird or beast.

Up the drive and deeper into the Center’s heart, Hutch could see other buildings—barns, aviaries, storage sheds, and farm equipment. The Center appeared well-established, and he wondered where its caretakers would build the animal hospital were they to win the baseball game that afternoon.

People milled about, some in small groups as if they, too, had just arrived and spoke among themselves; others, who seemed to be staff or volunteers, crisscrossed the driveway from one place to another, and Hutch noticed two men sitting in chairs on the front porch of the ranch house: one a Caucasian, the other dark-skinned, perhaps Indian—Eastern or Native—or Black. They appeared to survey the property in relaxed postures—and inadvertently reminded Hutch to draw a deep breath of fresh air and to let it slowly go. Time had officially come to a standstill.

He joined Starsky on the fence, standing on its bottom board. “You don’t realize how big they are until you’re this close,” he commented about the bison and the elk.

“Tyler says they’re rescues,” Starsky told him, sounding awed by what he’d learned.

“Who’s Tyler?”

“That guy over there; he works here. He says the animals are free to go, but they hang around anyway.”

“The bison?”

“The moose elk.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I doubt the bison is free to go; he’d be lost without a herd.”

“Maybe you should volunteer as a tour guide while we’re here,” Starsky said, a bit of playful annoyance in his tone.

“I just might do that,” Hutch replied with similar inflection. He knew Starsky was overwhelmed again by nature and her beauty, the ‘exotic’ animals and the fresh air. He was so out of his element. Hutch decided not to dampen his mood any further than he already had—except maybe one more time. “But you’ll miss me when I’m gone, right?”

“Where are you going?”

“To volunteer here after you’ve headed home—obviously.”

Starsky pushed Hutch’s shoulder with his own, purposefully knocking his partner off the fence. “Dream on, pal.”

It might be an interesting life, on second thought, Hutch mused. To spend every day in the country like that, surrounded by dedicated nature lovers, helping to feed and care for nature’s delicate creatures, drinking in the crisp mountain air, living off its pristine sunshine. A John Denver tune played in his mind.

As Starsky got down from the fence, perhaps sensing that Hutch wanted to find out where to sign up for the baseball game, they turned in unison and nearly ran into the two men Hutch had seen on the porch. The Caucasian put out his hand and introduced himself as “Alec Henley, the reluctant director of Hidden Valley.” His grip was firm but welcoming. He then introduced his companion, Kevin Skyler, as his co-director, a rather good-looking Black man, much younger, perhaps by as many as twenty years. Both were dressed in tee-shirts and jeans, and running shoes.

The cops made their acquaintances in kind, complete with their usual silly, albeit elusive banter, and didn’t have to guess, for long, why Alec had gone out of his way to make the formal introduction. He asked Starsky and Hutch what brought them to the Center and, after finding out that they had hoped to play ball, Alec spoke with gratitude and relief.

“I was hoping you would volunteer,” he said, his voice conveying a deep masculinity, very warm, friendly, and hopeful. His blue eyes, despite the aging wrinkles, shined under his thick, dark hair, gray around the temples, and the black, gray speckled scruff of whiskers on his face, close to a beard, but not quite, put Alec, in Hutch’s mind, somewhere in his early forties. He was an attractive man, of athletic build, an apparent no-match for anyone competing against him in sports—as were the two men he’d singled out of the crowd when they arrived.

“Between us three, I think we just might win this game,” Alec said, sounding as if he couldn’t imagine Starsky and Hutch would decline the invitation to play. Wasn’t it apparent that’s why they’d come all that way?

“You can’t leave out this guy,” Hutch assumed, nodding toward Kevin, noticing the young man’s dark eyes. “He seems formidable, too.”

Kevin audibly sighed. “I can’t.”

“He has a bad knee,” Alec explained about his young business partner, “and I was really hoping a couple of strong guys like yourselves would show up here in the nick of time to save the day. Will you play for us?”

“Sure!” Starsky said, stepping forward as if he was ready to go to bat that second had Hutch not immediately intercepted him.

“He can’t, either,” Hutch argued, “but I’ll play.”

Dumbfounded, Starsky asked, “What do you mean I can’t play, hm?”

“You shouldn’t go from treadmills and long walks in the park to sliding into bases, making home runs, and swinging bats, Starsk.” To Alec, Hutch said, “He’s fresh out of physical therapy after a … bad accident a few months ago. I won’t play if he does.” He knew his threat would prevent Starsky from playing because, even among those three men, Hutch was still the most competent—and that was saying a lot because Alec was a rather well-fit build of muscle himself. All of that climbing around on the mountain probably made him so.

“I guess it’ll just be Hutch,” Starsky said, reluctantly agreeing to sit out the game. “But I’ll be cheerleader.”

“You and me both,” Kevin said with a laugh. “How can our team possibly win without the rah-rah-rah, right?”

Outwardly disappointed, Alec still seemed to rise to the occasion, as was evidenced in his verbal resignation. “I’ll take all my players any way I can get them.” He squeezed Hutch’s bicep as the men turned toward the house, concluding by the feel of Hutch’s muscle that, “I think we can beat ’em even without our two lame friends.” His wisecrack triggered the intended relief and laughter.

After letting the Center’s guests know that they were free to use the woods for toilets, “provided you don’t leave anything behind except body fluids,” Kevin led everyone deeper into the facility, down the driveway and past a number of wooden barns and other outbuildings. He allowed all visitors the time to use the public restroom before continuing on, and eventually he splintered off onto a worn path to a small meadow surrounded by woods.

The baseball field was complete with bases, a pitcher’s mound, a batter’s cage, the necessary sports gear—even a makeshift audience section—and spectators were already on site.

Hutch liked every person he’d met from the moment they arrived at the Center—and he could tell Starsky did, too—so he was excited to be part of a family that put them at ease so early on, including the strangers who met strangers for the first time. The sport was a good cause and Hutch couldn’t help but imagine that the County’s team would purposefully lose just on principle, no matter how weak the opposition might be.

He handed his jacket to Starsky, his equivalent of rolling up his sleeves as he prepared to go to work—or to bat, as was the case. Starsky took up residence with Kevin on the lower bench of the aluminum bleachers while Alec introduced Hutch to the other players, all of whom were excited and somewhat relieved to meet him—calling him the ‘man to save the day.’

“I hope I don’t let you down,” Hutch told them; it was a genuine wish.

When it was finally time to play, Hutch looked for Starsky, exchanging a fond and quiet eye contact with him from across the small field; he received a friendly smile in return, some inaudible cheering and silent applause, and wordlessly promised Starsky he’d do his best—not just to help the good people at the wildlife rehab center to win their hospital, but to make up for having pushed Starsky out of the game.

He knew Starsky was disappointed, but Hutch just couldn’t risk Starsky’s health—not for anything.

* * *

There were non-alcoholic drinks all around, but mostly there was laughter—the easy kind, carefree, happy. The Wildlife Center had won its match against the County—and not because the County played to lose on principle, but because it really was a competitive game. Hutch had made it so. He’d played with all of his heart and racked up the most home runs. He shined.

Not a single staff member or volunteer didn’t embrace him in gratitude. But it was the broad grin on Starsky’s face that gave Hutch the most pride. His partner’s hug was his payoff—aside from the joy he knew he’d helped give the wildlife people.

“These folks are really excited,” Starsky noted, standing close to Hutch after they arrived with the group at the soon-to-be hospital’s location. “Their whole world just turned right side up.” His voice was filled with I’m measurable admiration for Hutch as he pulled Hutch into a brief headlock and gently kissed the side of his face. “You’re the hero.”

“Just doing my job,” Hutch said, laughing and deeply enjoying the affection.

Together, they followed Alec and his team around the sanctuary, meeting many of its animal patients along the way: coyotes, rabbits, birds of various species, lizards and turtles, deer and a porcupine.

Sally and Sarah soon notified everyone that the potluck lunch was served, and the guests followed their hosts to another small clearing that had been set up with picnic tables, both for dining and for serving. Some sixty people were on hand to partake, including the County’s losing ball players, who seemed more than happy to be part of the celebration.

Hutch had worked up an appetite and Starsky was almost as hungry; they hadn’t eaten since morning. Hutch had also expended a lot of energy that early afternoon, so he let Starsky choose their food. He carried both their plates while Starsky piled them high with samplings from each dish: potatoes and pasta, salads and beans, bread and fruit, snacks and steamed vegetables. Hutch had to tell him to quit or the food might fall off the plates on the way to their seats.

They sat together at the end of a picnic table and were joined by several other people, but Kevin was the first to take the spot across from them, and he couldn’t thank Hutch enough for his participation in the game. Sally and Sarah served drinks: juices and tea, water and sodas. It was a feast among good-hearted people, and Hutch felt at home. Starsky’s relaxation and easy interest in conversation made Hutch believe they were both as happy to be there.

“Not bad for our first date, huh?” Hutch privately asked him, enjoying the taste of their eclectic meal while he held bonding eye contact with Starsky. “If we had to give up our night in Denver, this isn’t a bad second.”

Starsky gently laughed and nudged Hutch under the table with his knee. “You’re the one who needed the wine-and-dine,” he recalled, keeping the leg contact between them. “I’ll take you any way I can lay you, and that day is coming, pal—pun intended—so don’t be thinking I’m disappointed.”

“In other words, you’re having a good time.”

“A great time. Moose elk and potato chips,” Starsky said, biting into one with a clownish grin, “and you know me.”

Hutch was glad to hear it. All of it. Especially the part about Starsky eventually laying him, no matter where it happened, no matter when.

“Tell me again where you’re from?” Kevin asked. His dark eyes looked from Hutch to Starsky. “You said ‘the City of Angels’; that’s Los Angeles, right?”

“I’m originally from Minnesota,” Hutch said. He wasn’t sure which ‘from’ Kevin was asking about.

“I was born in New York City,” Starsky chimed in. “Hutch and I met in Los Angeles eight years ago and came up to Denver to drop those kids.” They ate and drank while they spoke.

“Family affairs, you said,” Kevin remembered, sounding impressed and curious all at once. “What kind of work are you in that you needed to do that?”

“The return-trafficked-kids-to-their-families kind of work,” Hutch joked. “All part of the job.”

“Trafficked, you say?”

They were interrupted when a pretty young Black woman wedged herself between Kevin and the next person over, pushing Kevin toward the end of the bench. She sat with a small plate of food and smiled at the boys. “This is Tyra,” Kevin introduced her to the men. “My fiancé. We’ve bought a house in Glen Haven and plan to be married in April.”

Hutch noticed her engagement ring, said hello, congratulated the couple. Starsky did likewise.

“In fact,” Kevin continued, sitting snugly against Tyra, “I was kind of a trafficked kid myself.” As he ate, he told the men his story, that he never knew his father—the man had left the family before his birth. Kevin ended up in a street gang early on in his life, and was headed for a lifetime in prison before his salvation.

“How’d you come to changing things around?” Starsky wondered.

“One afternoon, while I was walking home from someplace, this red truck pulls up alongside me and a white guy tells me he’s looking for ranch help and needs some strong dudes to help him out. He says it pays well, includes room and board—and food. I think he’s some kind of predator,” Kevin added with a laugh, as if realizing again how completely wrong he’d been. “I tell him to fuck off. He says he’ll be back in a few days, to that same corner, if I’m interested—and I can bring a pal or two if I need the security—and he’ll show me where and what.”

“So he did,” Hutch assumed.

“And I’ve been working here ever since.”

Instinctively, Hutch shifted his eyes to the next table over and laid them on Alec, who was busy in conversation with people at his table. Hutch’s glance had purely been a hunch, but he knew he was right about who the white man in the red truck must have been when he looked back at Kevin and saw that confirming smile.

“He’s not a predator, obviously,” Kevin said. “More like a savior—and not just for animals, you know?”

“There are a number of stories like that here,” Tyra said. “A few of us got pulled back from the edge.”

“Alec says lost people just need real life scenery to change their perspective and the direction of their lives,” Kevin added. He presented the air with both hands; the Rocky Mountains and all they stood for were implied in his gesture. “If a place like this can’t change your life, nothing can. Am I right?”

Hutch would never have argued that point. “You’re right, Kevin.”

“Call me Kee. Short for Kedar.”

“Good one,” Starsky said with a laugh.

Hutch didn’t get it and shrugged at Kevin.

“A nickname the boss gave me nine years ago,” Kevin explained with a fond smile. “It’s Hebrew for ‘Dark One.’ It stuck. I like it. Made me come to love the color of my skin.”

“Is Alec Jewish?” Starsky asked.

“He’s atheist.”

“So, no God.”

“Well, I say he’s pantheist.”

“What’s that?”

“The belief that ‘God’ is in everything: rocks, trees, bald eagles.”

“Hmm. Kind of like the way you believe, Hutch,” Starsky observed.

Hutch looked back at Alec. His host, Kevin’s savior, the ‘reluctant director of Hidden Valley,’ was busy eating, drinking, talking to those around him, enjoying the life he lived—and the lives he’d given others. What was Alec’s story?

Hutch shifted his eyes to Tyra and to her beautiful face, full of innocence and warmth, and he imagined the excitement she must have felt for the promised life that awaited her. What was her story?

Maybe he and Starsky should reconsider their futures. Living with violence didn’t have to be their calling. Perhaps they could write new chapters for themselves. Maybe the Rocky Mountains held possibilities beyond anything they could ever imagine.

* * *

Following the potluck, visitors were permitted to explore the grounds on their own time—with the exception of the ICU building where animals were still in critical care. The eagle who would be released into the wild the following afternoon was also in a part of the sanctuary off-limits to everyone but staff. Many of the day-visitors left by early evening; others retired to their tents and RVs. Only a couple dozen guests, including Starsky and Hutch, eventually gathered near the fire pit on the west lawn of the two-story house.

Hutch didn’t want to sit in a patio chair; he was exhausted. After driving two hours from Denver, giving his all to the baseball game, and filling his belly, he chose instead to lie in the grass—on his back, one arm over his eyes. “I just need a few minutes to get my second wind,” he promised Starsky.

“You’re going to need more than that,” Starsky replied, sitting cross-legged beside him, at Hutch’s shoulder. “Those girls who had their eyes on you at the food table are inching their way over here as we speak.”

Hutch grunted. “That sounds like you’re expecting me to service them.”

“I think they’re expecting you to service them.”

“I must be missing something,” Hutch said with a laugh, not even bothering to look. It felt so good just to close his eyes and breathe fresh air at the same time. Besides, he didn’t remember anyone staring at him during the potluck. Starsky was pulling his leg.

“I guess you’re missing the part where they couldn’t stop looking at you and were too shy to say a word to Your Highness,” Starsky said. “But it seems like they’re going to brave it this time.”

Hutch ignored him, but sure enough, a minute later, he heard female voices as young women sat in the grass near the two cops. Hutch repressed his smile; he was amused by Starsky’s prediction, but didn’t want it to show on his face and give Starsky the satisfaction of having been right. A minute of quiet was all Hutch wanted.

Starsky immediately struck up a conversation with their new neighbors, something about the baseball game highlights, and Hutch soon fell asleep to the soothing sound of his partner’s gentle voice. He needed to refuel so much that he didn’t wake up for nearly an hour.

The sun had just set, the sky was dissolving into a midnight blue, and the dark shadows of leafed trees met his gaze when he finally dropped his arm and opened his eyes. But what woke him was actually the aroma of something … distinctly … sugary sweet. He immediately realized that a roasted marshmallow on a skewer danced around his nose. Laughing, he pulled it off the metal stick, and rolled toward Starsky as he ate the still-warm marshmallow, enjoying the pleasant taste. It had been baked to perfection.

“I thought you were going to sleep forever, Rumpelshirtskin,” Starsky said. “I’ll make you another one of those if you want one.”

Hutch propped his temple in his palm, picked at the grass, and squinted up at Starsky in the amber-lit dusk—into that precious face and those beautiful blue eyes with a noticeable spark of shimmering light in them. It was then that Hutch slowly realized there were healthy flames ablaze in the nearby fire pit, that a number of people gathered around its perimeter roasting marshmallows, laughing and talking among themselves, and that the young women who’d earlier sat beside him had moved away.

He shifted his line of sight and serendipitously made eye contact with Alec—the ‘reluctant director of Hidden Valley’—who had just turned his head toward Hutch and visually collided with him in that moment. Alec was sitting in a lounge chair on the off-side of the fire pit, flanked by several people, some Hutch recognized from earlier in the day, some not.

Alec was obviously relaxed, slouched and seemingly comfortable among his friends. He smiled at Hutch—a warm, friendly, somewhat private kind of smile, as if he knew Hutch spoke his silent language in that minute—to say he knew Hutch loved wilderness life as much as he did. Hutch replied with an easy smile of his own—and a wink; how they felt about the natural world in that moment was their little secret.

“I’ll make you another marshmallow,” Starsky decided, moving off, closer to the fire. “You’ll thank me for it.”

Starsky’s shift in position broke Hutch’s line of sight to Alec. When the view cleared, Alec was sharing a similar exchange of warmth and connection with an attractive thirty-something woman in the chair to his left; he reached over to brush the hair from her face to behind her ear as the two engaged in inaudible conversation. They were obviously quite familiar with each other. That, or Alec was somewhat of a people-person, too; all the more moving to see because the rehabilitator spent his life taking care of animals.

Hutch then watched Starsky roast a marshmallow while a family of four—parents and their two young boys—engaged him; Hutch could hear Starsky’s masculine voice in that instance, despite not being able to decipher his words. Starsky sat cross-legged, but leaned forward, holding a couple of marshmallows over the flames on a skewer. Hutch savored the look of him: Starsky’s confident posture, the manly shape of his legs and his hips and his butt inside his jeans, the outline of his familiar profile and the animalism of his dark and mussed hair, and noticed that Starsky was so comfortable that evening that he wasn’t even wearing shoes. There was hope for his boy yet.

To Hutch’s left, Kevin leaned against a beanbag chair on the ground with Tyra in his arms. They watched the dancing flames and listened to the happy and contented people around them, seeming lost in each other.

Hutch was in love, too. So was Starsky. What he’d give to snuggle into his new lover’s arms right there in the grass by the fire among new friends in what promised to be a moonlit night. But unlike all those others around them, he and Starsky couldn’t openly express their affection for each other. Hutch wouldn’t get to stroke Starsky’s hair, sit with him in his arms, allow the world to know they were more than what they appeared to be on the surface.

The participation in the beauty of those connections, including the one he’d felt in the wildness of the Rockies itself, was a perfect world up until that reminder. The insight made Hutch feel inexplicably and suddenly sad and he dropped his sight to the grass.

Only when the fire popped and startled him did Hutch look up—not fully snapped out of his unplanned melancholy—and accidentally looked right into Alec’s eyes again. But that time, his host didn’t smile. There was a frown over Alec’s brow; he cocked his head, squinted, lifted his chin, as if to ask Hutch to tell him more. But Hutch couldn’t explain it, certainly not in any meaningful way, and not even in silent words. Some things were too personal and complex to share. He pursed his lips, and forced a smile instead, but it was too late. There was no guessing that Alec knew something was wrong.

* * *

“I stole some leftovers,” Starsky said from the back seat while he handed Hutch half of a peeled banana. “I figured the marshmallows weren’t going to fill us.”

“Good thinking,” Hutch said as he slowly ate the fruit, appreciating its taste almost as much as Starsky’s thoughtfulness. There had been a lot of food leftover from the potluck, but neither he nor Starsky was hungry while it was still on the outdoor tables, and they didn’t feel brave enough to venture into the house to raid the refrigerator when hunger pains began to gnaw at them.

“I tried getting us some of that wine we bought, too,” Starsky continued, “but I couldn’t find any trace of it.”

“It was good stuff. I knew it wouldn’t last.”

“I couldn’t even find any beer.”

“Beer and bananas,” Hutch pondered with a chuckle.

“I got us some water, though. Someone told me we have to stay hydrated.”

“I wonder who.”

“It couldn’t have been you,” Starsky sniped with a laugh. “You’re not that smart.”

Hutch sat in the front on the passenger side of the car, leaning up against its door. The porch light from the house and another flood light in the driveway kept them well-lit. He took the bottle of water from Starsky and stuck it between his knees, needing to finish the banana before he could free his hands to twist off its cap.

“And some nuts, too,” Starsky said, holding out his fist.

“Where would we be without nuts?” Hutch joked, allowing Starsky to fill his palm with a handful of mixed nuts. “More importantly, how are we going to do this?”

“Which part?” Starsky asked. “The sleeping part or the sucking part?”

Hutch laughed and remained focused. “You use the backpack as a pillow for half the night; I use it for the other?”

“You can have it all night if you want it,” Starsky said, shoving the backpack over the seat and into Hutch’s lap; it landed heavier than Hutch expected. “You’re going to need more beauty sleep,” Starsky wisecracked, “to keep up with all these babes who’ve got their eyes on you.”

“You keep saying that, but I haven’t noticed.”

“Because you’re too dumbstruck by mountains and trees.”

“You mean awestruck.”

“Do I?”

Hutch laughed; he enjoyed being teased.

“Well, I mean, Hutch, how else do you explain not noticing all that pussy, hm?”

“I’m in love with you?”

“I’m in love with you, too, but I noticed it.”

“Are you asking for permission to partake?”

“I don’t think that was my point at all.”

“If you want some, get some,” Hutch said, not sarcastically.

“That’s not what I was saying,” Starsky argued.

“I’m not saying that’s what you’re saying. I’m saying if you want some, get some.”

“Really? We’re in love, but I could still have pussy if I want it?”

“Whatever makes you happy, buddy.”

“Why would pussy make me happy?”

“Hard-wiring.”

“I’m not hard,” Starsky jokingly whined. “Or is this your way of telling me you want to suck my dick?”

“Wake me at 3 a.m. and I’ll do just that.”

Starsky was quiet for a minute and, when asked, said he was setting the alarm on his watch. “You can wake me at 4 a.m. and I’ll return the favor.”

Hutch laughed again at their mostly nonsensical conversation. “I’m just telling you that, as long as you’re in my bed every night by end of day, I don’t care what you do, Starsk. Live your life.”

“I’m not sure I can say the same back,” Starsky quietly replied, sounding disappointed in himself.

“You don’t have to,” Hutch promised him, not judgmentally. He ate nuts and finished the banana and eventually drank water.

Starsky seemed to have grown tired of the conversation because he didn’t say another word about it, or perhaps he was just sleepy, slouched against the back seat. Hutch heard him cross his arms and deeply sigh.

“When you wake up tomorrow with a stiff neck and a bad back,” Hutch told him, “remember this was your idea.”

Starsky rallied. “It would have been a waste of time for us to drive all that way to town just to come here in the morning for pancakes.”

“I get it, but we’ll see if you’ve changed your tune by then.”

“I won’t. I didn’t want to drive that mountain road in the dark, either. We’ll be okay. It’s not like we haven’t done this kind of thing before.”

“And lived to regret it.”

Starsky grunted and slid down across the back seat. It appeared he’d finally and completely surrendered to their fate of sleeping in the car—at least to wait for the sound of his alarm to go off in the middle of the night.

Just as Hutch was about to carve out a comfortable position, using the backpack for a makeshift pillow, there was an unexpected rap at the driver’s window.

“Speak of the devil,” he heard Starsky say with a laugh when Hutch recognized one of the first volunteers to greet them when they arrived at the Center earlier that day. He pushed off his seat to roll down the window.

“You boys don’t have to sleep out here,” the young woman said when they made eye contact. Maybe she was Sally, maybe she was Sarah; Hutch couldn’t remember which. He decided to silently call her Salah. “There’s one guest room left in the house,” she explained, “and you should take it.”

“We’re all right,” Hutch replied, despite that Starsky kicked the back of the seat when he spoke. “Give it to some needier folks.”

“There aren’t any,” Salah insisted. She smiled at him as if nothing he could say would be a good enough excuse, no matter how he might try to word it. The porch lamp shadowed her face, but there was enough light for him to make out her pretty features. “Everybody’s in their place now,” she said, “so there’s no point in wasting the room.”

Hutch stalled. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he was too tired to walk the three hundred feet to the house. Or maybe it was a romantic notion to sleep with Starsky in a car all night—and wait for his watch alarm to go off. Or was Hutch nervous about the offer because it came from a woman Starsky insisted was attracted to him? He trusted himself and his feelings, except in that moment, when he didn’t know how to channel them.

But Salah eased some of his apprehension when she said, “Alec asked me to come out here and give you guys the room. He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

* * *

“He thinks we’re gay, Hutch.”

“Who cares?”

Hutch didn’t. As much as he may have loved the romantic idea of sleeping all night in the car with Starsky, despite the inevitable sore muscles and bad backs it would create, he was glad to see a bed on second thought. They had another big day ahead of them and it was best they sleep well, too.

“Everybody’s going to think we’re gay,” Starsky added, sounding frustrated, annoyed, and disappointed. He stood inside the closed bedroom door, their backpack at his feet, and watched Hutch, as if he couldn’t believe Hutch could be so blasé about his concerns.

“So they think we’re gay,” Hutch said, unbuttoning his shirt as he readied for bed. “Let them think whatever they’ll think; we have no control over that.”

“You don’t even want them knowing we’re cops.”

“I don’t want to dampen the mood around here,” Hutch explained.

“Maybe they’d appreciate us.”

“Or maybe they’d walk on eggshells in our presence.”

“You have a problem with them knowing we’re cops, but not thinking we’re gay?”

Hutch removed his shirt, tossed it over the armchair in the corner of the room. He stopped to face Starsky; it was obvious his partner couldn’t let it go. “Back to my original point: so what if they think we’re gay, huh?”

“I don’t want them thinking we’re…”

“We’re, what, Starsk? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Weak.”

“Oh.” Hutch didn’t expect that answer; he thought Starsky was about to use a slur. “That’s how you see gay guys?”

“That’s how the world sees gay guys.”

Hutch wasn’t aware of that fact.

“It’s straight guys who fight to defend the women,” Starsky explained. He leaned against the door, settled, as if he didn’t plan to come to bed. He was visibly upset, but kept his voice low.

The one-bed bedroom with two nightstands and lamps that they’d been given was at the front of the house off the living room hallway; a guest bathroom separated it from the next room over. They didn’t have to whisper, but it was late at night, and keeping their voices down was still a wise idea.

“C’mon,” Starsky argued, “you know I’m not judging gay boys. I’m saying the world sees them different and I don’t want people to see us different. I like these folks, you know?”

“What do you want to do about it, Starsk?” Hutch debated him, finally turning away and sitting on the mattress to remove his shoes. “Would you rather we sleep in the car?”

Starsky apparently had no logical comeback. He most certainly didn’t want to sleep in the rental car any more than Hutch wanted them to, but he was still not willing to join Hutch in the bed, despite Hutch standing to take off his pants, purposefully showing off his bared butt. “Well, I mean, Hutch, why else did Alec give us a room with one bed, hm?”

“The girl said it was the last available room.”

“And it just happened to have one bed?”

“Why not?”

“A guest room, Hutch?”

“Guest rooms often have one or two beds. Sometimes three—and you know that.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Starsky mumbled.

“And maybe it’s a guest room for couples,” Hutch furthered, “but maybe it’s not a guest room at all; maybe it’s a room for a family member who isn’t here or they gave it up for us.”

“Alec lives alone.”

“How do you know?” Hutch was then nude, facing Starsky, hoping his frontal nudity, especially his flaccid penis, would encourage Starsky to come to bed—with intentions to make it hard. “How do you know what’s what around here?”

Starsky didn’t even drop his gaze; he continued to make eye contact with Hutch. He was apparently that upset. “While you were sleeping in the grass, I was talking to people.”

“And?” Hutch wondered.

“And Alec lives alone.”

“In this big house?”

“I mean, he’s got no family. You said maybe it’s a family member’s room.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Nieces or nephews?”

“He was an only child.”

“Are you saying, Starsk, that he lives alone in this big house except when guests are here?”

“Some staff live here, too.”

“Then maybe it’s a staff member’s room,” Hutch said, giving up on coaxing his man into bed, and turning to pull the comforter and sheet away from the top of the mattress. “You’re not making any sense, partner. This was the only available room and it happens to have just the one bed. Let’s be glad it’s a king and not a queen; that alone should make you feel better.”

“That’s not funny, Hutch,” Starsky said, finally pushing off the door.

Hutch had toyed with the idea of a shower first, but felt too tired. He’d take it in the morning and hope Starsky could handle his smells in the meantime. After the long day they’d had, they would probably go right to sleep—but that was only if Hutch could calm his partner down. “Let’s get some rest,” he suggested, bunching the pillows against the headboard, “and talk about it in the morning. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

As he climbed under the cool sheet and pressed his back against the cushioning pillows, he looked into Starsky’s beautiful blue eyes again, their vibrant color amplified in the amber light, and noticed how determined they were.

“He’s going to know we slept together in here,” Starsky said, sounding concerned, not just defiant, and despite how good he looked standing at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and staring at Hutch.

“He won’t know if we’ve had sex in here—unless you tell him,” Hutch insisted.

“Are we going to pretend when we see him tomorrow that we’re so comfortable with each other that we’d sleep in the same bed?”

“Aren’t we that comfortable with each other?”

“I just don’t like it, Hutch—people thinking we’re…”

“Would you feel better if one of us sleeps on the sofa in the living room?”

“No.”

“Because you want to sleep with me or because we weren’t invited to sleep on the sofa?”

“That first part. Well, the second part, too.”

“Okay, so it’s either in here or in the car.”

He pulled the blankets up over himself, to under his arms, folded his hands in his lap, watched Starsky, waited.

Sounding defeated, Starsky sighed and began to undress, starting with his shoes. “They’re going to think we’re gay. I mean, Alec already must think it.” He tossed his clothes on the chair, too. “It’s why he gave us this room in the first place.”

Hutch studied Starsky’s butt when he was briefly granted the view. “Or maybe Alec just didn’t want his guests—especially the one who helped him win his hospital money—to sleep in a car all night.”

“Maybe,” Starsky mumbled.

“And this was the only room, one we’re lucky to have.”

“Maybe,” Starsky repeated, going to his side of the bed and slipping under the sheet. He bunched two pillows behind his head. “Or maybe he wouldn’t have made the offer if he thought we were straight.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t care if we’re gay,” Hutch argued.

“We’re not gay.”

“I mean, if you think he thinks we’re gay, maybe he doesn’t care that we are. Maybe he’s gay,” Hutch supposed.

“He’s been married.”

“A marriage that ended in divorce because he discovered he’s gay?”

“He had a fiancé up until about a year ago, too,” Starsky said, “and she was a woman.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was killed in a riding accident.”

Hutch was genuinely sorry to hear that unsettling news. “Motorcycle?”

“Horse.”

Worse yet, Hutch thought, studying it in his mind for a moment. If she was anywhere near Alec’s age, she was certainly too young to die, and dying in an accident involving an animal had to be all the more painful for Alec.

“The horse spooked while she was out riding with some friends,” Starsky recalled the details, “and both of them went down; both horse and rider got killed.”

“That’s too bad,” Hutch said, reflecting momentarily on the warm smile Alec had given him earlier and seeing it through a slightly different lens. Hutch also remembered the affection Alec showed the young woman who sat in the chair beside him at the marshmallow roast. Maybe he’d found someone new.

“Besides,” Starsky added, “he’s a man’s man. Look what he does for a living.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Look at what we do for a living.”

“He doesn’t know what we do, so he thinks we’re weak; he’s not,” Starsky concluded.

“He doesn’t think it after what I did today. Did you count my home runs?”

“You’re baiting me,” Starsky angrily complained.

“I’m de-bating you, not baiting you. But, even so, you probably mean I’m patronizing you.”

“I know you’re not taking me seriously.”

Hutch turned on his left side to squarely look at Starsky. “I just don’t know what you want us to do about it, Starsk.”

Starsky was pressed up to the headboard, pillows at his back and head, arms crossed over his hairy chest. “I don’t know, either,” he said in a low, surrendering voice. “I guess I’m just feeling insecure.”

“Why? How come?”

“It’s taken a long time to recover from that day in the parking lot.”

“The day you got shot,” Hutch assumed.

“Yeah,” Starsky said with another sigh. “That day.”

“It took a strong man to recover from that shooting,” Hutch observed.

After a minute of silence, Starsky shifted just his eyes over to Hutch. They had somewhat softened, as if Starsky appreciated Hutch’s assessment, and that maybe he should have mentioned first how vulnerable he was feeling instead of worrying about what others thought of him. They could have gotten to the root of his turmoil sooner.

Hutch squeezed Starsky’s forearm to further convey his sincerity. “If anybody knew even half of who you are, they’d never question your manhood or your strength—or anything else about you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Starsky softly said, embracing Hutch’s hand in his own. “It’s that I had to sit out the game; that’s what triggered me. And that no one knows we’re tough cops. Then this room with just one bed and the way people think, you know?”

“We live in a different world, partner. I chose not to tell anyone about our jobs—without consulting with you first—because I thought everyone would enjoy themselves more if they didn’t know.”

“And you might be right.”

“That you so easily went along with it made me think we were of the same mind.”

“Usually, we are,” Starsky admitted.

“I’m not ashamed of our work or who we’ve become together.”

“I know you’re not.”

“So let’s get some sleep,” Hutch said, “have ourselves some pancakes in the morning, and watch an eagle fly away home.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, trying a smile. He liked what he heard and let go of Hutch’s hand to toy with his watch instead. “But in between sleep and pancakes … well, I mean, just so you know, the alarm is still set to 3 a.m.”

* * *

Hutch couldn’t remember a more peaceful morning—notwithstanding the one they’d spent in Yosemite Valley less than two weeks earlier. It seemed as if sound itself had ceased to exist in the Rockies—except for all things nature: birds, breeze, silence, and despite that he was indoors. Not even the familiar rhythm of his partner’s breathing could be heard. Hutch could doze in that gift of suspended time for the remainder of his life and miss nothing. Everything he wanted was right there with him. But a few minutes later, he realized he was actually alone on the bed—and he opened his eyes with a start. The daylight on the ceiling told him it was still early, but apparently Starsky was hungrier for pancakes than he was for morning cuddles.

Or so Hutch thought; no sooner had he forgiven Starsky for leaving the bed without him when Starsky returned to the room, opening and closing the door with ease, as if they were the only two people in the house.

“I thought you left me,” Hutch said, turning his head to lay eyes on Starsky, and immediately enjoying the look of him: hairy chested with a red towel tied low on his waist. He’d apparently just showered. “You must be eager for breakfast,” Hutch noted while he savored the view.

“I didn’t want anybody thinking we were in here horsin’ around,” Starsky replied, dropping his towel as he stood beside the bed near Hutch’s shoulder. He rotated his hips to bounce his flaccid penis off his scrotum in front of Hutch. “Wouldn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea,” he said with a playful laugh.

Hutch couldn’t help but notice Starsky’s casual nudity—and he liked what he saw. Even without an erection, Starsky had a sexy presence. His build and his muscle, his haired skin and his disheveled appearance, that head of dark damp hair and a face lit by sultry blue eyes, and Hutch realized again how far he’d fallen for the man. But Hutch found the appendage between Starsky’s legs—its size, shape, color, as well as his sac—to be aesthetically pleasing, too. Oh, and its taste, not to be forgotten. Hutch licked his lips even then as his own penis began to swell beneath the blanket.

Starsky’s watch alarm had gone off at 3 a.m., right on cue, and Starsky delivered on his promise to orally pleasure Hutch, waking him out of deep sleep to do so. They’d never been as quiet in their lovemaking before—instead stifling their grunts, suppressing their moans, and burying their light laughter under the weight of their breaths. Despite having been drained himself, Hutch returned the fellatio favor, enjoying every single second of Starsky’s enjoyment as if it were his own; in some ways, it was.

It had been an overall good day, the day before. The drive from Denver had been relaxing and scenic. First, there had been the thrill of seeing a herd of elk with a lone bison, then having made the acquaintances of friendly staff and volunteers, followed by a winning baseball game, a delicious potluck, an enlightening tour of the facility, a leisurely late afternoon nap in the grass, and a tasty marshmallow roast.

The evening had been topped off with singing around the campfire; after borrowing a guitar, Hutch coaxed everyone into joining him for a few popular songs. The experience at the wildlife sanctuary had been so rewarding that Starsky insisted they stay overnight and enjoy the next day’s activities as soon as the sun rose. He said he hoped to help feed the animals before breakfast.

It seemed he still had that endeavor in mind as he turned on his heel and headed for the chair where he’d tossed their backpack. “Get up and get on with it,” he told Hutch, showing off his beautiful physique, his perfect, tight buttocks, bared back and waist, well-proportioned legs—though he sometimes complained that they were ‘too short.’ “Too short for what?” Hutch once asked. “Your height?”

“I don’t think there’s anybody else in the house,” Starsky said, pulling on clean jeans and inadvertently ending Hutch’s enjoyment of his butt. “I think they must be outside.”

“Outside is usually where pancake breakfasts are.”

“If I get out there soon enough, maybe I can help feed a coyote or something.”

“I wonder what they feed coyotes,” Hutch quietly mused. He ran his fingers through his hair to subdue his budding erection as he surrendered to Starsky’s pending departure.

“I suppose they feed coyotes what coyotes eat, hm?”

“Mice. Rabbits. Wild berries,” Hutch assumed.

Starsky straightened and looked sharply at him. “I thought you said this place was run by a bunch of animal lovers.”

“I was wrong about that; they’re more than just a cliché. I think we learned that yesterday.”

“I’m saying … how can they feed mice and rabbits to coyotes? Seems killing one thing to feed another thing is—”

“Counter-productive?”

“What?”

“Never mind. I guess you’re leaving now to join the fun. I’ll take a shower and meet you out there. Is that the plan?”

Starsky slipped into his shirt and buttoned it. “Wash the sheets first.”

“Wash the sheets?”

“Yeah, you know, destroy the evidence.”

“There is no evidence; we ate it.”

Starsky snickered. “There might be odor evidence.”

“Starsk, stop worrying about it. These people may be on a different plane of consciousness, but I’m betting they’re not sheet-sniffers.”

Starsky frowned at Hutch. “Can you just do me the favor anyway? Put them in the washer? And take your time coming out, too. That way it won’t look like we were in here sucking each other off.”

Hutch rose to both his elbows to watch Starsky sit in the chair and put on clean socks and his shoes. “You didn’t care enough to not suck me off earlier this morning,” he noted. “The very thing you’re afraid people will think about us—”

“What people don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“You’re the one afraid of being hurt.”

“I just don’t want them to think we’re less than real men.”

“You mean gay.”

“Same thing.”

“We’re not less than ‘real men’ and we’re not gay, and there isn’t a difference anyway, so stop worrying about it.”

Starsky approached the mirror that was propped above the chest of drawers. He straightened his hair with a small black comb he’d pulled from his back jeans pocket. “I know what you’re saying, Hutch, and you know I know what you’re saying, but what I’m saying—and you’re not hearing—is that other people don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It’s too early in the morning for this mind-boggling shit,” Hutch mumbled. “I have to wonder why we’re even having this conversation. You’ve never cared this much about what anyone thinks.”

“Only because Alec gave us a room with one bed. We know what he thinks of us.”

“Remind me again? You care what he thinks because?”

“Because you care what he thinks.”

Hutch had to ponder that point for a moment, backtracking over the previous day to find the clue that had brought his partner to such a deduction. He couldn’t find one. “Why do you think I give a damn what Alec—”

“Because he’s like you.”

“Like me?”

Starsky faced Hutch as he pocketed his comb. “You guys are into the same things.”

“Such as?”

“Fresh air and stuff.”

Hutch bit his lip to keep from laughing while he held steady eye contact. “Fresh air and stuff.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Enlighten me further.”

Starsky shrugged, briefly looked about the room for his answer, and finally said, “You’re both country boys. Like the song said.” He obviously meant the John Denver song Hutch had sung at the campfire the night before.

“You mean, Alec and I are the opposite of city boys.”

“Exactly. You’ve got the same … outlook. He’s a lot like you and you’re a lot like him. But, anyway, I’ve gotta go and, if I get out there before you do, we won’t look like we’re in this together the way we are.”

Hutch slumped back into the pillows behind his head. “Whatever makes you breathe easier, Starsk. I’ll see you in a few.” After Starsky blew him an air kiss and left the room, closing the door behind him, Hutch had another thought: If Starsky believed Alec was a lot like Hutch, and Starsky was concerned about what Alec may have suspected, then maybe Starsky was attracted to Alec the way he was to Hutch. Starsky didn’t want Alec to think less of him. Wasn’t that the gist of his concern? He wanted Alec to know him as a ‘real man.’

Hutch was surprisingly amused by the implications: Maybe Starsky, all along, was gay; he’d seduced Hutch in a moment of Hutch’s vulnerability, after all, leveraging Hutch’s enormous love for him. Maybe Starsky had played him for years and now, at no fault of Starsky’s, he had unintentionally—but nonetheless—found a new man to also be drawn to, another conquest to pursue, an entirely different promise of love, one void of the violence that had nearly cost Starsky his life.

Hutch may have simply unleashed Starsky’s inner self without realizing it. Maybe Starsky wasn’t even consciously aware of it himself. And Hutch had just become the man in the middle.

* * *

Hutch couldn’t help but inwardly laugh when he stepped onto the porch that sunny morning and drew a deep, replenishing breath. Maybe he did have ‘fresh air and stuff’ in common with Alec—and with every other human being who walked the planet. Silly man, Starsky.

It was a peaceful morning, too: not a soul in sight, not even an animal, though he could hear birds and muffled human voices and laughter from deeper into the sanctuary, coming from the area where the potluck had been held the day before.

There were more cars in the parking lot, and a few additional tents, these in the now-unlocked front pasture where the elk and bison had grazed the previous day. It seemed to Hutch that people were interested in food—and bald eagles—more than they had been in baseball games and marshmallows, which is why there were more visitors at the sanctuary that morning.

Hutch was about to be fifteen minutes late for breakfast. He’d done as Starsky had instructed and taken his time, finally grabbing the remaining towel from the dresser to cover himself on his trip to the bathroom, and taking his few toiletries with him. He found their toothpaste on the sink, as well as Starsky’s toothbrush, and decided after his shower not to shave—since Starsky apparently hadn’t, either: their razor wasn’t wet.

Once back in the bedroom, Hutch dressed in clean clothes: jeans, shirt, socks. He neatly draped the bed blanket over the chair, stripped the mattress of its sheets and pillowcases, and carried the load to the laundry room, which he found on the far side of the kitchen. After he started a wash, he stuffed their soiled clothes into the backpack with their few toiletries, and went out to their rental car. Their guns, permits, badges, and other sensitive material had already been locked in the trunk.

Starsky was right that he and his partner had been the only people in the house that mid-morning, so before Hutch left to join the pancake breakfast, he took a minute to give the place a longer look-over, admiring its inviting warmth of brown woods and living greens, its beamed ceilings and homey decor—bronze animal statues, framed wildlife prints, numerous books and encyclopedias on shelves.

He also studied the rather sizable watercolor painting of a coyote that hung over the sectional sofa, its primal, piercing yellow eyes speaking to his soul. He’d seen it the night before when he arrived in the living room—it would have been hard to miss—but he never got the chance to appreciate it for long.

It was a big house with a spacious interior, two-stories high, and with an abundance of natural light from large picture windows. The wrap-around porch was inviting, too, with its cushioned chairs and scenic views of the meadows, treed roadway, and nearby mountains. Oh, to live and die in such a place. Maybe he and Starsky should reconsider where they would buy their house—and retire. In some ways, they may have already found a built-in family right there in Hidden Valley.

After dropping their backpack in the car, Hutch walked along the driveway to the rear of the sanctuary, appreciating his surroundings more than he had the previous day, when everything was newly overwhelming and unfamiliar. He had a better understanding that morning of the property layout: that the animals were housed on the left side of the gravel drive, and that the people functions were to its right. The hospital would eventually be built at the driveway’s end, central to both sides for easy access.

Behind the structures, which were nestled among the trees, Hutch caught glimpses of the Rockies, so close he was sure he could climb one of its peaks and be back in time to take a bite of pancakes.

A few men unloading a hay truck into a storage barn waved hello as Hutch passed, and a friendly woman greeted him on her way to the rest area, seeming shy, or maybe coy, as if she didn’t expect to encounter him on her route. Hutch was finally able to hear the sounds of animals among the excitement in the air: the noisy, free-ranging chickens, but also the wild birds who inhabited the area’s trees as well as the ones housed in patient care.

Hutch’s hunch paid off: the pancake breakfast was held where the potluck had been served—in the picnic area near the plumbed bathrooms. Several long extension cords brought electricity to the half-a-dozen warming griddles lined in a row on tables covered in white-and-red checkered tablecloths. There were plenty of paper plates, steel utensils, and paper napkins, large pitchers of orange juice, bananas, a variety of berries, walnuts and other nuts in ceramic bowls, and countless bottles of maple syrup. At least a hundred people appeared to be in attendance.

No one else existed at that moment except David Starsky as Hutch immediately caught sight of him at the opposite end of the pancake tables—not surprisingly, talking to Alec Henley, who was occasionally interrupted by someone for short conversations. There wasn’t any doubt that Alec was in charge of the Center—and that Starsky held most of Alec’s attention, too.

Hutch bit his lip. He did not, by any stretch, feel threatened by the man; in fact, he was amused, again, by the notions that danced in his head, thoughts about Starsky’s previously repressed sexuality, Starsky’s paranoias and insecurities, his concerns and his recent rants. Or maybe Starsky had engaged Alec to set the record ‘straight.’ Either way, Hutch was entertained by his partner’s effort; no wonder Starsky had been in such a hurry to leave their room that morning for the outside.

Both Alec and Starsky were dressed in jeans—Alec also in a long-sleeved, flannel shirt, Starsky in his hooded, front-zippered, red sweatshirt—and each held a coffee cup. Hutch noticed the men were relatively the same height and that they both had dark hair. He couldn’t remember the color of Alec’s eyes, but if they were blue, Hutch was going to have to reexamine his own hard-wiring. That thought made him laugh as he worked his way through the crowd to his partner, feeling the congratulatory and grateful slaps on his back as he passed by admirers who’d watched the baseball game the day before.

“It was a team effort,” he told them, feeling flattered and thanking them for their appreciation. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“There he is,” Alec said, breaking from his conversation with Starsky as Hutch approached. He extended his hand in a friendly hello. “Good morning, Hutch.”

Hutch smiled at Alec, pleased to have met up with him again, warmly shook his hand, and replied in kind. Hutch then greeted Starsky with a handshake. “Good morning,” he said with a light laugh as he noticed Starsky’s puzzlement. “Enjoying yourself?”

Starsky reluctantly took Hutch’s hand, didn’t answer the question, but did give him a genuine smile. “I fed a baby deer this morning,” he excitedly said, dropping Hutch’s hand after their brief squeeze. “And a coyote, too.”

“Yeah?” Hutch asked. “What did you feed the coyote?”

“Some kind of meat,” Starsky said with a timid frown, obviously trying to avoid drawing attention to Alec’s hypocrisy, or just being polite.

“Roadkill,” Alec explained, erasing their judgmental assumptions without knowing he had. “And Starsky is right: it was ‘some kind.’ It all gets mixed together: skunks, rabbits, deer, birds. Disturbing shit, to say the least.”

“I wouldn’t want that job,” Hutch commented under his breath. He noticed that Alec still hadn’t shaved; his scruff was several days’ grown—and that he had blue eyes.

“We hired a guy whose sole responsibility is to drive the highways—to keep the freezers stocked—that, and to make deals with the rendering plants in the area, including Denver’s big one. We rehab hundreds of animals every year,” Alec said proudly, “but a large percentage of those are carnivores.”

“Like, what kind?”

“Bobcats, coyotes, birds, to name a few. Luckily, I no longer have to see the meat-mixing part of the job.” He lightly laughed as he added, “I prefer working with live animals.”

“That’s a lot of dead ones on the roads,” Hutch imagined, making comfortable eye contact with Alec because he was pleased he and Starsky hadn’t offended the man talking about the very thing that probably made their host uncomfortable.

“About 400 million animals and birds are killed on America’s highways every year,” Alec said. “Millions more are injured.”

“Did you say 400 million killed?” Starsky asked, sounding as shocked as he appeared. He stood close to Alec, as if they’d been in private conversation prior to Hutch’s arrival, but he didn’t care if Hutch knew it.

“A couple billion worldwide,” Alec added.

“Billion?”

“The Big B, yes—times two.”

“What can be done about that?”

“A lot—if we cared enough to do what it would take.”

“A minute ago, I was envying your life,” Hutch said, sadly. Wildlife rescue had looked rather good to him on the surface; now he wasn’t so sure.

“Let’s talk about more cheerful things,” Alec suggested, not unkindly. He oozed relaxation and warmth and understandably didn’t want to dampen his own demeanor. “Did you guys sleep all right last night?” He looked from one man to the other while he awaited an answer.

Starsky and Hutch, together, stalled on a timely reply, until Hutch found an honest one. “It sure beat sleeping in the car.”

“I couldn’t leave you to that,” Alec explained, gingerly sipping coffee, “especially when there was a perfectly fine bedroom available. Were the beds okay?”

“The beds?” Starsky asked, apparently dumbfounded.

After Alec drew the obvious conclusion from Starsky’s question, he was apologetic. “There was only one bed in that room?”

“She said it was the last available room,” Hutch quickly explained. “We were lucky to get it.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re always playing musical beds in that house. We could have given you my place if I’d known; it has bunk beds, but at least they’d have been separate ones for you guys.”

“It was fine,” Hutch said after he gave Starsky a reprimanding glance: all that worry about Starsky’s suspicions over Alec’s motivations had been for naught. “We were too tired to care.”

“You don’t sleep in the house?” Starsky asked Alec.

“I used to, but I preferred more privacy, so we built a small house behind the main one for just me and the occasional guest. The Center has grown quite a bit in the past few years. After the hospital is finished, we’ll probably build another bunkhouse for visitors.”

“Just like an old-fashioned ranch, hm?” Starsky imagined, obviously mesmerized by the romantic past. “Hired hands and all that.”

“Speaking of the good ol’ days,” Hutch observed, “back in the beginning, hotels sold half a mattress to a guest. It wasn’t uncommon for two men to share the same bed—and the beds were small then, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky said, realizing something in that moment, and pleased to have done it. “I’ve seen western movies where two cowboys have to sleep in the same bed in a room over the casino. Didn’t Paul Newman and Robert Redford do that in ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’?”

“I believe so,” Alec said, appearing amused.

“So we managed,” Hutch assured him. “We were tired and grateful for the room. We couldn’t bring ourselves to drive the mountain road to town last night just to come back here in the morning.”

“Well, I’m glad you stayed,” Alec replied, visibly relieved that he hadn’t put his guests out. “May I get you some coffee, Hutch? Then we should get this pancake breakfast on its way. Everybody must be hungry by now.”

The three men turned toward the griddle tables, to where a couple of coffee pots brewed beans at one end.

“Hutch makes the best pancakes in the world,” Starsky told Alec, beaming with pride. “You should try them sometime.”

Hutch repressed a laugh as he gave Starsky a private look of dismay. How was Alec supposed to taste Hutch’s pancakes? They lived in separate states, nearly 800 miles apart, with at least one state in between.

Starsky shrugged at him as if to say he hadn’t thought it through, so Hutch nudged him with his elbow to let him know he was forgiven, and that he understood Starsky was a bit starstruck by Alec and couldn’t help but say stupid things. Starsky scowled at him in silent reply.

“I’d be happy to try them now,” Alec said, pulling the coffee pot lever forward to release the hot, steaming brew into a clean, ceramic cup.

“Try them now?” Hutch asked, not sure he understood the comment.

“If you’re as good at making pancakes as you are at playing ball,” Alec encouraged him, handing Hutch the coffee cup, “strap on an apron, lend us a hand, and prove that your friend is a man of his word?”

* * *

“You know a lot about animals,” Starsky observed as he studied Alec. He sat across the picnic table from him, drank from his second cup of coffee, and was obviously still impressed by his host.

“I know enough,” Alec said with a sad laugh, leaning forward on the table after the plates had been removed, arms crossed. “A lot of it I learned the hard way.”

Hutch was seated to Starsky’s right, shoulder to his shoulder, and across from Sarah—or maybe it was Sally. Kevin was on Alec’s off-side, his fiancé Tyra snuggled into him. Several other young people had joined them at the table, nameless faces, but obviously staff and volunteers, or so it seemed by their familiarity and comfort with everyone else.

Most of the visitors to the sanctuary that morning were fed first at neighboring tables; Alec and the closest members of his team chose to eat last, especially because Alec was anxious to taste Hutch’s pancakes—in Hutch’s presence—and so were a few of the regular visitors.

“He knows a lot about animals,” Kevin inserted, frowning at Alec as if he considered Alec’s answer to be a lame one. “He has a Bachelor’s Science Degree in wildlife conservation, another degree in captive wild animal care, and a Master’s in Zoology.”

Alec shrugged at Starsky as if none of his higher education mattered. “I learned more in hands-on experience than I did in college,” he sheepishly explained.

Starsky whistled through his teeth, refusing to dismiss what he’d just heard. “That’s a lot of years in school.”

Hutch couldn’t agree more. “Serious dedication on top of that.”

“When you believe in something,” Alec furthered, “it becomes part of you, not an obstacle to overcome, but a journey.”

Hutch understood; he and Starsky had traveled a similar path in that regard. “Was rehabilitating wildlife an in-your-blood passion or an interest you acquired along the way?”

“I grew up on the ocean north of Santa Barbara, in California, and originally wanted to be a whale biologist, but life is what happens while you’re busy making plans, so here I am, in Colorado instead.”

“Not a bad place to be,” Starsky said. “I’m originally from New York City, I’ve barely been out of Los Angeles, and I’m only finding this nature stuff to be interesting just in the past couple of weeks.”

“We went to Yosemite about ten days ago,” Hutch explained. He noticed that Alec was keenly attuned to each man when he spoke, as if people from the city were as fascinating to him as country folk were to Starsky. Alec’s attentiveness was respectful and Hutch appreciated it. “Starsky saw elk for the first time in Cook’s Meadow.”

“I told you I thought they were moose,” Starsky added with a laugh, beating Hutch to the point he apparently thought Hutch would make if he didn’t. Then to Alec, he said, “But, I mean, you have a really nice backyard here.” He briefly surveyed the beauty of the surrounding trees.

“Have you boys been to the Rocky Mountain National Park?” Alec asked.

“We haven’t had time,” Hutch said.

“It’s right up the road,” Kevin informed them. “You shouldn’t go home without seeing it.”

“Our flight leaves out of Denver tomorrow around one,” Starsky explained, “and we still have to see you turn that bird loose this afternoon. I don’t know when we’ll get time to visit the Park.”

“You’ll have to come back then,” Alec said, invitingly. “You’ll always have a place to stay—next time with two beds.”

Hutch and Starsky thanked him for the open-door welcome.

“Besides,” Alec continued, “you were right about your friend, Starsky: he makes the best pancakes—and I hope he’ll grace us with that palate pleasure again sometime.”

Starsky had found Hutch’s secret ingredient in the Henley Household when Hutch sent him to look for it while he mixed up pancake batter. Along with almond milk and free-range chicken eggs, a touch of that vanilla, a slight hint of mashed banana, and the perfect cooking time, and Alec and others who ate Hutch’s pancakes were duly impressed.

Alec performed a blind taste-test of three different pancakes, one from Hutch and two each from a couple of others. He unknowingly chose Hutch’s. “The one thing I can’t do,” Alec confessed, “is cook. I can sew an animal’s foot back on and get it walking again, but damn if I can put a single meal together.”

“It’s not your passion,” Hutch said with a wink. But his comment inadvertently begged Alec’s question.

“What’s your passion?”

Still not wanting to divulge that he and Starsky were cops, Hutch quickly said, “Cooking, obviously.”

“And—like I told you this morning—he likes to grow green stuff, too,” Starsky chimed in, proud of his partner.

“Weed?” Alec asked, seeking clarification, but mostly playfully.

“No,” Starsky said with a laugh, impulsively indignant. They’d never broken the law in that way. “Like flowers and bushes and basil—that kind of green.”

“And he can obviously play the guitar and sing, too,” Kevin noted.

Alec leveled his gaze at Starsky. “And you? What are your talents?”

Starsky stalled until Hutch nudged him under the table with his knee, fearing Starsky was considering his skill level in fellatio, but Starsky blurted, “I can build a car engine from scratch.”

“That’s definitely an in-your-blood passion,” Alec said. “But none of this has told us what you boys do for work—”

“As little as possible,” Hutch quipped.

“—or why you don’t want to tell us.”

“We did tell you,” Hutch insisted, recalling the first conversation they had upon arriving at the sanctuary. “I’m Sherlock Holmes and he’s Dr. Watson.”

“I thought I was Holmes and you were Watson,” Starsky complained.

“I have a suspicion they’re undercover F.B.I.,” Kevin assumed, pretending to eye them with distrust. “Here on a mission to raise our property taxes.”

“F.B.I.!” Starsky laughed. “Why didn’t we think of that, Hutch, hm? We could have been federal agents all this time.”

“Except Kee is confusing the F.B.I. with the I.R.S.—and those agents are nothing to get excited over,” Hutch observed.

“I did think you might be police officers,” Alec admitted. “You have that…”

“That, what?” Starsky wondered.

Alec looked him in the eye. “Machismo.”

“What mack-o thing did we do that gave you that idea?”

“Have we been arrogant sonsofbitches?” Hutch asked.

“Not like that,” Alec quickly said. “I used the wrong word.”

“And you call yourself a writer,” Kevin teased him.

“He is a writer,” Salah defended Alec. “He’s been published.”

“That so?” Hutch pushed him.

“About a dozen books so far,” Salah answered for him when Alec still didn’t commit. “Mostly about how to care for abandoned and wounded animals, but his autobiography is the one you should read. It’s called ‘Walking on the Wild Side.’ Maybe he’ll autograph a copy for you.”

Hutch smiled at Alec, mainly to put his host on the spot. “I’d like that very much. Seems deserving of the pancake win, don’t you think?”

Alec appeared a bit embarrassed by it all. “Seems fair, but you’ll have to remember you want the book. I know I won’t.”

“Any deep, dark secrets we’ll learn?” Starsky asked, as if he planned to read the biography, too.

“You might find it pretty interesting, Mr. Starsky,” Salah assumed, “especially if you haven’t been out of the city much. His life story is quite the adventure.”

“From wannabe whale biologist to wildlife repairman,” Alec said grudgingly. “It sells books and we’re always in need of funds.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Kevin argued. “Alec is well-known around here—”

“—and not in a good way,” Alec joked.

“Even the vets in the area call him when they can’t figure out how to save an animal.”

“Shows you how dumb they are,” Alec claimed, but not seriously. He didn’t seem the self-deprecating type, but the praise heaped on him that morning in front of new guests probably embarrassed him.

Kevin briefly pulled Alec close, arm around his neck and shoulders, and presented him to Starsky and Hutch in additional light. “Alec taught science at the college level—University of California, Santa Barbara—and sometimes teaches biology courses in Denver. He’s traveled the country—on and off television—giving interviews, readings, lectures, and holding workshops. And he’s co-written legislation in both California and Colorado to protect wildlife. He won’t tell you all of this because he thinks he’s just some kind of ‘wildlife repairman,’ but we all know why we love him and that’s good enough for us.” He let Alec go.

Hutch already knew how Alec had saved human lives, too.

“Animal lovers love me,” Alec acquiesced, averting his eyes as if he didn’t deserve their admiration, either, “animal exploiters, not so much.”

“Because you fuck with their world—and you’re winning,” Kevin reminded him.

“Enough about me,” Alec insisted, finally taking charge of the conversation and sounding firm. “What does the blond and his brunette friend think of me?” After everyone laughed, Alec said, “Seriously, though, I thought you two might be cops, but you don’t look the part.”

Hutch was as amused as he imagined Starsky had to be. “What does a cop look like?”

“For one, he uses a razor every day.”

“We’re on vacation,” Starsky explained, scratching his own scruffy face.

“Your hair is too long,” Alec said, directing his comment at Hutch, and studying his overall appearance. “But you guys definitely have some kind of authority … a level of comfort … measurable leadership type qualities.”

Starsky leaned into Hutch, as if only Hutch could hear him. “He thinks we’re football coaches, Sherlock.”

“Ski instructors, my dear Watson,” Hutch playfully replied.

“Teachers,” Alec said. “Of what, I can’t figure out, but you have ‘guidance’ type personalities. It also explains why you brought those kids to Denver.”

“Or maybe we work for CPS.”

Alec squinted at him when Hutch slipped up and used the acronym instead of the agency’s full title—as if Alec was on to something. Only a pro would refer to the agency in street language.

“What’s CPS?” Salah wondered.

“Child Protective Services,” Alec answered—before either Starsky or Hutch could. “And if that’s true about you two,” he added, “I like you guys all the more.”

Hutch winked at him again. “There’s no reason not to like us.”

“No,” Alec agreed in a lowered voice, “I suppose there isn’t.” His contemplative tone seemed to wordlessly wonder about the men who sat across from him as he tried to determine who they were and what they did in life. “I’ve liked you both from the start.”

* * *

“You’re fond of the guy,” Hutch noted after he and Starsky found themselves alone between the pancake breakfast and the eagle’s release into the wild. They’d used the public restroom and then slowly made their way with other visitors to the building marked EDUCATION where a planned orientation to the Wildlife Center was scheduled.

Following the introduction, the party would leave for the area where the raptor was to be set free. Starsky and Hutch stood outside the building’s entry doors, a far-enough distance to give themselves a break from the crowd—or to have a private conversation if they wanted one—and Hutch immediately took the opportunity to make his observations known.

“You mean Alec or Kee?” Starsky asked, looking off across the neighboring meadow as if he didn’t know what Hutch meant. “They’re both likable.”

“They are,” Hutch agreed. He studied Starsky’s relaxed posture, his leisurely and drifting gaze across the wilderness, and his overall attractive appearance—enhanced, he believed, by Starsky’s whiskering face. Starsky always would exude masculinity; he couldn’t help himself. “I like them both, too,” Hutch said, “but you seem especially fond of Alec.”

“No more than you,” Starsky replied, breaking from the picturesque landscape to make eye contact with Hutch. “He’s an impressive guy.”

Hutch nodded, admiring Starsky’s blue eyes; he’d hoped for more than common ground, but maybe there was none. “You can’t fault a guy for spending his life defending the kingdom.”

“We deal with a lot of shit, Hutch: murder, rape, assault-and-battery, domestic violence, serial killers, dead bodies … I still don’t think I could patch up a wounded animal, you know?”

“Children and animals,” Hutch imagined. “The more innocent they are, the harder it is to see them suffer.”

Starsky agreed with a nod. “I guess it all needs doing: what he does, what we do.”

“The only difference might be that nobody’s trying to kill him for doing what he does.”

The reminder of Starsky’s recent near-death experience paused them both. They held a knowing, solemn, yet grateful exchange of eye contact until Starsky broke the silent conversation for a verbal one.

“I like what we do, Hutch. I mean, I believe in it. Despite the risks and the times we’ve wanted to quit, I’m glad I can sleep at night knowing we’re doing all we can to fix what’s broken out there.”

“So … there’d be no point in suggesting we consider buying a house here in the wilds somewhere, huh? Get a job working for the Center? Wake up to fresh air every day—and good coffee?”

“You’re not seriously thinking about that, are you?”

“Not too seriously,” Hutch admitted, “but I’d be open to a generous offer. Maybe there’s a way to combine the two: we could be federal agents fighting wildlife crime.”

“Do you think there’s such a thing?”

“Poaching. Trespassing. Illegal camping. Littering.”

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

“If you don’t want me to be, I won’t be.”

“Come up with something really worthy of our experience and skills besides glorified park rangers, and I’ll consider it.”

Hutch gave it a momentary thought and then let it go. “I’d rather not think there’s anything worse out there,” he said, nodding toward the forests in the near distance, “so forget I said anything.”

Starsky’s expression softened. He gave Hutch’s belly an affectionate pat. “You’re still skittish,” he observed. “But that’s okay. It means you love me and you’re afraid to lose me.”

“That will always be the case.”

“We’re going to be smarter, Hutch. I mean, what was the point of that whole thing if we don’t get a lesson out of it, hm?”

Starsky had definitely hit on one of Hutch’s nerves. He hated being reminded of almost losing the man—the pain and the fear of those days were more than he wanted to remember. But Starsky was also right: they were already the smarter for it; it was imperative that they be so.

“We’ll compromise,” Starsky promised as he turned and pushed Hutch into a walk with him toward the EDUCATION building. “We’ll go home and find us a house that has lots of blue sky and trees. Maybe we can even adopt a baby moose elk and keep it in the backyard for good measure.”

Hutch noticed that visitors had begun to enter the building; the orientation was about to commence. But he wanted to be the one to have the last word on the conversation that ended in a way he didn’t expect, especially given how it had begun. So he briefly grabbed Starsky in a loose headlock and affectionately said, “You’re an idiot, Starsk, but don’t ever be anything else. I might not recognize you.”

* * *

Hutch made a beeline for a soft patch of wild grass in full sunshine. The group had reached the meadow after a lengthy hike to where the eagle would be freed; he took the arriving instruction to heart that everyone ‘rest and settle’ before the ceremony would begin. Encouraging Starsky to bring them a plate of food in exchange for his staking out their sitting area, and Hutch was long into his relaxation by the time he heard his partner’s approaching footsteps. The sun felt warm, the birds sang as gently, and Hutch lightly dozed on his back, ankles crossed, hiding his eyes beneath the bend in his elbow.

Alec had described the terrain that the visitors would traverse as ‘moderate’—to make certain no one would be surprised by it. Only a handful of people chose to be taken to the meadow by automobile; the rest persevered and followed Alec on foot, enjoying the stunning scenery as they walked the hour-long route. It wasn’t a strenuous journey, but it wasn’t a paved sidewalk, either.

Picnic tables, sans tablecloths, were set up near the path into the treeless field. They hosted snacks of nuts, chips, and fresh fruit, as well as sodas, juice, and water. Paper plates and napkins, and a large garbage barrel to collect the waste afterward, were the only other man-made items on hand. The rest was pure wilderness. On the far side of the meadow, in the shade of several wooded trees, a few vehicles were parked, including a van that had presumably transported the bald eagle into the area.

Hutch listened to the footsteps approach—each step sounding more relaxed than he expected Starsky’s to be, and leaving Hutch to wonder if it was actually someone else. He heard the inevitable stop, sit down, and settle beside him, and then a male voice spoke—and it wasn’t Starsky’s.

“May I interest you in a banana?”

Hutch lowered his arm as he opened his eyes to look up into Alec’s face—expecting that the familiar voice had belonged to him—and returned the warm smile. “Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, accepting the perfectly ripened fruit. He could see that Starsky still scoured the picnic tables near the meadow entrance, talking to others while he did, and explaining his partner’s delay.

“It’s not nearly enough,” Alec said, sitting cross-legged, his forearms resting on his knees, his eye contact as friendly and sincere as his voice. “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“It’s been our pleasure.”

“I’m not sure you appreciate how monumentally important that hospital will be for the Center.”

Hutch laid the banana on his chest; the moment wasn’t a frivolous one and he didn’t want to appear dismissive of Alec’s gratitude by eating it just then. “I think I have a good idea,” he countered. “We drove up here yesterday from Denver; even from Estes Park, it’s a long drive—and I assume that’s the nearest animal hospital?”

“Most of the time, I oversee a MASH unit here. When I don’t think I can save an animal with my limited tools and knowledge, I have to drive to Estes Park. Even then, the vets aren’t always keen to patch up wild animals, especially those who are considered vermin—squirrels, coyotes, the occasional field mouse.”

Hutch was further impressed by the big heart he perceived in the man sitting there with him. ‘Field mouse.’ “The least of these,” he said under his breath.

“If it matters to you,” Alec echoed, speaking for animals, “it matters to me.”

“The mark of true empathy,” Hutch concurred, but using a different observation. He hadn’t forgotten how educated Alec was, how tremendously schooled he’d been, the life—and saving lives—experiences he’d lived over the many years since, the depth of the man’s kindness, his graciousness, and that he walked the walk. “I came here with the notion that you were another run-of-the-mill animal lover,” Hutch confessed, “but your soul runs much deeper than that.”

Alec closed his mouth, seemed to look more closely at Hutch, was at an apparent loss for words. Hutch studied his similar features to Starsky’s: dark hair, blue eyes, kind, masculine face, athletic build, comfort in his own skin. He also noticed the glint of a silver chain around Alec’s neck, hidden mostly by his open-collared shirt, and wondered if he wore a crucifix.

“I’m not a religious person,” Hutch admitted, hinting toward his pagan beliefs to keep from sounding the way he may have come across, “but what else is there, really, if not to live one’s life in the service of others—whoever they may be, whatever form they may take?”

“You have an obvious connection to nature,” Alec observed, not leaving eye contact, “but my hunch tells me you don’t have animals in your life. Is it because you have no time or no room for them?”

“There were animals in my youth,” Hutch said, recalling the pets of his past. “But to both those points now: no time, no room. I do, however, surround myself with plants.”

“Ah, Starsky’s comment about how you like to ‘grow green things.’”

Hutch laughed at the memory of his partner’s simpler words. “And the splendor of Yosemite—like this place, right here, this moment in this patch of grass under this ray of sunshine—isn’t lost on me, either.”

Alec finally broke eye contact, looked instead into the narrow, empty space between them, seemed to consider thoughts he didn’t share. Hutch imagined that Alec wanted to ask him, again, what he did for work—in the context of Hutch’s perceived appreciation for nature—but Alec had failed several times already and probably didn’t want to broach the subject, lest he be shot down a third time. Or appear to pry.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Hutch said, breaking the silence, and returning them to the reason Alec had joined him—when he probably should have been preparing to send a bald eagle back into the sky. “I enjoyed the game,” Hutch fondly added, holding the banana close to his chest, “I love to make pancakes, and I’m humbled to know I helped you in ways beyond those otherwise trivial pursuits.”

“We’d have lost the game without you,” Alec insisted. The sound of his voice was somewhere between Hutch’s soft one and Starsky’s deeper tone, but his blue eyes shimmered the way Starsky’s sometimes did when he got emotional, not wanting to reveal his truer feelings.

Hutch had played his heart out in that game; the stakes were high and he rose to meet the challenge. The people behind the Hidden Valley Wildlife Center were good people, worthy of anyone’s effort and respect.

But Alec wasn’t finished with his sentiment, despite his outward effort to control it. “The Team and I decided this morning to dedicate the new building to you, plaque and all; we’re calling it the Hutchinson Hospital.”

Hutch wasn’t prepared for that distinction; it was his turn to be speechless, undeserving, overwhelmed. Right then, he sensed that Starsky was approaching with a laden plate of food in his hands and, for that reason, Hutch decided not to verbalize his deeper feelings for having been bestowed with such a privilege as the one Alec had just laid on him. Starsky might misunderstand the moment out of context—or not appreciate it as much.

“The kindest thing anyone has ever done in my name,” was all Hutch could think to say as he briefly squeezed Alec’s hand in sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Alec. I’m deeply honored.”

* * *

“But imagine waking up every morning without all that noise, Starsk—no airplanes and helicopters overhead, no traffic and lawnmowers, no car alarms and sirens and motorcycles and—”

“Some of us think all that noise is beautiful,” Starsky argued, his eyes still fixed on the Colorado scenery as it passed by his opened window.

“Wayward souls,” Hutch said in retaliation, keeping his focus on the mountain road ahead of him.

“There’s even a song called ‘Beautiful Noise,’” Starsky told him, as if such evidence would validate his position.

“As I said,” Hutch noted, referencing his derogatory comment.

“It’s by Neil Diamond.”

“Whoever he is.”

“You can’t be serious,” Starsky said, abruptly looking over at Hutch and definitely sounding dismayed.

“Do I come off as serious?” Hutch quipped. “He’s also written a song about making love.” He sang the lyric as he drove. “‘Close my eyes and hear the flowers growing … as you lay sleeping in my arms.’” Hutch could still feel Starsky’s attention on him as he continued. “‘And the time will be our time … and the grass won’t pay no mind.’”

When nothing but silence answered him, Hutch glanced at his partner. “What?” he asked, pretending to have been insulted. “You thought I had a limited music vocabulary and have never heard ‘Beautiful Noise’—or that I don’t know who Neil Diamond is?”

Starsky looked back to the forested landscape. “I’m going to have to go through your albums now—see what else lurks in there that I don’t know about.”

“You’ll have to go through my dick first to get to them.”

“I accept that condition.”

“I was hoping you would. But on that point, have you ever made love in the grass?”

“No,” Starsky said, almost with a laugh; it seemed as if he thought it might be an absurd idea. “I’ve never had sex outside. Have you?”

“No,” Hutch replied. “Could be fun, though. The one time I thought I might, she was afraid of ants crawling all over us.”

Starsky laughed. “Yeah, sounds romantic, but then you start to think about all them creepy crawlies out there.”

“Amateurs,” Hutch commented with a shake of his head. “I hear if you’re doing it right, Starsk, you’re not thinking about anything else.”

“Says you.”

They rode in silence as Hutch maneuvered the curvy road; it wasn’t a cliff-chiseled highway, but he did need to concentrate on every turn. Only the sound of rubber tires on asphalt, breeze through the open windows, and the faint hint of engine rumble, kept them company along the way. Hutch hated to leave the area; he’d grown fond of the wildlife people, their passion and determination, their empathy and dedication, and he’d been long-ago in love with mountains, trees, rivers, birds … grass.

Even Starsky had been shocked to learn that there were only three nesting pairs of bald eagles in the entire state of Colorado; their numbers nationwide had been reduced from roughly half-a-million to 412 nesting pairs—due to illegal shootings and other factors, but primarily from the effects of the insecticide, DDT, on their eggs.

By the time the bird-in-question that afternoon was freed, not a single person was unaffected—whether it was visible, or purely felt in the soul. Appreciating how decimated the species had become, and how inherently it represented the heart of a nation, the event turned out to be less of a celebration and instead was quite solemn, sentimental—and profound.

After the van was driven close to the onlookers, and the large container that held the eagle was opened, Alec removed the bird from the safety of the container. “This is Liberty,” he told the visitors as they pressed in around him for a closer look.

Starsky and Hutch stood to Alec’s left; in that respect, they had a front-row seat.

“Kee and I found her caught in a steel trap,” Alec continued, holding Liberty to his chest, facing away from him, each of her legs in each of his strong hands, her wings tucked inside his arms. “She was lucky we happened upon her when we did.”

He described in detail how steel traps hold their victims by one or two legs for hours, days—sometimes weeks—until the trapper returns to finish them off by repeated blows from a club or often several bullets, or they die from hunger, thirst, exhaustion, pain, blood-loss, or escape by chewing off their own legs only to die later from starvation or infection. “All for a fur coat,” Alec said with disgust, “or for the amusement of some wannabe fur-trader’s weekend hobby.”

The trapping industry’s bycatch was enormous and Liberty was a testament to that fact, too—more often, it was the unintended victim who fell prey to the steel devices. Alec retold the story about how Liberty had been found—that he and Kevin often patrol the forests, especially along creeks, destroying illegally set traps, freeing victims when possible, or rehabbing those who couldn’t be returned to the wild without intervention—as was Liberty’s case.

He showed the crowd where he’d had to re-attach her foot, regretting that he’d been unable to save one of her front talons. “But we think she’ll do well without it, and we’re returning her close to the area where she was found so she should settle right in.”

In the end, in some ways, he said, they had no choice but to hope for the best for Liberty: given the critical status of her species, any chance to live a wild life was better than none; bald eagles didn’t reproduce in captivity. “She isn’t one of Colorado’s three nesting pairs,” he explained with a hint of disappointment mixed with hope for the future, “but maybe she’ll find a mate and give us a fourth.”

Seeing a bald eagle that close was mesmerizing, especially for Hutch who imagined before he even laid eyes on her that she would be an impressive creature to behold. Liberty was a magnificent bald eagle: her strong, hooked bill, iconic white tail and head feathers, brown plumage otherwise, and that fierce expression in her bright yellow eyes. She took everyone’s breath away, including his.

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll attack you?” Starsky asked Alec, himself standing close enough to see every detail, but far enough away to keep from being injured by Liberty should she somehow get loose and single him out. “I’ll bet that beak could break bones.”

“It could,” Alec agreed, smiling at Starsky, as if he was amused by Starsky’s naivety, or found it adorable, “but why would she bite the hand that feeds her?”

“They’re that smart?”

“He’s that smart,” Kevin said, standing beside Alec to assist him. “The way he’s holding her prevents her from hurting him—but given the chance, she’d take his eyes out.”

Alec frowned at Kevin. “You couldn’t go along with my explanation, huh? not even for a minute?”

The crowd laughed, seemed to relax more, began to ask questions—and Alec had an answer for every one of them; people turned to Kevin for the truth if any of Alec’s replies seemed suspicious, but the only other thing Alec said that was pure fiction was that he could tell Liberty was female by her “long eyelashes.”

The remainder of his answers to the numerous questions thrown at him were grounded in fact: the species acquired its name from an old translation of ‘bald’—which was to be ‘white-headed,’ not actually hair- or featherless. Bald eagles had the largest nests of any bird species, lived 20-30 years in the wild, longer in captivity, and engaged in courtships that locked them together by their talons as they fell spiraling from the sky, separating seconds before hitting the ground.

Hutch couldn’t help but watch Starsky as keenly as Starsky watched Alec and Liberty. His partner was fascinated by the raptor—her size, her aliveness, her survival story, and that he was that close to the symbolic bird of the United States—especially one so rare. Starsky stood with his arms crossed over his chest—perhaps for self-protection—but he also seemed humbled to be in Liberty’s presence. Or maybe it was Alec’s. Or both.

“She’s going to go fast when she goes,” Alec said, encouraging people to take pictures while he still held her in his arms. “I’ll aim her in that direction—over your heads—but once she’s airborne, the rest is up to her.”

Hutch heard the rapid clicks of aperture shutters. He was sorry Starsky didn’t have time to grab his camera on their way out the door to Colorado, but Starsky was too immersed in studying Liberty, wide-eyed and awestruck as he was, to take a picture even if he had a camera in his possession. They would simply have to savor the moments and know they would never forget them for as long as they lived.

“On the count of three,” Alec said as he shifted Liberty forward, away from his body, one hand now clasping both of her legs, the other around the front of her neck and breast.

The crowd counted with him. “One … two … three!”

Alec threw her upward into the air, her large wings unfolding at the very moment she left his hands. She was airborne! Cheers and applause and laughter followed in the wake behind her as she headed for the sky. There would be no calling her back. She was free again, wild, carrying possibilities with her in every beat of her wings.

Hutch couldn’t take his eyes off Liberty until she was high enough to coast on the air, gliding in a wide circle not far from where she’d been released, and was breathtaking to behold. Hutch couldn’t have repressed the smile on his face even if he’d tried. He stood near Alec, and abruptly dropped his gaze from Liberty’s flight to Alec’s profile when he heard Alec’s unmistakable words.

“This feeling never gets old.”

Hutch was certain that Alec said it to himself, impulsively pushed out of him by his big heart and under his breath, but Hutch heard him nonetheless—and he wouldn’t have interrupted the man’s joy even for a second. Liberty was aloft because of him, returned to her homeland with every fighting chance for survival that only one man had given her.

But the thrill of those moments was actually what came next. The crowd erupted in a wave of delighted surprise—a collective ‘Oh!’ and a burst of breathlessness; Alec had pointed to a different spot above the trees: a large raptor had suddenly flapped into view. It joined Liberty in her circle against the blue sky. There was no mistaking its white tail and head for anything other than a bald eagle.

“Do you see that?” Alec asked, triumphantly, and to no one in particular. His eyes were ablaze with a thrill no man could put into words. They collided with Hutch’s connecting gaze. “Do you see that?” he asked, lowering his voice and controlling its direction as he shared the moment purely with Hutch.

What could Hutch say that would possibly convey what he felt deep inside him? Yes, of course, he could see the second bald eagle, but that wasn’t really the question. What Alec wanted to know was whether anyone—perhaps only Hutch in that instance—appreciated the magnitude of the promise that flew above their heads in that sky. Words failed Hutch. Emotion ruled the day. He held lingering eye contact with Alec—until Alec nodded, as if to say he’d heard Hutch’s silent answer, and it was perfect.

Hutch had even lost sight of Starsky in those minutes. He’d been so overwhelmed, privileged to have shared Alec’s joy with him as the world shut down around them. It didn’t last long because Alec was immediately surrounded by people asking him a myriad of questions while the frenzied clicks of camera shutters filled the air. Hutch was aware of the suspension of time only when he glanced away and right into Starsky’s beautiful blue eyes.

“You okay?” Starsky asked Hutch, standing close, momentarily holding Hutch’s arm, as if to steady him. “Vertigo?”

“I was transported,” was all Hutch could think to say; it was how he’d felt. Maybe everyone else there that day, including Starsky, had also been transfixed and immersed into the lives of two endangered bald eagles, but Hutch had experienced something deeper: an unexpected, albeit fleeting, definitely unique, connection to the man who’d made that moment possible. If bald eagles continued to fill the skies over North America, be brought back from the very edge of extinction, one man would have played a part in that miracle, and Hutch had met him, known him, made pancakes for him.

“But you’re okay, right?” Starsky asked, still sounding concerned.

Hutch squeezed the back of Starsky’s neck. “Couldn’t be better, buddy,” he affectionately said. “We got more than we signed up for today.”

Starsky looked toward the birds in the near distance. “That was really something, Hutch. Makes you ashamed to be human and proud to be one at the same time.”

In his simple words, Starsky had put a kind of closure on that moment. “You amaze me sometimes, Starsk.”

“I do?” Starsky asked, looking into Hutch’s eyes again. “Me?”

“You cut through the haze, see things so clearly. I suppose that’s what makes you a good detective.”

“You’re not making fun of me, are you, Hutch?”

“I’d kiss you on the mouth if I could,” Hutch replied with a sincere wink. He’d take the man down right there if he’d been allowed, shower him with kisses. Had no one been around, he may have done just that after Alec had left them alone in the meadow while they were still lying in the grass. Starsky had never appeared more wild than he did that afternoon: exhilarated, connected, primal—his sultry eyes and unshaven face, and so much more. Hutch gave him a once-over. “I’m not making fun,” he promised. “I’m feeling grateful.”

“For bald eagles?”

“For you.”

Hutch felt that way all over again while they drove the mountain highway toward Denver later that afternoon, reluctantly leaving the Center and its wilderness behind. He kept his eyes on the road and fondly remembered his experiences those past couple of days.

It was Starsky who eventually broke the silence that had temporarily settled over them in the car. “So what you’re saying, Hutch, is that—if Alec could offer us the right kind of work—you’d rather do something outdoors than fight crime in the city.”

“I’m not pissing all over the work we’ve been fighting for years, but what we learned today is that fighting wildlife crime has all of the same elements.” Alec had given them an earful on the hike back to the Center’s headquarters.

“How do you figure?” Starsky asked, as if he hadn’t paid attention to that conversation.

“Black markets in animal and human trafficking, drugs, racketeering, prostitution, murder—and it has the added benefits of bringing species back from the brink of extinction.”

Starsky seemed to consider it. “Okay, I’ll give you all that. But suppose he just wants to ask us to help him clean up coyote crap? Suppose that, hm?”

Hutch laughed at the notion, but soon realized Starsky waited for a serious answer. “Well,” he said, committing himself, “in that case, we simply thank him for the free meal and head on down the road to Denver.”

* * *

They sat at a linen-draped rectangle table by the bay window overlooking a main street in Estes Park—Starsky across from Hutch—in an upscale Italian restaurant, and browsed their menus while they waited for Alec to join them.

Their host had said he needed to wrap up a few details first and that he’d be about 30 minutes late, but the cops didn’t mind; it gave them time to themselves at the end of their emotionally satisfying weekend.

“He sure is wining and dining us,” Starsky said, studying the menu. No doubt Starsky noticed the prices, not just the gourmet quality of its dishes.

“Tourist town,” Hutch figured.

“Yeah, but I mean, he could have given us the address to a diner and we’d have been just as happy.”

“Can you find anything here that you like?” Hutch asked, momentarily peering over his menu at Starsky, and chuckling to himself when he discovered Starsky’s return glare; Starsky was so easy to tease sometimes. He also looked delicious in his unshaven face, red zippered jacket, with his dark wavy hair and accenting blue eyes.

“Spaghetti,” Starsky said, matter-of-factly ignoring Hutch’s study. “A big plate of it.”

“You can eat spaghetti anywhere, including a diner, so why don’t you try something different for a change?”

“I like spaghetti anywhere, so why don’t I just stick to what I like, hm?”

“Then eat something green with it.”

“Like … a salad, you mean?”

“Try the Insalata Mista.”

“Order for me so I don’t forget.”

“What are you? four years old?”

“Be glad I’m not,” Starsky said with a wink, setting aside his menu. He leaned forward on the table to make direct eye contact. “Four-year-olds can’t get hard-ons.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Starsky frowned. “You can’t think they can.”

“I think they can. They just can’t … come.”

“Am I to take this bet?”

Hutch laughed, despite trying not to. He did appreciate that Starsky had kept his voice low, but he couldn’t help but think his partner enjoyed provoking him in public. “Fourteen, then. You’re fourteen.”

Hutch decided on a dish for himself and closed his menu. They had already ordered a bottle of wine and three glasses, and he was anxious to have them delivered. It had been a remarkable weekend and he hadn’t finished enjoying it.

The waiter arrived soon after with the bottle and the glasses, as if he’d sensed Hutch’s impatience, poured Hutch a taster, and then filled both his and Starsky’s glasses with red wine after Hutch approved the selection.

“To the most unexpected weekend of fun we’ve had in a long time,” Hutch toasted Starsky after the waiter left. He tapped his glass against Starsky’s when it was held up to him, and they drank long from their respective drinks. “Good people, good food, good wine,” Hutch said, licking his lips afterward to savor the Cabernet’s lingering taste.

Starsky kissed at him. “We did good work, too,” he said, reminding Hutch of the reason they’d come to Denver—the return of kidnapped children—but also the ‘good work’ of the baseball game, the pancake breakfast, and the bald eagle release, as if Hutch would ever forget any of it. “You have justifiable reasons to be happy.”

“And you?” Hutch wondered.

“And me, too.”

“You’ve enjoyed yourself,” Hutch concluded for clarification.

“Very much.”

“We still have a night in Denver ahead of us.”

Starsky’s eyes sparkled. “I didn’t forget.”

“All the same, thanks for being a champ and agreeing to dinner here tonight. I know you’re not much in the mood for a job offer, but—”

“But I’m willing to hear him out,” Starsky said, glancing at his watch.

“Leave no stone unturned?”

“More like … a man’s gotta know all of his options.”

“Sort of what I said,” Hutch noted.

“Yeah, but without the rocks.”

Hutch laughed. He did love Starsky’s feistiness, intended or otherwise. He relished his look that early evening, too: dark, unkempt hair, a kind of animated exhaustion on his handsome, whiskered face, but with energy to spare. And red was definitely his color; Hutch again noticed Starsky’s hooded, zippered sweatshirt, open halfway, no shirt under it.

It was cool in the mountains, even for late August, and especially when the sun lowered in the sky. But perhaps that’s why Starsky appeared all the more primal; his dark features and hairy chest lent themselves to the reminder of his haired groin, to the inevitable swelling of his heated erection as soon as they found time to be alone, his sexual excitement, the unrepressed sound of his heavy breath, the promise of his emptying testes—

“What are you thinking about?” Starsky asked, tapping the table to get Hutch’s attention.

Hutch snapped out of his thoughts, having privately aroused himself, and feeling mildly embarrassed. “Making love outdoors,” he impulsively said.

“In the grass?”

“In the grass.”

“And it won’t pay no mind?”

“No mind at all.”

It was Starsky’s turn to laugh. “Okay, so just for the record because I can see you won’t let this go: I’ll make love with you in the grass … but also along an L.A. freeway, too … or even on the moon.”

“I prefer that first one—no noise, plenty of fresh air.”

“I think we almost did that today.”

“Made love in the grass?”

“Weren’t you feeling it? I mean, when Alec left us alone in the meadow after he gave you the banana? You and me talked about sex and relationships and … stuff. I got turned on. Didn’t you?”

“If you couldn’t feel my dick through our jeans, then you weren’t paying attention.”

Starsky winked at him.

Their heart-to-heart in the meadow had been minutes prior to the eagle’s release, leaving them no time to really delve into their thoughts. Perhaps they’d get a chance on the ride to Denver to pick up the conversation where they’d left off, finish it, so they both knew each other’s minds and hearts going in.

But Starsky was right: the intimate dialogue—and the wilderness too—had lent itself to a liberated freedom while they were alone in the grass. Had Hutch not remembered there was a crowd nearby at the time, he may have engaged Starsky in some animal lovemaking—and he was happy to learn Starsky didn’t say a word about the ‘creepy crawlies’ while they were rolling around on the ground; his mind had obviously been on something else—as it should have been.

Starsky smiled at him, warmly—as if he’d read Hutch’s thoughts—and then he suddenly noticed something through the window. “Nice truck,” he commented.

Hutch only got a glance of the vehicle: a red GMC K15 parked along the curb across the street. But his attention was immediately drawn to Alec Henley who had just emerged from it and was walking in their direction; their new friend smiled when he spied them in the window, and playfully drummed the glass as he passed it and headed for the restaurant’s entry door.

“Is he left-handed like me?’ Starsky asked, looking at Hutch as if he expected Hutch would have the answer.

“How would I know? It’s your day to watch him.”

“You’re funny, but you’re also better at noticing those things.”

“We’re both detectives,” Hutch reminded him.

“Okay, so maybe I was so impressed by his science degrees that I didn’t notice which hand he uses to sign autographs.”

“Be nice, Starsk,” Hutch warned him.

“I am being nice—and not just because he’s buying us dinner.”

“He’s a good guy,” Hutch added.

“I know he is,” Starsky insisted. “I like him, too—a lot. I wasn’t being mean.” Moments before Alec arrived, Starsky pushed back from the table and stood—as if he would give Alec his seat at the window across from Hutch and he’d sit next to Alec, but Starsky sat beside Hutch instead. “We should pay for the wine,” Starsky offered. “That would be the neighborly thing to do.”

“And yet you’re about to leave Alec to himself on the other side of the table,” Hutch teased him. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll think we’re gay if he finds us sitting next to each other?”

“I want him to talk to both of us about whatever he’s here to talk about,” Starsky explained. He affectionately shoved Hutch against the window to punish him for his wisecrack, but retaliated with a tease of his own. “I’m betting he sits across from you.”

“Because it’s a bay window,” Hutch debated him. “Better view.”

“Because you’re the better view.”

“Nah. You’re the one who has the animal appeal—and animals are his specialty.”

“Did I run you off?” Alec asked Starsky when he arrived at the table, inadvertently ending the dumb conversation between the two cops. He chose to sit in the chair by the bay window across from Hutch. “Or are you marking territory?”

Hutch winked at Alec to let him know he also enjoyed rattling Starsky’s cage. He then asked Alec if he wanted a glass of wine, and poured him one when he got Alec’s affirming nod. “Everything okay at the Center?” Hutch asked him.

“It scares me how well they can hold down the fort,” Alec admitted, taking his first swallow of Cab and seeming to appreciate the taste. “The older I get, the less I feel needed.”

“They just want you to think that way,” Starsky said, “so you’ll leave home more often. While the cat’s away, the mice do dance or something?”

Alec laughed. “Maybe so.” He raised his glass and toasted the closing weekend. “I’ve got the better end of the deal tonight. You guys were our saviors. Tell me again what made you decide to stop by.”

“Starsky saw a poster in a realtor window,” Hutch said, “and he wanted to see a bald eagle up-close-and-personal, so here we are.”

“I hope we lived up to our hype,” Alec said to Starsky.

“And then some,” Starsky replied. He told Alec how much he learned about animals—bald eagles, in particular—and that he knew his partner was happy to be out of the city, too. “He’s a country boy.”

“I figured that out,” Alec said, looking at Hutch with a favorable smile.

Hutch again noticed Alec’s blue eyes, his dark hair, tinged with gray, straight teeth, his more densely whiskered face—a mostly trimmed and graying beard—and how similar his features were to Starsky’s, except softer, like a mix of Starsky and Hutch: a few years older, a bit wiser, maybe even more affable. Alec hadn’t spent his career dealing with rapists, murderers, drug dealers, and child molesters. Maybe Starsky and Hutch wouldn’t have the edge they did if they’d lived a life free of those experiences—or maybe it took a certain edginess to combat crime and it had simply been in their blood since birth.

There was something else different about Alec from his appearance earlier in the day. A quick and mental inventory of detail and Hutch realized it was because Alec now wore a crew neck sweater, sapphire blue, accenting his eyes, darkening his lashes, intensifying the light in his eyes. A silver chain was still hidden under his clothes, and he didn’t wear a watch or rings, his nails were short and clean, his hands appeared strong—for opening steel traps, perhaps—and he smiled easily, friendly and affectionate … like Starsky often did.

Hutch had to look away from the lingering gaze between them; perhaps Alec was sizing Hutch up at the same time, making judgements, holding secrets. But Alec didn’t keep his thoughts to himself.

“Your partner is a beautiful man,” Alec said to Starsky, “but I suspect I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

“Hard not to notice,” Starsky agreed. He nudged Hutch’s knee under the table as if to say he was just as good at rattling cages, too. “I don’t think there’s a more beautiful man on all of Earth.”

“You two make me blush,” Hutch said, not untruthfully.

“So I’m back to wondering what you boys do for work,” Alec pondered. “He’s beautiful. You’re sexy—and I say that purely as an observation. I’m guessing … fashion models?”

Both Starsky and Hutch busted up with a laugh. They’d been called many things over the years, but ‘models’ had never been in the lineup. It did explain, however, why Alec noticed their appearances: he still tried to guess what they did for an income. He’d assumed correctly the first time, but without the confirmation, he had to continue figuring it out on his own. They had no reason not to tell him they were detectives; the weekend was over and Starsky had promised him disclosure, but Hutch was in no hurry to divulge the truth. He rather loved the assessments. Fashion models, indeed.

“Why would we tell you we brought kidnapped children to Denver,” Starsky asked, seeming to enjoy playing along, too, “if we really only came up here to dance around in Calvin Kleins, hm?”

Alec lightly laughed, obviously realizing his mistake, but arguing his case just the same after another swallow of wine. “Maybe ‘trafficked kids’ is a metaphor for a Chippendale’s shoot?”

“Guess again,” Hutch said just as the waiter arrived to take their orders, forcing Alec to pick up a menu while Starsky was the first to give his. “A big plate of spaghetti,” he said. He nudged Hutch. “What was the other thing?”

“Insalata Mista.”

“One of those, too.”

“You guys don’t have to limit your choices on my account,” Alec said, scanning his menu, not looking up, sounding as playful as he did sincere. “Just be sure to use mouthwash before you kiss me later; otherwise, you’ll gross me out,” he added. “So eat what you want. I’m not the morality police.”

“I like spaghetti,” Starsky said, defending his decision. “Hutch is making me eat something green with it.”

Hutch also realized he was about to order a dish with a meat sauce and, despite Alec’s assurance that he wouldn’t hold it against them, Hutch wanted to respect his host. He picked up the menu and read over it again. “Linguine al pesto di pistacchi,” he ordered instead, and he did it with an Italian accent.

“What kind of food is that?” Starsky asked, predictably clueless.

“Liguini pasta with pesto sauce and pistachio nuts,” Alec told him. “They do a nice job of it here. I’ll have the same.”

“A side of steamed spinach with lemon,” Hutch added to his order—and Alec did likewise. Alec also asked for a loaf of sourdough bread to share—with olive oil and balsamic vinegar in a dish. “And a couple of candles, too, while you’re at it,” Hutch asked the waiter. “The sun will be down soon enough,” he told his dinner mates. And they were off on a quaint, quiet, friendly Tuscan meal together—complete with the region’s romantic ambiance.

* * *

“It’s been some kind of wonderful weekend,” Hutch said, leaning on the table, arms crossed along its edge, making eye contact with Alec. They’d finished dinner, Starsky’s dessert had just been delivered, and Alec and Hutch were each on their second glass of wine, having ordered another bottle during the meal. “We came to see a bird get freed and ended up eating pancakes in the Rockies.”

The three men had already discussed politics, movies, the weather, sports, environmental issues, animal rescue, food, books, and a host of other topics that were both informative and enjoyable, and Hutch wanted Alec to know how much he and Starsky had loved the time spent.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Alec debated him. “You’ve changed our world and, with it, our lives.”

“The least we could do,” Hutch said. He meant it.

“But what about all them legal traps you probably destroy, hm?” Starsky asked, eating his Mousse al Cioccolato and seeming more interested in it than he was in the answer to his provocative question. “Do they outnumber the illegal ones you trash?”

Alec looked at Hutch. “Is he having an allergic reaction to chocolate?”

“He can be obnoxious,” Hutch agreed. “Welcome to his childish behavior.” He snatched the spoon from Starsky’s hand and pulled the dish over to himself. “This isn’t an interrogation, Starsk,” he reminded his partner, eating two of the remaining mouthfuls of dessert and enjoying their rich flavor.

When he looked at Starsky, he wasn’t disappointed to see his partner’s predictable reaction—one of bewilderment—and not over what Hutch had said, but because Hutch had stolen his dessert.

The dismay shone in Starsky’s otherwise sexy, blue eyes. He mocked having been wronged, and then confiscated the mousse from Hutch, grabbing his spoon back at the same time. “Interrogating is what I do,” he snidely said, but even that was feigned.

Hutch apologized to Alec for Starsky implying that their host was a renegade, and not that it mattered to Hutch if Alec were. “Joy Boy here can get overly excited sometimes when it comes to legal matters.”

“You’re the one who reads all them state laws—especially the sex ones,” Starsky said to Hutch. “In fact, I think that makes you a voyager.”

“You mean voyeur,” Hutch said, trying not to laugh, “which I’m not—and, in your line of work, state laws are the kinds of reading you should be doing—especially ones related to criminal sex.” They’d just returned trafficked children to Colorado, after all—victims of the flesh trade.

“What line of work are you both in?” Alec asked them, injecting himself into the dialogue as if to remind his guests that he was still present. “This conversation has suddenly become fascinating. Will you tell me this time?”

“We’re detectives,” Hutch said, drinking wine, savoring the taste, but also the feel it had given him. He hadn’t been as relaxed in a long while. “We told you that—though not in so many words.”

“Be serious this time,” Alec begged them. “The Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson routine has worn itself out.”

He was right, Hutch thought. They hadn’t been fair from the moment they’d met him. Alec had apparently sized them up from what he’d seen: their genuineness, comfort in their own skin, intelligence and curiosity—all the things one could conclude about other human beings without knowing how they earned their paychecks.

Hutch removed the bifold from his back jeans pocket and laid it on the table between himself and Alec. As he opened it to reveal his badge, he truthfully said, “We’re police officers.”

Starsky laid his, open-faced, beside it. “Detectives.”

They looked at Alec while Alec kept his eyes on their badges. “I should have trusted my hunch,” Alec finally said, sounding surprised and dismayed at once. “I guessed first that you were cops. When you didn’t commit, I had to rethink it. Your hair,” he said to Hutch, looking up at him, and to Starsky, “your fuzzy face—and I assumed you didn’t admit to being cops because you weren’t.”

“Well, in our defense,” Starsky said, “we kinda told you we were in law enforcement—he’s Holmes, I’m Watson. Or was it the other way around?”

Alec winked at him.

“Starsky got shot up a few months ago,” Hutch quietly explained, laying the rest of the truth on the table, “nearly lost his life, and we’ve been on leave since, only recently returning to work. That’s why the longer hair and my partner’s ‘fuzzy face.’ We’ve grown accustomed to being off the job for a while now.”

“I had to learn to walk all over again,” Starsky said, matter-of-factly. He drank from Hutch’s wine glass, perhaps to keep thoughts of that nightmare out of his head, despite how subdued his comment had been.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alec said to Starsky; he sounded as sincere as his concerned expression conveyed. If anyone knew the excruciating pain of recovery, Alec had seen a lot of it in his lifetime, albeit for animals.

Hutch gave Alec more details about who they were and why they were in Colorado, telling him that, as early as Friday afternoon, they’d been assigned as bodyguards for half a dozen rescued kids on their way to Denver, and that he and Starsky agreed that it might be a good way to ease themselves into work again; they asked their Captain if they could spend a few extra days to see the sights while there, and all expenses were paid by the police department.

“I have no words,” Alec said, “except to thank you both for your service. My work is bad enough. I can’t even begin to imagine yours.”

“Well, they’re all tough jobs,” Starsky observed. “I wouldn’t want yours, either. But I saw this poster in a realtor office about a bald eagle that was going to be set loose and I asked Hutch if we could go see that.”

“He more like insisted,” Hutch remembered. “So, we rented a car and drove up here yesterday morning, hoping we might help you guys out in the baseball game while we were at it.”

“Except Hutch wouldn’t let me play,” Starsky reminded them, pretending to still be annoyed by that, “but it’s okay: he didn’t want me to fall on my face in public—and it turns out you didn’t need me anyway.”

“I was seduced into singing songs around the campfire last night,” Hutch finished, retrieving his badge off the table and tucking it into his back pocket, “and making pancakes this morning.”

“So here we are,” Starsky whimsically concluded. “Because of our charm, wit, and unmatched smarts, we were invited to dinner tonight by someone who’s almost—but not quite—as special as we are.”

Alec glanced at Starsky and then at Hutch. There was more he apparently needed to know—and Hutch immediately figured out what it was.

“I decided not to tell anyone that we were cops because we didn’t want folks to be on-guard around us. Starsky would have bragged about it—”

“Because I’m proud of us, even if he isn’t,” Starsky joked.

“—but he went along with my decision because he knew, deep down, that our job titles might have taken something away from the overall vibe of the weekend.”

“That’s true,” Starsky agreed, about Hutch’s reasoning and his own surrender to keep silent about their jobs.

“Correct me if I was wrong to assume that,” Hutch encouraged Alec.

Alec leaned forward on the table again, made firmer eye contact with both men, and waited. But what else was there left to tell him?

“Look how you are now,” Starsky pointed out. “Treating us different already.”

“Differently,” Hutch corrected him. He didn’t see it, but he could feel Starsky’s sneer. “Besides,” Hutch said to Alec, noticing that the shine had returned to Alec’s eyes, “we’ve been undercover sleuths for so long, it’s easy to forget when—”

“Undercover,” Alec repeated. His expression softened, further warming his face. “That tells me everything—almost.”

“What are we leaving out?” Starsky wondered, pocketing his badge. “There’s not much more to tell. We’re simple guys.”

“You’ve left out what’s really going on between you two.”

“We’ve told you the truth.”

“I appreciate the information about your jobs and who you are. More than you know. But you haven’t told me the truth about who you are—together.”

“Partners,” Hutch and Starsky said in unison. Didn’t their badges prove it?

“There’s more to you than partners,” Alec assumed, making it clearer what he meant. “I think you’re much closer to each other than you pretend to be on the surface.”

“I told you he thinks we’re gay,” Starsky said to Hutch, drinking what remained in Hutch’s wine glass. “Didn’t I tell ya?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put a label on it,” Alec defended himself, echoing his earlier sentiment in the meadow and trying a gentle smile. “I’m just pointing out that I believe there’s more going on here than you’re telling me there is—and not that you owe me those details.”

“What makes you say that about us?” Hutch asked, feeling internally warm to have been read so well and not have known it until that minute.

“For One,” Alec said, nodding toward Starsky as he answered Hutch, “this friend of yours has done nothing but sing your praises.”

“That explains my friend. Explain me.”

Alec shrugged at the obvious. “He sings your praises. You let him.”

Hutch couldn’t deny that he loved Starsky’s attention and affection.

“That’s One,” Starsky said with a light laugh. “What’s Two?”

“That you can’t keep your hands off each other—or not drink out of each other’s glass or eat off each other’s plate or … spoon—especially one licked clean by the other guy.”

“Okay,” Starsky said, that time with a heartier laugh, as if they’d been cornered and he wasn’t completely sure he cared. “Is there a Three?”

“Your physical proximity to each other,” Alec pointed out, “even here at the table. Since you arrived at the Center, all I’ve seen between you both is a certain kind of demonstrative closeness and affection not usually shared by men who profess to be straight.”

“We’re not gay,” Starsky repeated himself. “I told you that.”

“And I’m not saying you are,” Alec argued. His posture and the tone of his voice lent themselves to his comfort in that conversation. He no longer seemed afraid he might be angrily challenged or, worse, assaulted for his observations, despite the lively dialogue. “But I’m not saying you’re straight, either—at least not with each other.”

Hutch tried to repress his smile, but couldn’t. They’d been found out, and they could deny it, but what was the point? It was truth, after all, though it did beg the question.

“You didn’t invite us to dinner to offer us a job,” Hutch assumed, allowing the disappointment to quickly pass so he could prepare himself for the real reason. “I misread you all this time—meanwhile, you didn’t misread us.”

“I can’t believe you just told Alec that,” Starsky said, hitting Hutch’s arm to admonish him.

“I trust he’s safe. Don’t you?”

Starsky didn’t answer; his silence didn’t mean he mistrusted Alec. He’d suspected all along that Alec thought they were gay.

“Let’s hear him out on the merits,” Hutch still argued. What did they have to lose?

Alec carefully eyed them. “I’m sorry if I misled you,” he promised.

“Our fault,” Hutch swore. “We’re usually better at reading the clues—and the signals.”

Alec spoke without smugness. “As good as you guys are, perhaps I have you beat. I’ve studied the silent language of animals for decades—and humans are animals. But a job offer? I’m afraid not. Having said that, I could dig up some work for you if you’re really interested in getting hired.”

“Cleaning up animal poop?” Starsky asked. Perhaps he was relieved there wasn’t a job offer on the table; his silly question lent itself to that notion.

“You’re both fully qualified to work any number of positions combatting the illegal and international wildlife trade,” Alec said, seriously, “and I’d be more than happy to put you in touch with people I know at state and federal agencies who’d kill to have you guys on board.”

“So, what is this dinner about?” Starsky asked. “It’s not what I think is the reason, is it? Are you hitting on us? I mean, you were married once.”

“I was.”

“To a woman, right? Men can’t marry men in Colorado; it’s not that sophisticated, is it?”

“Men can’t marry men anywhere in this country,” Alec agreed. “So, yes, I was married to a woman.”

“And you were engaged up until a year ago?”

“That, too.”

“Also to a woman,” Starsky noted.

“A very beautiful one.”

“But you’re hitting on us, right?”

Alec unsuccessfully repressed a careful smile. “Yes.”

Hutch exhaled, realizing only then that he’d been holding his breath. Maybe he’d been feeling a vibe he wasn’t consciously aware he’d been feeling and he was finally relieved to see it get flushed.

“So … closeted gay?” Starsky asked Alec.

“Just a man who loves sex,” Alec professed, “perhaps as much as you two love it.”

“Well,” Starsky said, but he never finished his thought.

“I trust I can speak openly,” Alec presumed, “and not have you leave here with a bad taste in your mouths—or have me arrested for assault? That’s not how I’d want this weekend to end, especially after all of your help.”

“We’re just law enforcement,” Hutch gently reminded him, “not judge and jury.”

“And we’re not in our own jurisdiction, anyway,” Starsky added, obviously to play along, following Hutch’s lead. “Unless you’ve killed or hurt somebody, say what’s on your mind.”

Hutch decided to patiently wait and to carefully listen—and to brave the bonding eye contact in the interim. He’d already alluded to his and Starsky’s sexual relationship. Where would it lead Alec besides deeper into the open?

Alec drank a few sips of wine from his glass, further relaxed, momentarily considered his thoughts before verbalizing them, and then looked at the men across the table from him. “I studied animal life as far back as I can remember; I was so immersed in it growing up that I was able to avoid all the human prejudice that’s laid on us—since birth—by religious dogma, cultural bias, and an ever-growing alienation from nature.”

Hutch envied him.

“From an early age, I was open to playing with anyone who wanted to play with me,” Alec continued, “male, female, gay, straight, or otherwise. My only requirement was that they be human.”

“Kind of like a free spirit?” Starsky asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

“Kind of like that,” Alec said, accepting the definition with a nod. “I enjoy sex with men very much—more than I enjoy it with women. Contrarily, I like relationships with women better than those I have with men—and I tend to fall in love with women, hence the marriages.”

“You don’t fall in love with men?”

“It’s more like ‘in lust’ with men.”

“I think me and Hutch are in love.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Alec observed with a hint of dismay in his voice, “which might make this entire conversation moot.”

“Moot,” Starsky mumbled, as if to trigger its meaning.

“As in, pointless,” Hutch defined it for him.

“Oh, but I want to hear what you’re telling us,” Starsky said to Alec, as if Alec’s free-spirited lifestyle was something Starsky could learn from.

“People come and go in our lives,” Alec observed with a kind smile, obviously pleased to discover the still-open door, “and I try to take them in mine as I find them. I don’t cheat. I don’t lie. And I don’t break hearts. But when opportunity is there, I take advantage of it—provided no one gets hurt.”

Hutch was all the envier; even their police work kept him from taking anything at face value. But he was certain he knew where Alec was leading them. He was so sure of it that he poured some of Alec’s remaining wine into his own glass and drank from it, allowing it to calm his emerging excitement. The talk of free sex, like he imagined it in Alec’s life, had mildly aroused him.

“I left California because of its laws against homosexual sex,” Alec admitted, having paused only to watch Hutch share his drink. “Colorado has long been a free state in that regard; California only for the past few years—long after I left it.”

Hutch would never forget Starsky’s attempt to penetrate him from behind while they were in the shower the morning they left for Denver. He at least knew Starsky wasn’t deterred by whatever the law was regarding that kind of behavior. Neither was Hutch, really. He just hadn’t been prepared to deal with anal intercourse at the time. “We’re all finally allowed to be our natural selves is what you’re saying,” Hutch assumed, “and this is where my partner and I come into the picture.”

“Oh,” Starsky said under his breath, as if his suspicions had been realized and the purpose of the dinner had finally hit him.

“Despite Starsky’s effort to convince me you weren’t sexually involved with each other,” Alec explained, “I wondered if maybe you came to Colorado for its long-established freedoms, that you’re not yet used to engaging in recently legal sex in California without fear of repercussions, and that you still don’t want anyone to know you lean into each other—hence your avoidance under the aliases of Holmes and Watson.”

Alec’s descriptive words made Hutch lightly laugh. “‘Lean into each other’ is a poetic way to put it.”

“So … cards on the table?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow to encourage the private truth he already suspected.

“We lived through a rough time,” Hutch told him, acquiescing, though it didn’t feel like a confession; he had nothing to hide from Alec and it was surprisingly therapeutic to share his personal feelings. The man was ‘safe,’ after all. “We realized nobody else gave us what we give each other: loyalty, trust, love, friendship, devotion. The only thing we didn’t have together was sex—and we finally found our way around that, too.”

“But it doesn’t mean we’re gay,” Starsky was quick to say, again. “I don’t mean I’m judging anybody who is—you’d be bisexual, right, Alec? We like sex with women, too, so maybe we’re some kind of label.”

“How about no labels?” Alec offered. “How about we’re just … human—and male on top of that?”

“I like it,” Hutch said. He did. A lot.

“Okay,” Starsky agreed, acceptingly, “but I’m also saying we aren’t attracted to other guys. So, if you’re suggesting here tonight that we should have a threesome, why would we choose a man to have it with if we’re not that way, hm?”

“You don’t have to be attracted to men,” Alec proposed, “to be attracted to the sex men can give you—the kind of sex, say, that you don’t get to have with women.”

“What kind, like?”

“Like sodomy.”

“That’s anal sex, right? Okay, yeah, I’ve never known a woman who wanted that.”

“Some men like to be rimmed—perhaps I’m talking to two of them right now—and women aren’t fond of that behavior, either,” Alec said.

“Rimmed,” Starsky mulled. He nudged Hutch with his elbow. “What kind is that?”

Hutch wasn’t sure. He seldom read the articles in Starsky’s Playboy collection, not when there were all those pictures of naked women to look at instead. He could guess, but he didn’t want to appear that naive in front of Alec, either.

“You guys really aren’t well-versed in liberated sexual conduct, are you?” Alec playfully needled them.

“Words are one thing,” Hutch defensively said. He didn’t want to appear as inexperienced as he knew he was in man-on-man sex. “When I’m having sex with him, I’m not thinking about how to define it.”

“So what is rimming?” Starsky asked, braving his question as he leaned in closer so Alec could answer him in a lower voice. The restaurant was still busy and no one could hear them above the cacophony, but Starsky apparently wasn’t taking any chances.

“Oral stimulation of the anus,” Alec replied, bluntly, “kissing, sucking, licking it.”

Hutch heard the answer as Starsky sat back. “I think you just embarrassed me,” Starsky said with a laugh, but Hutch couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed for not knowing the definition of rimming or because Starsky hadn’t been prepared to hear something that explicit.

“Then there’s fellatio,” Alec reminded them, lest it be forgotten in all the talk. “Who knows better what a man craves and needs more than a man does? Who’s better at edging a cock? deepening and heightening its pleasure at the same time? You guys have certainly figured that out by now.”

Had they?

“So, cut to the chase, as we say in Hollywood,” Hutch prompted Alec. His own arousal from the talk alone was telling him something he tried to ignore, but couldn’t—or didn’t want to.

“I’m not pursuing a commitment,” Alec told them with obvious conviction. “But I was especially drawn to you,” he said to Hutch, looking him over with appreciation in his eyes, “because you’re so goddamn beautiful and have such a big heart—but your partner oozes sex out of every pore so it’s hard to ignore him, too.” He gave Starsky a desirous smile to let him know he was just as attracted to him.

“I invited you to dinner,” Alec told both of them, “because I hoped to find out the truth underneath the façade, and—if I was right about one or both of you—that you might just let me play with one or both of you before you go home tomorrow—and purely for the pleasure of the sex. I have no illusions about winning anyone’s heart.”

“Meaning,” Starsky said for clarification, “that we go someplace tonight—together, the three of us—and simply suck each other off for the fun of it? like free spirits?”

“Suck each other off—that, and sodomy if you’re game,” Alec said, to-the-point on the heels of Starsky’s direct question. “And we take turns, so we all get what we’ve ‘come’ for: fingering, balls-sucking, rimming,” he added to the itinerary. “If you’d like to try them out with another man, I’m happy to perform any and all of the above—for one or both of you—and I hope you’ll do likewise for me with some of those pleasures. No pressure to do them all. Help me get off in any way possible and I’m happy.”

“That’s an interesting list,” Starsky said in a subdued voice, but Hutch couldn’t tell if it offended Starsky or excited him.

“I also get tremendous joy out of giving,” Alec promised them with a hopeful smile. “Neither of you is compelled to go out of his way to please me. Just watching both of you ejaculate—through self-masturbation or at the mercy of each other—and purely from the standpoint of a ‘voyager’,” he said with a light laugh, “would be a thrill I couldn’t measure.”

He looked at Hutch, but Hutch didn’t know where he fit into that equation. He just knew it all sounded enticing to him and he felt deeply and privately aroused, but he’d have been happy to go to a hotel with just Starsky and take care of business man-on-man, too.

Alec read Hutch’s mind. “The one thing you can’t do with just two guys,” he explained, “is fuck the one who’s getting sucked at the same time. I’m guessing neither of you has had that experience—or fantasy—with a woman or another man?”

“We don’t even talk like this,” Starsky said with an almost nervous laugh. “We just do what we do, know what I mean?”

“That just makes you all the more precious,” Alec admitted, momentarily licking his lips as he held lingering eye contact. “So, this is what I did,” he said after half a minute of silence. “I purchased two hotel rooms before I came to dinner. I figured we all might drink more than we should and it would be best that we stay overnight, sober up, and drive to our respective destinations in the morning.”

He removed a key from his pants pocket and slid it onto the table between Starsky and Hutch. “The Stanley Hotel. Head east from here, left at the light, and follow the signs. It’s an historic landmark, so you won’t get lost. The room is yours; paid for, second floor. I even made sure it has two beds, just in case I was wrong about you guys.”

Hutch leaned on the table and studied the key while he listened to the rest of Alec’s plan. A large ‘226’ was printed in black on the oval keychain. A nice, even number.

“The other room is mine,” Alec explained. “King-sized bed. Third floor. Opposite wing. You won’t even have to run into me if you choose not to join me.”

Hutch couldn’t read Starsky’s silence.

“Do me a favor and don’t give me an answer right away,” Alec implored them. “Think about it first. Talk about it between yourselves. Then choose to go to the second floor room or come to mine. Three-twelve. You can leave in the morning and be on time for your flight, regardless. No strings attached and no hard … no bad feelings if you don’t want to have sex with me.”

Hutch lifted his eyes and looked into Alec’s. It was the same handsome face, the same warmth and friendliness and kindness he’d known in the man since he’d met him; nothing had changed there. Alec was still the attractive, older, intelligent, educated, experienced, wiser, life-saving human being Hutch had come to respect and admire, someone who’d already given him and his partner unique experiences and forever memories. Alec’s sexuality was simply a deeper dimension.

But wasn’t that also the case between himself and Starsky? Hutch was a man of his word: he was no judge and jury. Alec was simply asking them if they wanted to enjoy the pleasures of sex in ways they hadn’t before—or at least with someone new. No labels. No strings. No inhibitions.

But could they accept such a gift? If Hutch wanted to, would Starsky let him? More importantly, if Hutch wanted to, why did he? Everything and everyone he ever needed was sitting right there beside him. He was, as Starsky had noted, a man in love. Yet, despite that fact, Hutch could feel his heart pounding. The real possibility that he could have manly, unadulterated, explicit, raw, and unattached sex was thrilling beyond his ability to ignore it. And to have Starsky share all of that with him was a fantasy he’d never even entertained.

It had been a most enjoyable evening, and Alec had apparently said his piece. He wrapped it up with a parting gift. “I’ll have the waiter send over a couple of coffees in case you want to drive into Denver tonight, and I’ll pay for the meal on the way out,” he told them, pushing back from the table as he prepared to leave. “If you decide you don’t want the room, give the key to the head waiter, and I’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’ll say goodnight now.” He stood and leaned over to shake each of their hands, conveying his admiration and fondness for them through his kind eyes and in the warmth of his touch.

“In case we don’t see each other again: thank you for everything, especially our animal hospital. I couldn’t possibly find the words to tell you how much it means to us and to me personally, but I’ll never forget either of you. Drive safe and smooth flight home, and—if I’m lucky—I’ll see you again: either tonight or some time down the road of life.”

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: ALEC HENLEY

It promised to be an exciting weekend; even the weather cooperated—a gorgeous, sunny, late morning, tranquil and serene, not a cloud in the sky. The forecasted temperature would warm to perfection, and an atmosphere of community had already settled over the sanctuary—dozens of people had arrived for the festivities.

Alec’s crew of employees and volunteers was also in full-swing. They’d handled the food catering, set-up the picnic tables, cleaned-up around the baseball field, designed the parking layouts and designations, produced and printed promotional brochures, fliers, and raffle tickets, assigned specific duties to a meet-and-greet team, and tackled other similar tasks.

Sometimes their attention to detail—and the energy to fluidly execute it—made Alec feel guilty: all he did was supervise volunteers, teams, and programs; well, those things, and he was the chief surgeon, rehabber, instructor, and decider of which animals lived or died; the Center was his full responsibility.

Kevin joined Alec on the porch that Saturday morning; they were dressed in jeans, tee-shirts, running shoes, and each man sat in a patio chair with a second cup of fresh coffee in his hand as they surveyed the grounds together from that vantage point. Alec was heartened to see just how many people wanted to participate in the sanctuary’s weekend events. Recreational vehicles and passenger cars slowly filled up the gravel drives and parking spaces, as well as along the shoulder of the adjoining highway.

“Clever idea,” Alec noted, spying the elk herd and lone bison in the front pasture. “Strategically placing our iconic wildlife by the road to let people know where to find us.”

“I would love to take credit for it,” Kevin confessed, feigning disappointment, “but it was Tyler’s idea.”

“Thanks goes to Tyler, then, but be sure to put the animals in the back pasture after we’ve started, okay? I don’t want them exposed or accessible to would-be hunters.”

“Although I think Tyler already knows that, I’ll be sure to follow up.”

Alec realized he may have sounded like a boss—even though he technically was one. He gave Kevin a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like an order.”

“I didn’t take it as one,” Kevin swore with a friendly smile. His white teeth gleamed against his black skin and his dark eyes shimmered; he truly was an attractive, healthy man. “I know you’re concerned about the animals being exposed and you want to be certain they’re out of danger.”

“It would be great if I could remember to put them back myself,” Alec said with a hint of frustration, “but with everything going on this weekend, I’m afraid I’ll lose track—and it’s just one more thing I wasn’t expecting to oversee.”

“Not to worry, Captain,” Kevin reassured him. “We’ll take care of it. You have my word.”

Kevin’s word was enough for Alec. “Thank you, buddy,” he sincerely said as he affectionately kissed the air toward his friend. “You know I couldn’t run this place without you.”

It was true—at least as far as Alec believed. Kevin had not only helped him to build the sanctuary from the ground up, but he’d also been Alec’s moral support for nearly a decade. They’d been through some tough times together and had each other’s backs.

There wasn’t anything Alec didn’t depend on Kevin for, nor anything he wouldn’t confide in him—with the exception of his complicated romantic life. That was an area where Alec felt most alone; he didn’t fear judgement when it came to Kevin knowing his sexual propensities so much as he feared misunderstandings—that he might be misread—so he kept those details to himself.

In all the time he’d known Kevin, he never allowed himself to rely on his friend to ease his lonesomeness, even and maybe especially when he felt quite alone—despite the love and attraction he had for Emily—throughout his ill-fated engagement the year before.

“You’ll get my bill,” Kevin playfully promised. He broke eye contact with Alec when he noticed something in the driveway. “Check out these guys,” he suggested, nodding toward the front of the premises. “I think our ballplayers may have just arrived.”

Alec looked back to the driveway and couldn’t miss what Kevin had pointed out to him: a blond and a brunette—both dressed in jeans and light jackets—had emerged from a white sedan and were being greeted by Sarah and Sally. Alec watched while the visitors handed over what appeared to be two aluminum-foil-covered food trays and a couple of wine bottles to the Center’s self-assigned receptionists.

“What do you think?” Kevin asked, sounding as if he’d already sized up the men, but wanted to know Alec’s thoughts before expressing his own.

Alec watched their guests walk across the driveway to join others along the fence that surrounded the bison and elk herd. Even from there, Alec admired their physiques: they appeared to be his height, as fit, perhaps as strong—if not more so—and energized. Alec thought so because they quickly jumped onto the fence and held themselves up on its bottom board rather easily.

“Assuming they’re not already on the opposing team, I think we probably won’t have to talk them into it,” Alec said, imagining that the men were looking to be involved in something physical, “at least, not too much.”

“The opposing team has never looked that fit,” Kevin argued with a laugh. “Those are definitely a couple of guys who might be here on our behalf.”

“Let’s go say hello,” Alec decided, setting aside his coffee cup, and standing. There was rekindled hope in his heart for the future—his, and everyone who worked for him; theirs, and all of the animals they had yet to save, both individually and collectively. “The sooner we make their acquaintance, the longer we have before the game to talk them into playing for us in case we’ve misjudged their intentions.”

“We won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kevin playfully threatened as he joined Alec for the walk from the porch to the parking lot. “And if our charm doesn’t do the trick, we’ll just have to throw them off the property rather than embarrass ourselves losing a game to the County while those guys are in attendance.”

“And thank them for the food on their way out,” Alec joked. But as he got closer, he immediately sobered. There was something surprisingly compelling about the men; perhaps it was their … closeness … that caught Alec’s eye.

They were shoulder-to-shoulder on the fence—until the dark-haired one pushed the blond off of it with an affectionate shove. He soon followed his friend and the two turned in unison toward the house—which was when they almost ran right into Alec and Kevin. All four men hit the brakes.

“Whoa,” Alec said with a laugh as he masterfully avoided the collision and made welcoming eye contact instead. “Not the way we intended to meet you.”

There was light laughter all around. “Alec Henley,” he introduced himself, offering his hand and noticing how unexpectedly beautiful the blond was up close, how sexy his friend.

“He’s the Boss Man,” Kevin said on the heels of Alec’s greeting. “We call him ‘Mr. Henley, Yessir,’ for short.”

“Alec,” Alec repeated for his new acquaintances, rolling his eyes at Kevin as he introduced Kevin, and knowing his comrade enjoyed unnerving him in moments like that one, but doing his best to circumvent it. “If I must have a title,” Alec acquiesced, “let’s just say I’m the reluctant Director of the Hidden Valley Wildlife Center.”

“Ken Hutchinson,” Hutch said, determinedly shaking Alec’s hand. “Hutch.”

He had the gentlest voice Alec had ever heard. Warm, buttery soft—perhaps like his heart.

“David Starsky,” Starsky replied, also shaking Alec’s and Kevin’s hands. “Glad to meet you both.”

Starsky’s voice was pure male and masculine. The men definitely struck Alec as epitomizing the ‘opposites attract’ theory or they at least fell into that sweet spot. “Starsk?” he asked Starsky, playfully filling in the punchline when none came. He noticed neither man wore a wedding band, but Starsky donned a watch and a pinky ring—sexy.

“Starsky,” Starsky repeated. “Starsk is reserved for him,” he explained, giving Hutch a gentle nudge.

That was when Alec noticed that both men had blue eyes, appeared to be in their mid-thirties, and were dressed the part of outdoorsmen. He was also right in thinking they were roughly his height, weight, muscle. Their handshakes had been firm but friendly. Confident men.

“What brings you to the Center?” Alec asked. He hoped they’d offer to play baseball so he wouldn’t have to solicit them; he was never good at using people.

“An airplane,” Starsky quipped.

“A car, Starsk,” Hutch corrected him with a ridiculing glance. “We drove up here from Denver, remember?”

“Right, but I mean we came to Denver on an airplane.”

“From where?” Kevin wondered.

“The City of Angels,” Starsky replied. “Landed late yesterday, drove from Denver this morning.”

“You didn’t come all the way from California to just to see us,” Kevin assumed. “I know we’re a fascinating bunch, but we’re not that special.”

“Speak for yourself,” Alec said, stealing a glance of both Hutch’s and Starsky’s builds while they spoke to Kevin: their jacket-hidden arm muscles, no body fat leanness, the light in their eyes. “I myself am fascinatingly special,” Alec added, “or is it that I’m especially fascinating?”

“He kids; always assumes ‘special’ is a compliment,” Kevin said to burst Alec’s bubble. “Having said that, we’re definitely a … controversial bunch … which is why we’re always curious about what brings people here.”

Alec momentarily dropped his gaze to the not-overly apparent but distinct bulges at Starsky’s and Hutch’s zippers. He then silently cursed himself for the stolen intrusion; they didn’t notice his brief study, but Alec felt the once-over was inappropriate. He usually had more self-control, so he forgave himself, recognizing that it had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the company of men, and these two were the most attractive pair he’d ever laid eyes on.

Alec also noticed that his new acquaintances were as comfortable with Kevin as they seemed to be with his staff and himself. Maybe Alec was too sensitive about how Kevin would be treated by others; he was always on the lookout for the slightest hint of racism. But these men seemed to have none.

“We were incognito,” Starsky explained, answering Kevin. “Had to bring some kids to the city for—”

“Family affairs,” Hutch interrupted him, as if he didn’t want to share the details. “And then Starsky saw a flier this morning about your sanctuary.”

“What do you guys do for work?”

“Detectives,” Starsky said. “The brilliant kind.”

Starsky didn’t exactly look the part: granted, it was the weekend and he was entitled to be dressed-down, but his dark brown, wavy hair was too long for clean-cut cop code, and his days-old whiskered face was as uncommon for police work as it was attractive. His partner, Hutch, seemed likewise: longer hair and sideburns, and an easy casualness.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes,” Hutch dryly said to Alec and Kevin, “and he’s Dr. Watson.”

Starsky didn’t miss a beat. “I thought I was Holmes; you’re Watson.”

“I’m the smarter one between us, remember? that makes me Holmes.”

“So, we’ve got two prima donnas in our midst, hm?” Starsky joked, winking at Kevin. “But the bigger question is,” he asked Hutch, “are we going to force these good people into guessing what we do?”

“Might be fun,” Hutch said with a mischievous smile. His was as beautiful as his face. Flawless features.

“Only if there’s a door prize in there for us if we figure it out,” Kevin insisted.

“We’ll take that bet.”

“So why come to the Center?” Alec pushed them, purely out of curiosity. He felt if he could strike up a repertoire with them, he’d feel less guilty asking for their help. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like to do or see while you’re here?”

“A bald eagle,” Starsky said, beaming with excitement.

“That’s tomorrow,” Kevin kindly informed him.

“Yeah, but today there’s food,” Starsky noted. “Right?”

“And baseball,” Hutch added. “The flier said you need players.”

Music to Alec’s ears. “I was hoping you would volunteer. Between us three, I think we might just win this game.”

“You can’t leave out this guy,” Hutch said, nodding toward Kevin. “He seems formidable, too.”

“He’s got a bad knee,” Alec explained, “and I was really hoping a couple of strong guys like yourselves would show up here in the nick of time to save the day.” He realized he needed to point-blank ask them to make it official. “Will you play for us?”

“Sure!” Starsky said, stepping forward as if he was ready to go to bat that second.

But Hutch squashed Alec’s hopes—and Starsky’s as well—telling him that Starsky would have to sit it out due to ongoing recovery from a ‘bad accident’ a few months prior. After they discussed it between themselves—Starsky and Kevin surrendering to not playing—Hutch was committed to the game.

“I’ll take my players any way I can get them,” Alec said, accepting the disappointment and then letting it go. “You’re more than I expected,” he added, meaning Hutch, and stealing a squeeze of Hutch’s strong bicep. “I think we can beat ’em even without our two lame friends.”

After a pit stop to use the facilities and a thorough tour of the premises for all of its visitors that morning, the group eventually moved to the baseball field. There, they made acquaintances with the opposing team, the audience sat up on the bleachers, and the game commenced.

But it was right before the fun began that Alec just happened to see an exchange between Starsky and Hutch; he noticed it because he found himself looking at Hutch again—that time jacket-less—to study Hutch’s arms and muscles, and soon followed Hutch’s gaze across the field, along with his warm smile.

Starsky had taken up residence with Kevin on the bleachers; an affectionate smile passed between Starsky and Hutch, a kind of appreciation for the other: Hutch for Starsky willingly sitting out the game; Starsky for Hutch joining the team. Starsky even seemed certain his friend would be the winning ingredient: he cheered him on before a single ball had been pitched, and silently applauded him, too. It was as if Hutch told Starsky in reply that he would do his best, wordlessly echoing the sentiment he’d expressed to the other team members when he repeatedly said he hoped he wouldn’t let them down.

But no matter which way the game went, Alec was certain of one thing: he was destined to have met both men that morning—and just when he needed them most.

* * *

Alec would never be able to thank Ken Hutchinson for his role in winning a baseball game that guaranteed them an animal hospital on the premises. He would have to live a thousand lifetimes in Hutch’s presence, finding the perfect words to tell him over and over—and every day—about how absolutely grateful he was, but no such eternity, nor perfect words, existed in reality.

All Alec could do—like everyone else did after the game—was shake Hutch’s hand, slap him on the back, repeat ‘thank you’ half a dozen times, and hope his immense joy wouldn’t turn into unmanly tears; it was okay for the women on Alec’s team to express their appreciation with hugs and overly sentimental praises, but Alec had to fight off his deeper feelings.

So it was only natural for him to feel a bit jealous—maybe it was closer to envy—when he saw Starsky briefly take Hutch into a headlock and kiss the side of his face. Starsky did it right there in the open, in front of everyone, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

If only Alec had been allowed such an expression of affection. Instead, he settled for what he’d been permitted. He then coaxed everyone into following him for a short tour of a smaller barn of animals soon to be released into the wild. Afterward, he escorted the crowd back to the public restrooms, and eventually to have all visitors gather with him in the picnic area where the potluck would be served on already set-up tables.

He couldn’t help but watch Starsky dish up food onto the two plates Hutch carried while the both of them apparently discussed what they wanted to eat and how much of it, and Starsky leaning into Hutch the entire time they browsed the lunch items. What didn’t they do together?

Alec and his staff ate last; Kevin and his fiancé Tyra were among the people who joined Starsky and Hutch at one picnic table, Alec and those who jokingly loved him more at his—and the seating arrangement all purely serendipitous. Alec would have preferred to sit across from the blond and the brunette, but it wasn’t in the cards.

While he dined and conversed with the people and the new friends around him, he did keep his eye on Hutch and Starsky, noticing their comfort with each other, their physical closeness and affection, their ease with fellow diners in conversation and laughter. There were nudges under the table between them, bonding eye contact, private smiles in each other’s direction, and the occasional silent dialogue.

Maybe they were detectives, despite not looking the part. They exuded confidence. What other kind of job could they have where that would be the case? But Alec eventually dismissed that notion, deciding instead that they were probably in a lesser-known or unappreciated humanitarian service, like coaches or teachers or doctors without … borders.

Between the potluck and the marshmallow roast, after everyone dispersed for lazy and leisurely walks around the sanctuary, Alec and Kevin found themselves on the front porch of the house for a 15-minute respite—that time with a beer each.

“Tell me what you know, Kee,” Alec encouraged him, watching newcomers arrive for the evening’s festivities while those who’d already pitched tents tended to their possessions. “Anything interesting to share?”

“I couldn’t find a love interest for you in the entire bunch,” Kevin said, pretending to be at a loss, his feet propped on a nearby patio chair. “I really think you should spend a weekend in Denver.”

“The bar scene, Kee?”

“Walk along the river … sit outside a cafe … meet some locals.”

“Truth is … I’m not looking.”

“That’s part of your problem.”

Alec laughed. “I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“Nobody came to this function today by themselves,” Kevin noted, drinking beer as he seemed to revisit his observation. “Couples. Families with children. You’re the only one alone here.”

It was a perfect opening for Alec to ask about the two men who’d caught his attention, but he eased into it. “Sally and Sarah are each alone—in that respect.”

Kevin looked over at Alec. “Alone? Are you blind?”

Alec looked over at Kevin, weighing the implication. “They’re not as you say,” he insisted, and not that it bothered him if Sarah and Sally were a couple, but that he hadn’t seen the signs dismayed him.

“You are blind.”

Alec scoffed at the idea, looked back to the front of the sanctuary, drank beer, allowed its cool taste to calm his emerging apprehension. “Starsky and Hutch came here without lovers on their arms.”

When Kevin didn’t comment, Alec looked at him again. “Something you know about them that you’re not telling me?”

“I ain’t got nuthin’,” Kevin said. “They came to Colorado for a different purpose and to the Center as an aside.”

“How do you mean?”

“They brought some kids to Denver.”

“So they said.”

“Their reason when we met them was ‘family affairs.’”

“What was it really?”

“They were trafficked kids.”

“As in, the flesh trade?”

Kevin nodded, sipping beer, unmistakably serious.

Alec thought for a moment with him. “Feds?” he wondered.

“They didn’t say and I forgot to ask.”

“Some kind of government service maybe.”

“Maybe. I did tell them how you and I met—that I was almost a trafficked kid once-upon-a-time.”

Alec remembered. Neither of them would ever forget. “How’d they take it?”

“Like everyone does: proud of me, admire you.”

“I didn’t do it for the admiration.”

“But you’ll take it anyway.”

Alec laughed again, looked back to the driveway, watched people, wondered where Hutch and Starsky were and what they were doing; their car was still on the property. “What else do you know about them?”

“They’ve been friends for years; Hutch was born in Minnesota, Starsky in New York. They met in Los Angeles.”

“Are they married?”

“I didn’t pry.”

“I didn’t mean to each other.”

“I didn’t take it that way.”

“So, in other words, Kee, you don’t have anything new to tell me, nothing out of the ordinary from every other time we’ve held a fundraiser; it’s always the same old story.”

“That’s my point, pal,” Kevin insisted. “You’ve got to go to Denver some time, find a new market.”

Alec rolled his eyes. The sanctuary wasn’t a marketplace. “Well, anyway,” he said, noticing the front pasture, “thank you for getting the elk and the bison off the road.”

“I’d love to take credit for it,” Kevin said with a snort, “but it was Tyler’s doing.”

A familiar refrain. “Thanks goes to Tyler then.”

* * *

The small bonfire at the edge of the lawn on the south side of the two-story house had been well underway—and the sun had just set—when Alec noticed that Hutch finally woke from his nap, but it wasn’t by his own means. The fire was safely controlled and maintained, both by its slow-burning compost material, but also by its builders—Tyler, Steven, and Linda, masters of their craft—and it had successfully slowed the cooling temperatures at end of day. A couple of dozen people had gathered around it to warm themselves, to relax and commune with each other and, of course, to toast marshmallows.

Alec sat on the far side of the fire, purposefully choosing the lounge chair that gave him a direct view to Starsky and Hutch, having noticed that Hutch had taken to the grass a couple of yards from the fire pit upon his arrival on the scene, appearing exhausted and grateful for a few minutes of alone time to rest. He’d laid down on his back, placed his arm over his eyes, and seemed to have drifted away rather quickly, showing no signs of movement until Starsky forced him out of slumber.

He did so with the delicious aroma of a baked marshmallow on the end of a metal skewer, which he tauntingly twirled over and around Hutch’s nose.

Alec repressed his outward smile. He was glad that no one had a need to speak to him about business, and he especially didn’t want anyone to notice he was enjoying the exchange between Hutch and Starsky lest they interrupt his study by wondering what he found so fascinating. The men’s playfulness—rather, Starsky’s mischievousness—was sweet in nature, subtly amusing, and undeniably affectionate.

Hutch slowly roused from his sleep, lowered his arm, and opened his eyes. He immediately removed the marshmallow from the skewer and gently smiled at Starsky while he ate it.

Romantic, maybe. That’s how Alec viewed it. Like a couple of long-time lovers enjoying the simple pleasures in life.

Starsky had been remarkably patient, allowing Hutch to doze for nearly an hour, using that time to talk with Sally and Sarah who’d deliberately made his acquaintance, and also with a family of four; he appeared to tell stories his listeners truly enjoyed. But once the marshmallow bags were broken into, and everyone who wanted one was given a skewer, Starsky seemed to quickly eat his fill. He then offered one to Hutch, bringing his friend out of sleep to share it.

A beer during the potluck, another on the porch with Kevin, and a glass of red wine prior to joining visitors around the bonfire from one of the bottles Hutch and Starsky had brought them, and Alec was feeling relaxed enough to allow himself the wish that he could join Hutch in the grass.

Hutch was such an unparalleled beautiful man—from his perfect face to his perfect build and all the way to his kind heart. Alec would have given anything to be able to lie down beside him, he too on his back, stare at the clear night sky and all of its twinkling stars with him. But Hutch belonged to Starsky. Or did he?

Alec wasn’t sure. They were sometimes too familiar with each other, such as when Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrist after the second marshmallow had been roasted, and held onto it until Starsky lost the arm wrestle and surrendered the treat.

That wasn’t so out-of-the-norm; it’s what Hutch did next that seemed too comfortable for public display—were they lovers—even for the free state of Colorado. Hutch clasped Starsky’s other wrist and ate the sugar-packed pillow right from his friend’s hand, briefly licking Starsky’s fingers after he sucked them and the marshmallow past his lips.

The two of them laughed until Starsky cupped Hutch’s mouth, leaned over him, and said something that appeared to end the mock debate; he then toasted himself another marshmallow.

To be that spontaneous and free with another man in public was something Alec had only dreamed about; he never imagined it was possible, not anywhere in the world. That’s why these two men probably weren’t in an intimate relationship; they wouldn’t dare bring that kind of attention onto themselves. They were simply long-time friends who didn’t care about what others thought of them or their behavior.

Alec was entertaining those thoughts when he realized Hutch had rolled to his side, toward the fire, and was watching Starsky roast marshmallows, as if to study Starsky—his look, demeanor, intention, and essence. There was such fondness in Hutch’s face; he did love his friend—a love obviously filled with admiration, respect, and gratitude.

But Hutch serendipitously glanced in Alec’s direction just as Alec looked more closely in his, and their eyes met with a casual determination.

It was another exchange purely between Alec and Hutch. The amber glow from the bonfire, and the shadows it created, danced over Hutch’s face. His expression and his connection with Alec in that moment was one of relaxation, contentment, a kind of carefree laziness, as if he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else doing anything different from what he did then—and knowing Alec felt likewise.

Hutch was in his element: the growing dusky sky, the deep green of color in the silhouetting trees, the cushioning grass, the random pops of fire, the warmth and safety of friends—and one in particular. The promise of a moonlit night. Nature herself. He had that in common with Alec and was wordlessly telling him so. Alec was certain of it: he’d seen it in Hutch’s silent contemplations of their natural surroundings, in his sometimes lingering trance when he looked upon the Rocky Mountain peaks in the not-too-far distance, and again in that bonding eye contact between them. Like Alec, Hutch was a nature boy.

Alec felt connected to a person in a way he hadn’t been in a long while. It wasn’t just Hutch’s empathy for nature that Alec had tapped into; it was the mutual understanding that they had something much deeper in common, despite that Alec couldn’t pinpoint a specific. Was it an attraction to Starsky or was it simply the notion that they knew deep affection for another man was a gift few men were permitted to experience? How fortunate were they?

Hutch winked at him.

His gesture was so unexpected and friendly, kind and generous—perhaps he even answered Alec’s quiet musings as if he had heard the questions—that Alec didn’t know how to immediately respond. He was caught off-guard. A moment later, and purely by happenstance, Starsky leaned forward onto his hands and knees to hold a marshmallow on a skewer over the fire, and unintentionally blocked Alec’s view of Hutch.

Alec’s heart beat heavily in his chest. He felt alive on a level he hadn’t indulged in years. His focus was redirected. It was now Starsky in his line of sight. A very different kind of man: one who was more visceral, it seemed; Starsky was impulsive, spontaneous, child-like in his demeanor sometimes. He wore his heart on his sleeve. But he was also undeniably masculine, male, adult, sex-driven. He was primal; sensual in manner and handsomeness—from the sound of his deeper voice to his hip-first walk. Tighter jeans, too, Alec had noticed, though he suspected both men packed sizable phalluses in their pants.

Added to that were Alec’s assumptions of Starsky’s haired chest and what he could imagine in his mind was the finest naked ass he would ever lay eyes on were he given the chance.

Morgan pulled a chair closer beside Alec and snapped him out of his fantasies. She’d recently lost her dog, Tippy, to cancer and was still in mourning. No doubt she wanted Alec’s condolences; she was so much younger and he supposedly the wise one. Truth be told, he did have the gift of easing grief in others, so he told her again that she should embrace the pain—but only if she remembered the moments that made Tippy so special. It was just as well that Alec was interrupted. He may have gone too far into his deeper desires and inevitably been painfully disappointed when they couldn’t be realized.

“Maybe we can have a service to share the experiences we all had with Tippy,” he suggested, brushing the hair from Morgan’s face to behind her ear so he could better read the truer feelings hidden in her hazel eyes. “We’ll set a date after tomorrow and gather around where we buried her.”

Morgan looked at him, tears on her cheeks, but gently smiled. “Would you do the ceremony?”

“Of course I will,” he promised. He felt so sorry for her because he knew life had a lot more pain lying in wait—as life always did. “I would be honored.”

When Alec was sure he’d comforted Morgan and she began to converse with other visitors, he glanced back to Starsky and Hutch—just as Starsky sat on his heels, having toasted not one, but two marshmallows on a single skewer. He waved them in the air to cool them, keeping his eyes on the motion as if he were self-hypnotizing, and talked to Tyler who had since sat near him.

Alec shifted his attention to Hutch—and found him watching Kevin and Tyra, snuggled as they were in each other’s arms, but they not noticing Hutch’s study. Hutch’s gaze abruptly came forward and he stared into the ground between the bonfire and Starsky—unseeing. His expression had gone from one of carefree contentment to something quite sober, so suddenly that it troubled Alec.

After half a minute, Hutch pointedly lifted his eyes to Alec’s. Was he seeking affirmation? There was no reading him, not even to suppose, but something had transpired—something in his thoughts and in his heart. He sheepishly shrugged and broke eye contact with Alec before rolling back onto his shoulder, as if he might doze again, except he didn’t bury his face in his arm. He stared at the nighttime sky instead.

Well, maybe Alec could guess after all. He himself had wished to be free to engage a man in public; maybe that’s what Hutch was thinking, too—especially after seeing how cozy Kevin and Tyra were allowed to be. Perhaps he and Starsky actually were lovers and Hutch would have given anything to lie in his man’s arms right there beside the bonfire among new friends. Alec knew that feeling—of wanting and not having what the rest of the world took for granted.

Starsky held the marshmallows over Hutch’s nose, said something to him—perhaps asking him if he wanted one—but Hutch declined. That’s when Alec concluded that Starsky must be left-handed—his watch on that wrist should have been the likely giveaway, a propensity he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed about the man before—and he rather liked that idea. Starsky was just that little bit of extra different.

Starsky bounced the marshmallows against the tip of Hutch’s nose, but got the same response: a refusal. Starsky said something to Hutch. Hutch said something back. It was as if Starsky had noticed Hutch’s change in demeanor, asked him about it, and was told all was fine—when it obviously wasn’t. Starsky nodded, like he accepted Hutch’s lie, but then he removed a marshmallow from his stick and—in one quick motion—shoved it into Hutch’s mouth before Hutch could know what hit him.

Alec thought he himself would laugh out loud if he hadn’t clamped his jaw when he did, but he admittedly felt better knowing Starsky had just brought Hutch out of his slump—and he knew that because Hutch affectionately punched Starsky in the shoulder. Starsky rolled his eyes and then spoke to Tyler while he ate the remaining marshmallow he’d toasted. Meanwhile, Hutch rose to his elbow, chewing the treat he’d been forced to eat, and glared at Starsky in mock retaliation.

“Look over here,” Alec thought, encouraging Hutch’s attention with unspoken words. He wanted to ask Hutch with just his eyes if all was as it should be and, if not, could he do anything to make it so? But Hutch never got the chance to look at Alec.

Starsky stole the scene when he raised his voice and asked the crowd a provocative question. “Anybody want to hear Hutch sing? Nobody has a sweeter voice the world over!”

Hutch audibly protested. “I don’t have a guitar, Starsk, and I refuse to sing a capella in front of a roaring fire.”

“You’re in luck,” Starsky told Hutch above the quieting noise. “Tyler has one and he just said he’d love to lend it to you tonight.”

Everyone cheered while Alec watched, knowing Hutch had lost the battle. Could he be more attracted to these men than he already was? Could Hutch really sing? And, if he could, would Alec feel more bonded, crave sexual contact, be drawn to Hutch—and perhaps even to Starsky—in ways he hadn’t been to men before? Everything about Starsky and Hutch gave Alec a different kind of feeling, one so unique that he couldn’t decipher nor describe it, not even to himself. And it left him as terrified as he was excited.

* * *

After most of the workers and volunteers had departed to their rooms, Alec immersed himself in the peacefulness of the late evening, its soft lamplight, warming ambiance, and the sheltering familiarity of his two closest friends. He decided not to have coffee, hoping to sleep well instead, but he continued to listen to the still-excitement and hopefulness of his compatriots while they drank theirs.

“Did those guys happen to mention when they’ll be back tomorrow?” Alec asked.

He was slouched at the end of the sofa in the living room, his feet crossed on the coffee table, his hands folded over his belly. He had just finished a conversation with his immediate team about how successful the day had been for the Center, and they were all in agreement on how fantastic it turned out. Alec’s only disappointment was not getting to say good night to Starsky and Hutch.

His mind, of course, found moments to savor his private thoughts and memorable impressions of Hutch and Starsky until he finally found a way to ask about them without it sounding as if he had more interest than he did.

“Those guys?” Kevin wondered. “Can you be more specific? We had 162 people here today.”

Apparently, Alec’s obsession with the blond and the brunette had gone unnoticed, and he was pleased for that much. “A Mr. Ken Hutchinson,” he said, assuming that no one working for the Center would ever forget the man; they all knew the hospital would be named after Hutch. “Did he say when he and his buddy would be back tomorrow? I know they want to watch us release Lady Liberty in the afternoon.” He couldn’t remember if the boys planned to be at the pancake breakfast.

“Oh, those guys,” Sally said with a hint of sparkle in her blue eyes. “They’re still here.” She cleaned up coffee cups and other glasses before carrying them to the kitchen, having first stolen a glance at Alec when she told him Starsky and Hutch hadn’t actually left the property. She obviously knew something he didn’t, but seemed happier to get under his skin.

“I saw them leave,” Alec argued. Maybe he was the only one who had paid the men close attention.

“You probably saw them go out to the parking lot,” Kevin agreeably told him, eating leftover potluck pastry as he sat in the armchair diagonal with the sofa, “and maybe you even saw them get into their car, but you didn’t see them leave the sanctuary.”

“And you know that, because?”

“Because they didn’t leave.”

Alec rolled his eyes.

“Which is why I said they’re still here,” Sally commented as she returned to the living room. “They said something about seeing us at the pancake breakfast.”

“That answers my question,” Alec said, feigning annoyance; three could play their game. In reality, he was amused by the disjointed conversation, knowing his colleagues relished razzing him whenever they found the chance. His unusually passive demeanor—deepened by the rewarding day—was apparently another perfect opportunity.

“There you have it,” Kevin quipped, smartly concluding, “They’ll be at the pancake breakfast—which means you’ll see them sometime mid-morning.”

“You’ll probably see them early, too,” Sally insisted. “They’re sleeping tonight in their car.”

Alec loved the idea that Starsky and Hutch hadn’t left the premises, but he was alarmed to hear Sally’s declaration. “Why didn’t anybody tell me this sooner?” he complained to them both. “They can have my place; I’ll sleep right where I sit.”

“They say they do it all time.”

“Do what? Sleep in cars?”

“That’s what they said.”

“They never heard of sleeping bags and tents?”

Kevin laughed. “You forget that they flew into Denver last night and this wasn’t a planned adventure for them.”

Alec hadn’t forgotten; he more than welcomed the puzzle the two men had presented with their elusive answers and behavior, not to mention the feelings they stirred in him, the desires they brought to the surface, urges he hadn’t had in a long while.

“Besides,” Sally added, “Starsky said something about being afraid of bears. I don’t think a tent and sleeping bags would have made him feel any better.”

Alec inwardly smiled to learn of Starsky’s fear—not that he wanted Starsky to be afraid of the outdoors, but that it showed how out-of-his element he’d been all day—and yet Starsky gave the humbling experience his all.

“More importantly,” Alec said, “I don’t want them spending the night in the car.” He couldn’t imagine why the men would have said they slept in cars ‘all the time,’ unless that’s how they compromised when Hutch wanted to go camping and Starsky wanted to be safe from bears, but that was beside the point. “Those boys can have my pad.”

“They can have the front room,” Sally suggested. “We were saving it for Donna and Richard, but they had to cancel, so nobody has to sleep on the sofa.”

Alec sat forward, intending to go out to the parking lot and invite Starsky and Hutch to the house for the night, but Sally beat him to it.

“I’ll tell them,” she said, excitedly heading to the front door. “My plan is to make beautiful babies with the blond one.” She was gone in a flash.

Dumbstruck, Alec noticed the mischief in Kevin’s chocolate brown eyes. He should have known better than to trust the man on those matters. “I thought you said Sally was with Sarah.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Kevin said with a certain satisfaction in his voice and a wink for added insult.

“I don’t know why I love you so much, Kee,” Alec playfully replied, mocking disbelief.

“Stockholm Syndrome.”

Alec laughed, trying not to. “You certainly enjoy taking advantage of this old man.”

“That, too.”

“Speaking of old men, what do you think Sally’s chances are? Hutch must be fifteen years older than she is.”

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, “but he’s prettier—and that’s saying something; we all know that beauty comes before age.”

“Yet again you get things backward.”

“But do I?”

Maybe he didn’t. Certainly Hutch’s perfect face had opened doors for him.

“My cue to show myself out,” Kevin said, getting to his feet. “I’m sure Tyra wonders what’s happened to me.” He squeezed Alec’s hand in good night. “Don’t fall asleep on the sofa again. If you’re too tired to do it yourself and you need someone to carry you to your bungalow, I’m sure those two strong guys could do it for you so I don’t have to.” He chuckled as he headed upstairs. “Love you like a brother, man.”

Alec grunted in affectionate reciprocation—and finally had a minute to himself. He didn’t plan to move until he’d been gifted another glimpse of Hutch and Starsky; he’d even settle for just laying eyes on one of them so as to not be accused of being greedy. Hutch was his preference, especially because the man had moved him to tears earlier in the night, but Starsky … well … on second thought … he’d enjoy either man’s company. An experience with Hutch would be very different from one with Starsky—and vice versa—and Alec would find something uniquely worthwhile in both.

But why not go further? What about an intimate encounter with Starsky and Hutch—together? He dropped his gaze to the coffee table and stared into the last hour while he waited to see whether his visitors would accept the spare bedroom. But outside he could only hear crickets as he intently listened for the approaching sounds of male voices or even human footsteps—and heard none.

Maybe Sally had gotten what Alec could only fantasize about: she’d crawled into the car with those beautiful, sexy men, and was enjoying them in a threesome. Alec might have to wait until morning to see them—and give up entertaining his private musings after that.

* * *

Alec eventually heard mixed laughter outside, the front door suddenly opened, and Starsky and Sally appeared first, giggling about something together, and not paying Alec any attention. Hutch came in behind them, closed the door, and glanced into the living room. He and Starsky were still dressed in their jackets from around the fire earlier, and Starsky carried a backpack. When Hutch saw Alec, he smiled, softly and with warmth, and said in that buttery way of his, “Hey.”

He did have quite the distinctive voice—especially when he sang, one with a soft strength, an amazing purity, and an unequaled flawlessness. Alec wasn’t skilled at finding the words he’d need to describe Hutch’s singing voice any other way; he just knew how deeply moved he’d been simply to hear it, especially having decided, at first, that Starsky had over-played the exaltation. Best case scenario was that Hutch was an ‘okay’ singer, hero-worshipped by his closest friend.

But when Hutch rose to the occasion by taking a seat on the bench closer to the fire that night—and nearer to Alec—guitar in his lap, having been granted permission to tune its strings, and began to sing … well … Alec could have fallen through the ground itself to the very core of the earth by how blown away he was.

The other gift Alec was granted came when Hutch made concerted eye contact with him, determined a wink, and strummed the first few notes as if he knew Alec would appreciate them—the ones Alec immediately recognized as John Denver’s ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads.’

“‘Blue Ridge Mountains,’” Hutch sang, smiling as he passed his gaze around the very pleased crowd, “‘Shenandoah River… Life is old there … older than the sea…’”

Hutch also smiled at Starsky who sat dutifully at his feet, looking awestruck at him as if he’d never heard Hutch’s voice before and was as mesmerized as everyone else.

“Sorry,” Hutch said, abruptly stopping the song in the middle of its chorus, and pretending as if he’d made a mistake—or that’s how Alec read him. “Wrong state.” Hutch started a new song, this one a softer tune, beginning further into its lyrics, and one everybody most definitely recognized, then collectively laughed at when they realized why Hutch made the switch.

“‘Now his life is full of wonder, but his heart still knows some fear,’” Hutch sang, slowing the cadence into the song’s bridge, “‘Of a simple thing he cannot comprehend … While they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more … More people, more scars upon the land…’” Even the tone of his voice embodied the sadness Alec felt over laying waste to the West.

Despite the bittersweet reflection, Alec couldn’t hold back his smile; his face hurt from its duration to its breadth; the song, overall, was a happy one. He never expected to hear it as beautifully as Hutch sang it, nor at such a perfect time. To also see the delight on dozens of people’s faces, to witness their laughter and singing along, and to feel how the night had taken a turn into a connectedness Alec never anticipated, was almost more than he could emotionally handle. He might cry if he could stop smiling.

“And the Colorado Rocky Mountain high,” Hutch continued, at times closing his eyes while he sang, but he never stopped sharing glances with those around him, nor the happy smiles. “‘I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky … I know he’d be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly…’”

On those words, Hutch looked down at Starsky, nodded as if to tell him that the song had been especially written for the man at his feet, blew him an air kiss, and then looked up at Alec to finish the chorus. “‘Rocky Mountain high … Colorado Rocky Mountain high … I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky…’”

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, applause and gleeful laughter. Alec couldn’t take his eyes off his precious guests—adult and child alike. In some ways, Hutch had just given the Center another needed boost, a memorable experience for those in attendance, sealing the fate for more funding and support—and sparking renewed hope in those who drove it.

There was an unmistakable wordless conversation passing between Starsky and Hutch, right there in their eyes, not just on their faces, a quiet moment only they shared in that aftermath, an ‘I love you’ without words. That wasn’t so strange. Alec loved Kevin and that love was returned, but this seemed somehow deeper in context, more knowing in its meaningfulness. If they weren’t lovers, they were certainly in love.

Starsky tugged on the hem of Hutch’s jeans and brought him back to the present. Hutch suddenly looked up at everybody, apparently noticed their attention, and then prepared to sing another song when he was encouraged by the audience to do so.

“This is probably my favorite John Denver song,” he said, his fingers finding the chords on the guitar and gently strumming the strings as he spoke, sharing his early years in a nutshell. “I was raised a nature boy—or it raised me; I can’t say which. Moved to the city … got caught up in its superficial drama … and it was years before I realized I’d lost that connection to Mother Earth.”

“He loves growing flowers,” Starsky chimed in, triggering fond smiles in those around him. “And he has this thing for trees.”

Something Alec had already learned about the man.

Hutch looked into his past, or perhaps it was into his soul, and prefaced the lyrics with more of his personal insight. “Those of you who are fortunate enough to spend your lives outside … you know what I’m talking about. For those of us who’ve never plugged in or who’ve since forgotten, this song reminds us … begs us … not to lose our way.”

Few people knew the words to ‘Rhymes and Reasons,’ so everyone leaned in, both to listen to Hutch’s beautiful voice, but also to the message he’d chosen to impart. It was a song about finding home in the natural world and in the innocence of children, a ballad of sorts, one that showcased his light tenor vocal range.

Hutch didn’t look at any single person while he sang it; it was a call-to-action for everyone, including those already within the circle. “‘It is written from the desert … To the mountains they shall lead us … By the hand and by the heart … They will comfort you and me … In their innocence and trusting … They will teach us to be free…’”

Maybe that’s who Starsky and Hutch were: a professional musical act, one known in the city, but not so much in the country, let alone in the wilds of Colorado. Perhaps that’s why they chose not to tell Alec and others what they did for work: they were afraid their popularity or fame might tread on a weekend of leisure. Alec continued to wonder.

“‘For the children and the flowers … Are my sisters and my brothers,’” Hutch continued, his voice in peak strength, “‘Their laughter and their loveliness … Could clear a cloudy day…’”

The reminder of children made Alec rethink his supposition about the men’s livelihoods. He recalled that Hutch and Starsky had brought trafficked kids to Denver to reunite them with their families. But there was definitely something in the way Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off Hutch, nor repress that fondness in his expression, that absolute unfiltered admiration he had for his friend … lover … partner.

“‘And the song that I am singing,’” Hutch finished, “‘Is a prayer to non-believers … Come and stand beside us … We can find a better way.’”

Whatever their paths in life, including the one they currently traveled, Hutch and Starsky were obviously doing something positive for the world. No man could sing a song like that, with feeling like that, unless he believed in the words. No man could love a man like that without feeling likewise.

Alec couldn’t hold back his sudden tears; he didn’t overtly cry—one would have to look closely to see the wetness in his eyes—but he certainly felt the flooding emotion in his heart. He’d been one of those fortunate people to never have lost his way, to have made his life and his living in the great outdoors, to have given back to the world that which so many had ruthlessly taken—whether it be the lone individual of an endangered species, or the seed-planting and tangible concepts and lessons of stewardship that he had passionately planted and taught over the years.

But to be given the added gift of hearing Hutch’s flawless voice sing that anthem, with its specific message—“We can find a better way”—and to know he did it right there in the presence of his city-raised best friend, as openly and as uninhibitedly as he performed the song, told Alec that Hutch meant every word of it.

Was this an even greater reward, to have been bestowed with the experiences only Hutch and Starsky had provided him? Could Alec ever find the words to tell them how much they’d changed lives just by their very arrival on the scene?

Or that he felt himself coming back to life in ways he thought long-dead?

Hutch wasn’t done reaching into Alec’s soul. He deliberately faced Alec, repositioned himself and the guitar on his lap to do so, waited for the fanfare to quiet, and then spoke directly to Alec. “I never expected to meet a man who epitomized this next song,” Hutch softly said to him. “I think everyone will agree you were the person Michael Murphy had in mind when he wrote this one.” He gently picked the opening notes to ‘Boy From the Country.’

Hutch’s thoughtfulness immediately melted Alec’s heart—even before Hutch began to sing. Alec knew the song, the version performed by John Denver, though most people didn’t; it wasn’t one of the singer’s more popular hits. Alec had identified with it for years, but no one had ever sung it for him, let alone dedicated it to him. While he listened, and despite how hard he bit down on controlling them, those tears finally emerged in his eyes.

“‘Because he called the forest brother,’” the song began, Hutch feeling every word in his delivery, ‘“Because he called the earth his mother … They drove him out into the rain … Some people even said the boy from the country was insane …’”

Hutch had no idea how close to reality he’d come … how lucky Alec was just to be alive.

“‘Because he spoke to fish in the creek,’” the song continued, Hutch’s golden voice filled with a kind of bittersweet softness, “‘He tried to tell us that the animals can speak…’” On those words, Hutch broke eye contact with Alec and dropped his eyes into Starsky’s, singing the next phrase to his beloved friend, and not as insult, but as storytelling.

“‘Who knows? Perhaps they do,’” he sang with a light shrug, as if he could imagine conversations with animals. “‘How do you know they don’t … Just because they’ve never spoken to you?’”

Starsky lightly laughed, nodded, broke away to look at the ground as he continued to listen.

“‘He tried to tell us that we should love the land,’” Hutch said, that time in a sing-song voice, not so much actually singing the lyrics; he lifted his eyes to the crowd around the campfire, obviously speaking to them. “‘We turned our heads and laughed … You see, we did not understand…’”

Alec didn’t wipe his face clean of tears in time to not be noticed by Hutch as the singer closed out the song, and he was almost certain it was why Hutch’s voice broke on the words—because Hutch, too, was emotional to witness Alec’s heart on his sleeve.

“‘Sometimes I think the boy from the country … Is the only one who sees … Because the boy from the country … Doesn’t want to see the forest for the trees…’”

Alec couldn’t hold back his crying; there was no point. Hutch had moved him, pushed him into a place he couldn’t keep from entering. He’d have gotten up and hugged the man, but he didn’t dare. Perhaps if his deeper feelings had been different, he would have done just that, but he was terrified of being found out, so he sat in his chair and quietly cried instead. He loved his friends, but his attraction to men wasn’t something he wanted anyone to know, sometimes not even the men he was drawn to.

“And there you have it,” Hutch kindly said to the crowd, taking attention off Alec to spare him further embarrassment—on purpose, it seemed. “He proves again just how big a heart he has. Let’s hear it for the boy.”

The audience applauded, whistled, and cheered.

“Love you like a brother, man!” Kevin yelled out.

Alec wiped his face, did his best to laugh off the praise, waved them away with his hand, and finally made eye contact with Hutch after half-a-minute of avoiding his gaze. But, damn, how beautiful Hutch was in that moment: aglow in firelight, dressed in an unzipped jacket, guitar in his lap, his blond hair and shine-filled eyes visible in the dark blue of night. All muscle, all male, all heart himself.

Starsky rose to his knees in front of Hutch and unintentionally shifted Hutch’s attention. Everyone could hear him tell Hutch his sentiments; he wasn’t shy nor secretive, and he didn’t have the concern Alec would have had. “You’re beautiful, Hutch,” Starsky said, affectionately tousling Hutch’s hair, and then stroking his cheek as he sat back in the grass—as if the touch was only permitted if it were brief—and in passing. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Love you like a brother, man,” Hutch said to him. But did Hutch mean something beyond what Kevin had meant when Kevin said those words to Alec, and Starsky was nodding because he heard what else was being spoken? Or was Hutch doing what he’d done a moment ago: easing himself and Alec out of the sentimental mush the songs had created in them?

Whatever the reason, Alec did feel envious. Maybe even jealous. He wasn’t sure. His was such a mix of feelings, urges, desires, wants, dreams, and gratitudes. He was thankful for what he’d been given; there was no doubt about that, but he was also desirous for something deeper. And that startled him.

“I’m passing the torch,” Hutch said, rising out of his seat and leaning over Starsky—who didn’t move a muscle out of his way—to hand the guitar back to its owner. “Let’s hear from Tyler now. Thank you, everybody, for the privilege of experiencing this with you. The company has been great.”

So when Hutch entered the house later that night, after being talked out of sleeping in the car, and made eye contact with Alec, Alec found himself relatively speechless. “Hey,” was Hutch’s greeting, but it felt as if it meant so much more. Perhaps it did.

“Hey,” Alec said back, studying that magnificent man from head-to-foot as he stood just inside the door, and wishing he could spend the night with him.

“Nice house,” Hutch commented, momentarily studying the large print of a coyote above the sofa where Alec sat.

“Had to find a house big enough to room lots of folks,” Alec explained; he’d always been embarrassed by its size. “But be sure to make yourself at home.” He was impressed to watch Hutch be drawn in by the coyote print; few people were as mesmerized by it—and it was Alec’s favorite.

“Don’t mind if we do,” Hutch gratefully said. He and Starsky thanked Alec for the room just before they followed Sally down the hall to the vacant bedroom. Would she get to stay with one or both of them, kiss their mouths, feel their hard penises, give and receive orgasmic pleasure with them?

“Have a good night,” Hutch told Alec as he completely disappeared from view.

“You, too,” Alec replied, a bit sadly. “I’ll see you boys in the morning.”

For pancakes.

* * *

The day began as days usually did at the Sanctuary: with Kevin and Alec sitting on the front porch, drinking coffee, surveying the property, discussing the itinerary or the weather or life in general. It was cool in the mornings, so they wore light jackets, and, on this particular Sunday, they were uncommonly quiet as they each silently contemplated a brighter future together as a team; the new hospital would make all the difference in their world.

After several minutes, Kevin broke the silence. “You know I knew who you were talking about last night when you asked me if ‘those guys’ said when they’d be back today. You know I knew who you meant, right?”

Alec looked over at Kevin, tried to repress his smile, accepted that he’d been bested, yet again, but chose to still argue with him. “Right. I knew you knew that I knew you knew.”

“Uh-huh,” Kevin grunted.

“But why do you have to be so mean, Kee?”

“Making up for all that grief you gave me some years ago.”

“What grief?”

“The coma grief,” Kevin said, breaking eye contact, and gazing out over the front pasture. It seemed he hadn’t meant to get so serious.

“Oh, that grief,” Alec said, remembering, but quickly shrugging it off for the lighter side of life. “Yeah, okay, so fire away. I deserve it.”

“Well, I’m just sayin’,” Kevin said, looking back at Alec. “You know we love giving you a hard time because we love ya.”

“I do know.”

“But speaking of hard times…”

“What of them?”

“Did Sally nail her blond last night?”

Those were the moments Alec wished he’d long-ago confided in Kevin about his attraction to men, so he could avoid comments like that one, not be caught-off guard by them, or wounded, as the case was in that instance. “I don’t know,” he said, hoping his casual tone of voice would convey a disinterest in knowing those details—as much as he actually did want to know them.

But maybe Starsky could answer the question. The front door opened and he stepped outside, seeming surprised to find Kevin and Alec seated on the porch, sipping coffee. “Why, hello there,” Starsky cheerfully said. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, too, having obviously found the pot in the kitchen beforehand. “I can’t remember the last time I had a Sunday morning like this one. Yosemite, maybe.” He deeply inhaled. “Hutch would be proud of me for getting up early and breathing fresh air.”

“Where is your partner?” Kevin asked. “Still in bed?” He winked at Alec, implying that Hutch was probably still with Sally, but Alec immediately looked away. “It’ll be feeding time soon,” Kevin reminded them, “for animals and humans alike.”

“I think he’s about to get in the shower,” Starsky replied. “But don’t expect him right away.”

“How come not?”

“Knowing him, he’ll be stripping the mattress and doing the laundry first.”

“Neat freak?”

“I’ll say ‘tidy’ so as to not talk bad behind his back,” Starsky said with a light laugh. He stood on the porch between both men and studied the scenery with them. “What happened to the moose elk and the buffalo?”

“You mean the elk and the bison?” Alec asked, noticing Starsky’s watch and ring again and how sexy they made his arm and hand. He hoped he didn’t appear unfriendly by correcting Starsky; that was the last thing he felt toward him.

“What’s a moose elk?” Kevin asked.

“I said those were moose when Hutch and me saw them in Yosemite,” Starsky explained. “He said they were elk. So we compromised.”

Alec tried not to laugh, but couldn’t stop himself.

“So what are they?” Starsky asked. “Elk, you say?”

“That’s what they are.”

“Okay, but don’t tell Hutch. If he asks, tell him they’re moose.”

“He knows his animals,” Alec commented, sounding as impressed as he was. “How does he handle all that barren concrete in Los Angeles? They’ve even cemented the river bed there.”

“I know,” Starsky said, sort of sadly. “I’ve driven on it. But he brings the outside in as much as he can; grows things on his balcony—bushes and plants and flowers and stuff like that. He even talks to them while he waters them—like they’re people or something. Has me doing it—sometimes.”

Alec gleaned from that notation that Hutch lived alone; Starsky referred to the balcony as Hutch’s. So, there went that idea about them being a married couple in spirit. Two men who appeared to be that much in love with each other—sex or no sex—would live under the same roof, wouldn’t they?

“But, seriously,” Starsky implored them, “what happened to the elk and the bison?”

“We moved them to the back of the property,” Alec said. “Keeps hunters from taking pot shots.”

“Who’d want to kill those anyway?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Or disgusted,” Kevin said under his breath.

“I think I’d be disgusted,” Starsky concurred. “I mean, how can something be more beautiful dead than alive, am I right?”

“You are right,” Alec quipped, appreciating Starsky’s convictions, but pointedly not opening a debate about the plight of farmed animals. “So … are you up to lending us a hand this morning to feed everybody? We’ve got horses and coyotes and all kinds of birds and—”

“I would love to!” Starsky insisted, excited and eager at once. “Then I can say I’m a farm boy.”

Alec chuckled under his breath. The sanctuary wasn’t a farm, but he was willing to accept the comparison. “Shall we wait for your friend to join us?”

“My friend?”

“Hutch. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, my best friend. Ever. But ‘friend’ just sounded …”

“What?”

“… I don’t know … less than he is, I guess.”

“In what way?” Alec asked. He was a little nervous digging deeper; not sure what he’d find.

Starsky thought—or stalled—for a moment, and then answered, “We’re like … brothers from different mothers.”

Kevin got to his feet, took the few steps toward Alec, hit his knee to coax the Boss Man into standing up, and said, “I hear ya, Starsky. I’ve got one of those myself.” He winked again at Alec. “Now let’s go feed some hungry beasts. Time’s a-wastin’. Hutch can catch up later after he washes the sheets.”

* * *

Starsky was excited to feed the coyote, saying he’d never been close to a wild predator before, but seemed to enjoy feeding the grazers more; perhaps he felt safer around them, despite their larger size.

Starsky was also curious to know why they raised chickens, telling Alec, “I thought you were vegetarians.” Alec explained that every single animal on the property had been rescued from a fate worse than death—as well as death itself—and the chickens were survivors of egg factories and broiler farms. He noticed that Starsky was quiet for a while after learning details about the factory farming mega industry, but when Starsky saw the equine pen, he came to life again.

“You save horses, too?” he excitedly asked, rushing over to the corral where two horses, a donkey, and a mule had already been fed and were lazing in the pasture.

Starsky hung on the rail in his tight-fitting jeans, white tee-shirt, and red zippered jacket.

Alec had been a few steps behind him, so Starsky’s rush to take off without him enabled Alec to appreciate Starsky’s backside as his guest climbed onto the fence. In all of his 43 years on Earth, Alec had never seen a set of buttocks—male or female—as delicious to the eye and as sexually attractive as Starsky’s, and that was saying something. He wished he could have savored the visual for longer, but Starsky would have noticed the stall.

“Those were Emily’s rescues,” Alec explained, stopping at the fence beside Starsky and turning his attention to the animals in order to shake off his emerging sexual desire. He did notice how easily aroused he’d become around Starsky, whereas he felt emotionally attached to Hutch. “She was very involved in rescuing horses from the flesh trade.”

“The flesh trade—in horses?”

“Half a million American horses are slaughtered every year for ‘food’ and exported to France and Japan for human consumption.”

“You can stop talking now,” Starsky said, sounding dismayed and obviously wanting to avoid further discussion about killing horses. “But how come she doesn’t do that anymore?”

Without wanting to bring down the tone of the conversation any further than he already had, Alec simply said, “Emily and her horse were killed last year in a freak riding accident.”

“Oh,” Starsky mumbled, turning his head to look at Alec. “Emily was your fiancé. He’d obviously learned about Emily from a staff member or volunteer, but either never knew her name or had since forgotten it; his sorry appeared on his handsome face and mostly in his blue eyes as he silently sent home his condolences, verbalizing them as he stepped down off the fence. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve had a few of those myself.”

Alec didn’t know whether Starsky meant he’d had a few fiancés in his lifetime, or a few losses, or both. “You’ve lost some friends to tragedies?”

“My dad died when I was a kid,” Starsky replied, opening up, and not realizing how pleased he’d made Alec when he did so. “A grandparent, too—from a car accident. But a woman I’d probably have married got killed a few years ago.” He didn’t elaborate on how, but added, “It’s really tough in times like those because you’re in the height of the romance.”

“Everything dies with it,” Alec empathized, briefly noticing the hair on Starsky’s chest as it peeked over his tee-shirt. “Hope, the future, all that could have been.”

“Right,” Starsky said, sounding glad to hear the return empathy. “Hutch’s ex-wife got killed long after they were divorced, but they were still in contact with each other, so that was hard on him, too—and it wasn’t even in the height of romance. Maybe we just don’t expect people to die so young, hm?”

Well, Starsky answered that question: both men had been in heterosexual relationships, one of them married—at least one of them, and at least once. Not unusual; he himself had been married, no kids, and had even planned to remarry. Were Starsky and Hutch currently in relationships with women?

Alec casually tried a benign approach to delve deeper into the man’s mind. “I’m sorry to hear about the things that happened to you and your friend. Did it turn you off of dating?”

Starsky momentarily searched the air with his eyes as if he was trying to remember, and then landed on a thought. “Hutch and I fought over a woman earlier this year, but I’m not seeing anybody right now. Is someone around here asking?” he joked, pretending to search the barn aisle for a lurking female with his peripheral vision.

Alec couldn’t tell if he’d made Starsky uncomfortable, or if Starsky was trying to throw him off some track. Gay men did marry women, after all. But the ‘fought over a woman’ was an interesting tidbit of information—just not enough of it. “Who won the lady?”

“We compromised and invited her into a threesome,” Starsky said, laughing at the memory, “but she didn’t want to join us, so we went our merry way without her.”

“Meaning just a twosome?” Alec asked, having unexpectedly been handed the perfect cue, and feeling a warmth of arousal wash over him, especially when he was reminded again of Starsky’s subtle sensuality. “Women aren’t worth it anymore?”

“Hutch might not think so,” Starsky said, turning back to the fence to watch the horses, “but … I mean … I’m still open to the big wide world of romance.”

Vague answer, of sorts. In fact, it was an awkward one. “Well, a man has to get laid now and then,” Alec said, joining Starsky at the fence, standing beside him again to watch the horses, and hoping his indirect comment would solicit a more insightful reply.

But Starsky didn’t say anything; he was quiet for a moment before he asked about the animals. “You think … like the song … that animals can talk?”

Doing his best not to let his disappointment show in having learned nothing about Hutch and Starsky’s personal relationship, Alec obliged him. The man was, it appeared, an animal himself. He oozed sex in his every natural mannerism and masculine inflection. “I do think animals can talk,” Alec said. “If we listen closely, we can hear them.” He then proceeded to give Starsky a lesson in animal communication using the horses to demonstrate.

If only he could read Starsky as well as he could read animals.

* * *

Alec lost track of Starsky shortly before the pancake breakfast was set to begin; volunteers apparently swept him up in the bustle as they made their rounds through the remaining barns to feed the animals. He assumed Starsky was enjoying himself, so he decided to leave the morning chores to the rest of his crew and instead be at the pancake breakfast before guests arrived.

He spotted Sally right away, but didn’t yet see Hutch. “How did it go last night?” he asked when he caught up with her. Maybe she’d fill in where Starsky hadn’t. “Did you get to make babies with the blond boy?”

“He went to bed—without me,” she said with disappointment. “I think he’s more interested in the brunette.” She herself was a pretty young woman; what straight man wouldn’t want her?

But Alec had to look around to figure out who the dark-haired female was before he realized she was actually talking about Starsky. “What made you think he leans that way?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s gay,” she said, hope returning to her hazel eyes as she seemed to re-strategize her future. “But he wanted to hang out with his buddy—both of them saying they were tired.”

“You have to give us old guys a break, Sal. Pick on men your own size.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she giggled. “Boys my age are boring.”

“Well, keep me posted,” Alec insisted. “I’ve a mind to be a godfather someday.”

Sally hugged him around his waist, tightly squeezing him, and pressed her cheek to his chest. “You’re the first in line,” she promised.

Alec did feel loved by everyone who worked for and with him. But were it not for his ill-fated engagement to Emily, they might all believe he himself ‘leaned’ that way; he’d been rather skilled at keeping personal boundaries in place despite that he’d been alone for a long time. “Don’t shit where you eat,” he often told himself. Another reason he loved men more: they could handle the hit-and-runs. But maybe it was he who was aging fast; he hadn’t bedded a man in years. Starsky and Hutch were the first two to make him feel it was possible again.

“Speaking of the devil,” he murmured to himself when he saw Starsky enter the scene. Alec was about to go over to him, but he noticed that Starsky stopped at the coffee pot table and turned two cups right side up. As he watched Starsky pour coffee into them, he scanned the sizable crowd for signs of Hutch. Half a minute later, Sally was beside Starsky, engaging him in conversation.

Maybe Alec should stop wanting. He was outnumbered, emotionally confused, somewhat nervous about prospects, verbally abusing himself with the practicalities of such a rendezvous with one or the other man. Not knowing whether his two guests were in an intimate relationship together—and imagining that they weren’t—how was he to invite one to his bungalow without giving away the other? More specifically, how was he to solicit one man without offending both men?

Besides, they were definitely more interested in each other. It was a sweet thing to watch Starsky prepare two cups of coffee: a ton of sugar into one cup, only coffee in the other, and realize how well they knew—and took care of—each other, straight or gay. Theirs was definitely a solid friendship.

But no sooner had Alec entertained that thought when he noticed that Starsky approached him, carrying two coffee cups.

When he was close enough, Starsky extended the sugarless cup to Alec. “One of those blonde babes says you like it black.”

“I thought you left me,” Alec playfully said, accepting the gift with a generous, “Thank you.” But he also realized Starsky had known Alec’s whereabouts before he poured coffee into those cups, making Alec feel appreciated—and noticed. He made firmer eye contact with Starsky, feeling attracted to his sultry blue eyes while he looked for some telltale sign that the man felt likewise—even just a little. But no such subtleties existed. Alec had done it again: evaluated his chances. It was time to let them go. “Heads up, Starsky: Sally is on the prowl for your friend.”

“Sally?”

“The one you were talking to about my coffee. If she can’t get him, she’s headed back your way.”

“I think we’re old enough to be her father.”

“Lucky you?”

He watched Starsky drink his coffee and seem to enjoy the taste. The man looked really good in red; it contrasted quite nicely with his dark, wavy hair—and especially his days-old whiskered face, also noticing the birthmarks on his cheeks. Alec was about to comment on Starsky’s casual appearance, but realized he hadn’t given Starsky time to respond to his baited questions.

“She’s a good person,” he said instead, hating the stupid game he played to solicit private information from Starsky. “And, in the end, we’re all just animals.”

Starsky briefly scanned the crowd as if he sought out Hutch, then looked back at Alec to say, “You and Hutch think a lot alike. Last little while, he’s been studying that bigger biology picture. Humans are animals and all that stuff.”

“This is where I pity you, yes?” Alec laughed. “But at least he’s not a know-it-all.”

“Oh, he can be.”

“But you love him just the same.”

Starsky sipped coffee and peered at Alec from over the cup’s rim, seeming to size up Alec’s provocative observation. When he lowered the cup from his face, he squinted at Alec, cocked his head, momentarily studied him, and then said, “I’m not doing what you think I’m doing with him.”

Provocative, indeed. Alec was taken aback by the bold reply. Starsky had just opened a door through which Alec could walk, get answers, put this attraction and this notion of it going somewhere into a place it belonged: the past. But he never got the chance to say anything because Hutch arrived just then and took their attention.

“There he is,” Alec said, extending his hand, and hoping to find a welcoming reprieve in the contact. Hutch was even more beautiful that morning: freshly rested, warmly dressed, and he hadn’t shaved, either. For a blue-eyed man of his perfection, even the blond whiskers gave him a primal look he didn’t have without them.

In the end, Starsky hadn’t spoken for Hutch; he’d only spoken for himself, telling Alec that he wasn’t doing whatever Alec thought he might be doing with Hutch. Starsky didn’t say ‘We’re not doing what you think we’re doing.’

So there Alec was: right back at Square One.

* * *

Obviously, Starsky thought Alec believed he and Hutch were doing something they weren’t doing, but as Alec analyzed all of the cues and information he’d gleaned from the men since they’d arrived at the Center, he wasn’t sure what Starsky meant.

There had been a time, not long ago, when the Center had been infiltrated by government officials—wildlife agents who were certain that Alec was up to no good. And not because they suspected that he was harming animals, but because he was definitely exposing loopholes in the laws that would end their exploitation of the public domain, as well as their self-interests in slaughtering wildlife.

Despite the possibility, Alec didn’t think these two handsome, masculine boys were those guys. Alec had proven himself over the years, won and lost battles while the war still waged. He prided himself on knowing who was and wasn’t lying to him. Hutch and Starsky simply weren’t the type; there was so much intimacy between them that they couldn’t possibly be anything other than visitors to the sanctuary.

Their genuine disgust to learn about roadkill, coupled with their excitement over Hutch’s pancakes, forced Alec to dismiss the notion that the men were undercover … cops. Both men had past relationships—and marriage—with women; Starsky even referred to Sally as one of the ‘blonde babes.’ On the flip side, and despite all the physical affection between them, Starsky didn’t defend Hutch against Sally’s prowl; he wasn’t a cock-blocker.

Maybe Hutch was gay; Starsky simply felt comfortable enough around him to let Hutch be himself. But what were the chances that any two men in America would be that openly affectionate with each other even, as Alec had previously thought, in Colorado, and despite the ‘freedom’ of the 60s and 70s?

Having considered that aspect, it was still a known fact that Starsky and Hutch had shared the same bed the night before—albeit, they were rather tired and a car was the only other option, but they weren’t weirded out by sharing a mattress.

Although Alec wished he could have walked with them on the hike to Liberty’s release field, he was at least glad they’d brought up the rear—to keep a protective eye on everyone else?—and that they were still with him, enjoying the wilderness, on his property, and in his presence. If nothing else, he was sorely needing their company.

* * *

“May I interest you in a banana?” Alec asked, sitting beside Hutch in the grass. He brought it for the sole purpose of making an innuendo and, failing that, having a back up—a legitimate prop.

When he arrived at the release field after the long hike, he noticed that Starsky was soon caught up in conversation at the snack tables while perusing the food there, and that Hutch had walked a short distance into the meadow and laid down in the soft mountain grass.

Alec held the banana out for him as he studied Hutch’s relaxed posture—including and especially the bulge at his groin—and wondering if Hutch might actually be asleep. He’d give anything to lie in the grass with Hutch, feel the ground beneath them and the warmth of the sun on their bodies.

But Hutch lowered his arm as he opened his eyes and looked up into Alec’s face, unknowingly interrupting Alec’s enjoyment. “Don’t mind if I do,” Hutch lazily replied, accepting the perfectly ripened fruit—and seeming to miss the insinuation, or maybe he was afraid to acknowledge it. He glanced back to the tables, perhaps searching for Starsky’s whereabouts, and then made eye contact with Alec again.

“It’s not nearly enough,” Alec said, his forearms resting on his knees, his voice as friendly and sincere as he felt. Hutch brought out a contradicting arousal and relaxation in him. “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“It’s been our pleasure.”

“I’m not sure you appreciate how monumentally important that hospital will be for the Center.”

“I think I have a good idea,” Hutch debated him, laying the banana on his chest, not eating it, but holding it close. Was it a metaphor, even subconsciously? “We drove up here yesterday from Denver,” Hutch added. “Even from Estes Park, it’s a long drive—and I assume that’s the nearest animal hospital?”

“Most of the time, I oversee a MASH unit here,” Alec said. “When I don’t think I can save an animal with my limited tools and knowledge, I have to drive to Estes Park.” It was a road he knew all-too well, but… “Even then, the vets aren’t always keen to patch up wild animals, especially those who are considered vermin—squirrels, coyotes, the occasional field mouse.”

“The least of these,” Hutch said under his breath—apparently in agreement with Alec’s perspective on the world.

“If it matters to you,” Alec echoed, speaking to the unseen animals around them, “it matters to me.”

“The mark of true empathy,” Hutch concurred, but using a different observation. “I came here with the notion that you were another run-of-the-mill animal lover,” he confessed, “but your soul runs much deeper than that.”

Alec closed his mouth, looked more closely at Hutch, was at a loss for words. He loathed being called an ‘animal lover’—people who pet animals with one hand while they ate animals using the other—and was impressed to know Hutch saw beyond that label, too. Was there anything Alec didn’t like about this man?

As he studied Hutch’s sparkling blue eyes, his translucent blond hair, his beautiful face, his perfect build—stealing nonchalant glances at the bulge in Hutch’s snug-fitting jeans—he concluded that it wasn’t possible to dislike Hutch. The man had heart, not just sex appeal and unmatched beauty.

“I’m not a religious person,” Hutch disclosed, hinting toward pagan beliefs and unknowingly deepening Alec’s respect for him, “but what else is there, really, if not to live one’s life in the service of others—whoever they may be, whatever form they may take?”

Was that a clue, that he and Starsky were in some profession that was a service to others? If not peace officers, and not gym coaches or politically motivated musicians or federal child protective agents … then … what?

“You have an obvious connection to nature,” Alec observed, not leaving eye contact and noticing the friendliness of Hutch’s eyes, “but my hunch tells me you don’t have animals in your life. Is it because you have no time or no room for them?”

“There were animals in my youth,” Hutch said, his voice as pure as Alec remembered it from the night before when Hutch sang songs around the campfire, “but to both those points now: no time, no room. I do, however, surround myself with plants.”

“Ah, Starsky’s comment about how you like to ‘grow green things.’”

Hutch laughed. “And the splendor of Yosemite—like this place, right here, this moment in this patch of grass under this ray of sunshine—isn’t lost on me, either.”

Alec finally broke eye contact, looked instead into the narrow, empty space between them, considered thoughts he didn’t share, such as who really was Hutch? What did he truly feel and think beneath the façade? and who was Starsky? What were their life stories? Alec couldn’t know enough about them, but he’d failed several times already in getting those answers and didn’t want to broach the subject again, lest he be shot down a third time. Or appear to pry.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Hutch said, ending the momentary silence and making seemingly fond eye contact again. He held the banana closer to his chest. “I enjoyed the game,” he explained, “I love to make pancakes, and I’m humbled to know I helped you in ways beyond those otherwise trivial pursuits.”

“We’d have lost the game without you,” Alec insisted, successfully pressing down on his deeper feelings so he didn’t appear overly emotional. It wasn’t possible for Hutch to really know how significantly he’d changed Alec’s life—and those who worked for and with him. But Alec wasn’t finished expressing his gratitude, despite his effort to control his emotions, and was sure his humility came through in his voice, not just in his words. “We decided this morning to dedicate the new building to you, plaque and all; we’re calling it the Hutchinson Hospital.”

Alec noticed Hutch’s amazement—wide eyes, shy smile—and then his stall, that he was about to say one thing, but then said another. Alec hadn’t meant to put Hutch on the spot to that degree, and was about to tell him so when he noticed from his peripheral vision what Hutch had apparently simply sensed: Starsky approached them.

“The kindest thing anyone has ever done in my name,” Hutch commented as he briefly squeezed Alec’s hand in sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Alec. I’m deeply honored.”

Alec clasped Hutch’s fingers in return, holding longingly to them until Hutch ended the warm contact just as Starsky arrived. Did Hutch not want Starsky to see their shared affection? Was Hutch hiding his deeper self even from his closest friend—the way Alec hid from Kevin? Alec was no longer sure he could speak freely about the hospital. “I’ll tell him,” he quietly said to Hutch before Starsky was within earshot, “or you can tell him. However you wish.”

“Let me do it,” Hutch said with a playful wink. “That way I can embellish the story without correction.”

Alec lightly laughed, not certain what was true in that instance, and squinted into the sunshine as he looked up at Starsky. “I thought I should feed him,” he explained about having given Hutch a banana, “but I see you’ve brought the real feast.”

Starsky sat in the grass on the opposite side of Hutch from where Alec was seated, so that they were across from each other with Hutch between them. Starsky giggled when he saw Hutch spy the plate of food in his hands—and how bountiful he had made it. “I’m glad I didn’t think to bring a banana,” Starsky said, glancing at Alec with a smile. “This way we’ve got a little bit of everything.”

Hutch took a potato chip from the plate Starsky held over his belly, and slowly ate it. “Yeah, but did you bring us anything to drink?”

“You have no faith in me,” Starsky complained with a shudder as he pulled a single water bottle from the back of his waistband. It was wet and cold from having been in the ice box. “You never appreciate how much I suffer for you.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “If only I could believe it was for me you did such things—and not just for yourself. Besides … you could have tucked the bottle under your arm, not in your pants, dummy.”

Alec bit his lip to keep from smiling. He didn’t join Hutch in making fun of Starsky, but he did love to watch them battle. He didn’t want to leave their presence, either, nor their banter, despite thinking he should. Maybe they would be all right if he stole a couple of minutes of their time, enjoying the ways they looked at each other, the easiness of their reactive expressions, their close proximity, and their not-always veiled affection.

There was no doubt in Alec’s mind that Starsky’s hairy chest went from his neck to his groin. Starsky’s dark whiskers and thick head of hair gave promise to that suspicion. His hands were also attractive—deep nail beds, slender fingers, size of his palm—hair all the way from the backs of his hands up his forearm, no doubt, or so Alec imagined—and very male.

He briefly pictured Starsky in the nude—a sexy body, athletic, muscled, well-toned—complete with a stimulating visual of his healthy phallus and full sac. Coupled with his masculine voice and those sultry blue eyes and Alec could forever lose himself in the man’s manliness.

His private thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Hutch had finally broken the banana peel and given a third of it to Starsky. It was only when Starsky accepted the piece that Alec noticed he’d set the plate on Hutch’s stomach—using it for a table and scooting even closer to Hutch so he could eat off of it.

“All that’s missing is a beer,” Hutch noted, breaking off another third of the banana for himself and offering the rest of it to Alec. “I’ll bet you don’t have one of those in your back pocket, Starsk.”

“I couldn’t find any in the ice chests.”

“Bummer,” Hutch mumbled.

“We purposely don’t keep it on the premises,” Alec explained. Was the three-way banana split a metaphor for a threesome? he inwardly laughed, amusing himself. His private joke was one of the ways he hoped to repress his sexual arousal in the presence of two men he was obviously very attracted to. “Mix alcohol with the high altitude and you’d be surprised by the kinds of problems we have with some of our guests.”

“Oh, that explains my still-smushy head,” Starsky realized. “But it’s not as bad as it was yesterday.”

“You’re acclimating.”

“Maybe that’s what they mean by a Rocky Mountain high, hm, Hutch?”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Hutch said, dryly, exchanging another gentle smile with Alec—as if they were both amused by Starsky, and in a fond way. If Alec wasn’t mistaken, Hutch was allowing Alec into wordlessly enjoying Starsky with him. Hutch also seemed to have begged his own question. “What made you decide to land here?” he asked Alec. “Why Hidden Valley?”

“You mean, for reasons other than the spectacular scenery?” Alec quipped.

“Yeah, other than that,” Starsky echoed with a chuckle.

“I needed land that backed up to public domain, and what better place than the playground fondly known as the Rocky Mountain National Park? I bought 80 acres here, removed all the barbed wire cattle fencing along its perimeter, and now I’ve got more than a quarter million acres at my disposal to return animals to the wild.”

“Wow,” Starsky exclaimed, busy eating olives and crackers. He’d dropped the water bottle into the grass and sounded like he needed a drink, but was too lazy to uncap it. “All we have is an apartment.”

Another door opened. “You guys share a place?”

“Apiece,” Starsky quickly said. “We each have an apartment. You have … what is that in square miles, hm?”

“More than 400.”

“Like I said,” Starsky noted, sounding impressed. “We each have less than four hundred square feet; you’ve got more than 400 square miles. You win. Do you ever sleep out there?”

“All the time.”

Starsky briefly stopped chewing and looked up at Alec as if he didn’t quite believe the answer, then seemed to accept it. “I guess you’re not afraid of bears then.”

“Not particularly.”

“How can you not be?”

“Animals do things for reasons. Figure out why bears might hurt you and you can usually avoid triggering them.”

“Maybe you can,” Starsky argued, laughing at himself as he resumed eating his snacks. “I’d be in that percentage that falls outside ‘usually’ and trigger bears all day long.”

These men were amazing; no two men could be this easy with each other—and with Alec at the same time—unless they were…

Hutch repositioned himself, holding onto the plate of food while he did so, turning toward Alec to see him straight on, made direct eye contact, as if he’d decided to just listen to Alec’s story and Starsky’s carefree questions—or purely to appreciate the manly sounds of their voices there on that sun-filled afternoon in the wilderness—and using Starsky’s knee to prop the back of his head.

“Teach—” Alec next guessed, immediately interrupted mid-syllable by Hutch’s lay up against Starsky. He could feel his heartbeat and a flush of warmth that washed over him, and he was unexpectedly speechless. Was he privileged to be with them in that moment purely by happenstance or were Starsky and Hutch simply so close—like first cousins might be—that the physical contact between them didn’t register or raise alarm, good or otherwise, except in Alec’s opinion?

“Teach … us?” Starsky asked, seeking clarification to Alec’s nonsensical and absent-minded blurt.

“Teachers,” Alec finished. He was so rattled, he wasn’t sure why he even mentioned it.

Starsky obviously noticed his stumble. “We’re not doing what you think we’re doing,” he firmly said to Alec, echoing an earlier sentiment.

“I wasn’t accusing you.”

“What does he think we’re doing?” Hutch wondered.

“He thinks we’re gay.”

“I wouldn’t put a label on it,” Alec insisted. He didn’t feel antagonized, despite Starsky’s accusations. Starsky behaved defensively, not offensively, and it didn’t concern him any more than the arrival of a bear would; he didn’t feel threatened or reprimanded.

Hutch made eye contact with Alec, gently smiled. Was he pleased Alec thought he and Starsky might be gay? Was he amused? Alec wouldn’t get to know. “Alec must be noticing our Rocky Mountain High,” Hutch playfully decided, not committing either way.

Starsky laughed. “You might be high, Hutchinson, but I ain’t.”

Was Starsky trying to tell Alec that his friend leaned one way, but he himself leaned another? Alec didn’t know what to think—or what to say.

“Okay,” Hutch said, tilting back his head to look up at Starsky as if Starsky had the answer, “but what does that have to do with teachers?”

Starsky looked down at Hutch—and they held noticeable and longing eye contact before Starsky spoke. “He’s saying he thinks we’re teachers.”

“Gay teachers?” Hutch quipped, glancing back to Alec. “Well, I guess in some ways we do teach, don’t we, Starsk?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. We sometimes set people’s minds right. But, I mean, teaching isn’t what we’re paid to do—and we’re not gay.”

“Maybe you boys will eventually tell me what you do,” Alec said with a sigh of disappointment, all while feeling quite aware of his heightening sexual attraction to them. He could easily rim both men—at least one of them, the blond, because Hutch hadn’t pushed back against appearances of being gay. If only they could get past all the superficial conversation.

“We’ll make you a deal,” Starsky sincerely promised, holding Alec’s gaze while he offered him a cracker. “After this day is done, and you no longer have a reason to throw us out, we’ll tell you what we do.”

“That’s cryptic,” Alec noted with sincere dismay, despite that an emerging erection tugged at him. He took the cracker to distract himself from the swelling in his jeans. “I can’t think of any reason I’d throw you out.”

“Me, neither,” Hutch said with a roll of his eyes in Starsky’s direction, as if he was displeased with his friend’s suggestion that their line of work would be sufficient to have them expelled from the premises. “Pay him no attention, Alec. He revels in being mysterious.”

“I like a good whodunit,” Starsky explained, flashing his eyebrows as if he was excited to have a puzzle to piece together. “That’s why they call me Sherlock Holmes.”

“You’re the dumb one. You’re John Watson.”

“But where would Sherlock be without him to help solve whodunits?”

“I’m the one with the mystery,” Alec noted with a laugh, pointing out the obvious. He noticed their blue eyes—Starsky’s mischievous and sexy, Hutch’s inviting and kind, and, oh, to kiss those faces, taste their skin, feel their hardened flesh in his mouth. If only one or both of them wanted the same with him.

“I once read a crystal ball to dumbbell here,” Hutch said to Alec, still as comfortable resting his head in Starsky’s lap as he was from the first moment he’d done it, “and I said to him, ‘You know what I see in here? I see a dark-haired moron pretending to be Sherlock Holmes.’”

Starsky laughed out loud at the memory, then quickly argued, “You obviously didn’t read it right.”

“And, on that note,” Alec laughed, completely entertained, but awkwardly pushing off the ground when he realized he’d be safer to walk away before his arousal outed him, “I’ve got a bird to release.”

“Right now?” Starsky excitedly asked.

“In about 15 to 20 minutes. We’ll sound the horn. I’ll leave you boys to your own vices until then. In the meantime, Starsky, I’ll take you up on your offer at end of day. You can tell me what you guys do for work—over that beer Hutch is so badly wanting.”

* * *

Alec would set a bald eagle free into the wild that afternoon, a raptor that he and his staff had nursed back to health following her life-threatening ordeal. He would be joyfully overwhelmed to discover the second eagle appearing in the sky—probably a male—the pair reviving Alec’s near-death hope for the future of that specific endangered species. And in that precious moment of euphoria, he would unexpectedly lock eyes with Ken Hutchinson—the blue-eyed, beefy blond who’d helped him win the long-sought-after funding for a long-dreamed-for animal hospital on the premises; they would share the joy of that unforgettable moment, isolated together in the crowd, wordlessly understanding and appreciating the significance of that rare and optimistic moment.

But what Alec found more intriguing, compelling, and unpredictably inspiring was what he witnessed prior to Liberty’s release. He’d returned to the snack tables from his short visit with Starsky and Hutch in the meadow—having shared a banana with them—and was given a serendipitous minute to himself while his staff set up cameras and brought the van over from where it had been parked in the nearby woods.

He used the opportunity to look back across the meadow, to where Hutch and Starsky still sat in the grass with each other, to lay eyes on them one last time before the eagle release ceremony would commence. There, in that suspension of time, he witnessed behavior he hadn’t seen before.

Hutch was still on his back with his head in Starsky’s lap—one leg bent, his opposite ankle propped on that knee, his arms folded over his belly. He looked up into Starsky’s eyes. They spoke without drama to each other. Starsky had dropped his chin to look down at Hutch, appearing more to listen than to speak—and both his arms cradled Hutch in his lap. It couldn’t have been anything other than an intimate moment. A tender one.

Starsky then fed Hutch some item from the food plate. A grape?

They broke up laughing and continued to laugh even after Hutch rolled off of Starsky. But Starsky followed after him until he overcame Hutch, trying to force something else into Hutch’s mouth, presumably some other morsel of food, resulting in a playful wrestle between them.

Their carefree tangle and laughter made Alec laugh. He was riveted. But he was also suddenly aroused when Hutch and Starsky stopped wrestling—and Starsky straddled Hutch’s hips, pinned Hutch’s arms to the ground at his wrists, and leaned over him so they were in each other’s face, holding steady eye contact. They couldn’t possibly not feel each other’s bulge through their respective tight-fitting jeans.

Alec would have killed to have known what they talked about; whatever it was, it seemed serious, absent of smiles, no longer their usual banter. It was as if Starsky had wanted to know something or speak to a specific concern, and Hutch had eluded him, surrendering only when he was helpless beneath his friend, and forced to pay attention. Despite such a thought, Alec also knew that Hutch’s submission had been a willing one.

Starsky inevitably let Hutch go, dismounting him to lay side-by-side in the grass as they stared up at the sky. There was little dialogue between them. Hutch finally rose to his elbow and rolled into Starsky. He was quite snug against him, the way two lovers might be. He briefly held Starsky’s chin in his fingers and forced Starsky to look at him. Whatever he said to Starsky, it triggered yet another intimate moment: Starsky raised his hand to touch Hutch’s cheek—Alec was sure that was his intention—but Hutch quickly grabbed Starsky’s forearm, and stopped him from making contact.

There were more words, seemingly quiet ones, a kind of truce. Hutch eventually sat up, found the water bottle in the grass, and drank from it; when Starsky sat up beside him, he drank from the same bottle after Hutch handed it to him. They then climbed to their feet, laughing when they each asked the other for a helping hand, unanimously gave up on the idea, and headed up the hill toward the snack tables, carrying their trash, despite not having yet heard the announcement horn.

Alec didn’t leave his position near the camera tripods. He didn’t care if Hutch or Starsky saw him see them, or for them to have known they’d been watched; in fact, Alec hoped they knew. It would save him from keeping that knowledge to himself. Apparently, they didn’t care that anyone had seen them, but Alec felt guilty to have witnessed their display because he had done it on purpose—like a voyeur—and because it aroused him.

If only he had more time to assimilate the facts and organize his thoughts. He’d have been able to figure out if Starsky had been telling him all along that Hutch was gay—at least bisexual—but that he himself was not; Starsky had made a point of calling Sally and Sarah the ‘blonde babes’ and Starsky insisted, more than once, that he wasn’t ‘doing what you think I’m doing’ with Hutch. But no straight man would allow another man—gay or otherwise—to be as close as Hutch had just been, to be that affectionately cozy, that tenderly loving with him, unless he himself had similar desires and propensities.

Added to that was the fact that Hutch had never denied the veiled suppositions of his sexuality. Maybe he was actually the straight one between them—it would explain his marriage? He was confident in his own skin, sure of his hard-wiring, unthreatened by another man’s desire for him. Perhaps he was well-rehearsed in attracting women and men to him after decades of his self-aware and undeniable beauty. Hutch loved his dark-haired, gay friend, accepted him, permitted him to be himself—within reason, of course. It was Starsky who was lying.

In the end, Alec didn’t know who or what to believe. He was left with only one recourse: to ask them, point blank, if they were in a sexual relationship with each other. But to what end? He had no desire to break them up, to threaten them with an outsider; he didn’t believe in breaking hearts. But he wanted to know in case there was a shred of a chance that he would be allowed the pleasure of sexually engaging one or both of them. Gay, straight, or in-between, would they kill him for asking? Would they beat him to within an inch of his life just for propositioning them?

He didn’t think so, but he needed the mental inventory to be sure: They were too comfortable with themselves to not understand the nuances of human desire and affection, and not be tolerant of them. Starsky was already aware Alec suspected them of homosexual behavior, yet his verbal warnings were relatively benign.

But there was something else that made Alec believe he was safe: these men had brought abused children home. Actors, they were not—no one was that good at the craft; their honest demeanor, authentic generosity, and genuine kindness were in-bred qualities incapable of violence—yet formidable enough to be pushed into it under the right circumstances. Alec wasn’t such a pusher, so the risk of harm to him was low.

As they approached him coming up the slight incline of the meadow, Alec braved the opportunity to let them know he’d seen their soft and sentimental physicalness, was even touched by it, admittedly felt drawn to it, respected, admired, and envied it. But the horn sounded before Alec could cross paths with them, startling the crowd, and quickening their presence around the release site, blocking Alec’s view of Starsky and Hutch until it was too late. Liberty’s Liberation ceremony had begun.

Alec made a determined decision in that second. He would endeavor to do more than share a beer with the boys at end of day; he’d invite them to a romantic dinner in town. If they accepted, he would find a way to ask them about their relationship, to gather the actual facts, pose delicate questions, if necessary, and then—dependent on the answers—ask if he could join one or both of them for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The day was slowly closing, time was of the essence, and Alec had nothing to lose by inviting them to dine with him. At the least, he’d be able to stop wondering and wishing, lay his desires to rest and get on with his life. At the most, he’d be given the gift of at least one man’s kisses, the feel of one man’s warmth, the wetness of his lips, the hardness of his swollen penis—in his mouth, in his hands, inside his body. He would get to hear heavy male breaths, grunts, and undeniable moans of pleasure. He would stroke and thrust into the cresting of the inevitable emptying of both their sacs, a release that would end in the ecstasy of their mutually intense ejaculations. And he would revel in the welcoming drift into the blissful, basking aftermath of an unprecedented sharing.

If Alec were a wealthy man, he’d be given the gift of experiencing those thrills with both men.

At the same time.

* * *

“We’re detectives,” Hutch convincingly said while drinking wine, as if there was nothing to debate. “We told you that—though not in so many words.”

“Be serious this time,” Alec implored him. He was suddenly anxious to think the men might actually be cops and that he’d live to regret inviting them to dinner. “The Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson routine has worn itself out.”

Hutch removed a bifold from his back jeans pocket and laid it on the table between himself and Alec. As he opened it to reveal an official badge, he said, “We’re police officers.”

Starsky laid his, open-faced, beside it. “Detectives.”

Alec’s heart sank and his deeper fears told him to bolt out of the restaurant, but his instinct kept him seated. A bombardment of conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. Were these cops visiting the sanctuary on official business all along? and, if so, what could they possibly want with Alec Henley—the ‘reluctant director of the Hidden Valley Wildlife Center’? He’d already done his time in California and hadn’t broken any laws in Colorado—that he knew of.

He was mostly apprehensive to think they were on to him, that somehow the legal wrap-up in the Golden State hadn’t been completed, and that a loophole in the statutes was about to corner him again.

But his gut instantly told him a different story; it reminded him of everything he’d heard out of these men’s mouths, as well as every bit of behavior between them that he’d witnessed in nearly two days of spending time around them. Alec had to trust his instincts. Starsky and Hutch could not have faked the affection between them. And infiltrators, they were not; Alec was sure of it. He may have remained suspicious—as if he hadn’t remembered those last few moments he’d seen of them in the meadow—where Starsky tried to caress Hutch’s cheek, but was thwarted, as if they had something to hide.

Alec exhaled his nervousness to a functioning level, and put his eyes back on that prize. “I should have trusted my hunch,” he finally said. “I guessed first that you were cops. When you didn’t commit, I had to rethink it. Your hair,” he said to Hutch, looking up at him—and being reassured of Hutch’s kindness as it shone in his eyes—and to Starsky, “your fuzzy face—and I assumed you didn’t admit to being cops because you weren’t.” He’d been relieved to think they were anything but government officials.

“Well, in our defense,” Starsky said, “we kinda told you we were in law enforcement—he’s Holmes, I’m Watson. Or was it the other way around?”

Alec winked at him. He could tell from Starsky’s tone of voice that the cops were just a couple of guys who happened to be in that line of work. There was nothing to fear from them in that capacity. Besides, it was they who did the explaining, not Alec.

“Starsky got shot up a few months ago,” Hutch quietly said, briefly squeezing Starsky’s forearm as he spoke, “nearly lost his life, and we’ve been on leave since, only recently returning to work. That’s why the longer hair and my partner’s ‘fuzzy face.’ We’ve grown accustomed to being off the job for a while now.”

“I had to learn to walk all over again,” Starsky added, matter-of-factly. He drank from Hutch’s wine glass, perhaps to keep thoughts of that nightmare out of his head, despite how neutral his comment had sounded.

Could these boys see themselves from the outside looking in? Their unprecedented familiarity with each other was noticeable, especially in public. Continuing to share the same glass was also another confirmation that these police officers had visited the sanctuary purely as an off-duty activity.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alec sincerely said to Starsky about his near-death experience. If anyone knew the excruciating pain of recovery first-hand, Alec had had his share of that kind of misery.

As he pocketed his badge, Hutch gave Alec more details about who they were and why they were in Colorado, telling him that—as early as Friday afternoon—they’d been assigned as bodyguards to half a dozen rescued kids on their way to Denver, and that he and Starsky agreed that it might be a good way to ease themselves into work again; they asked their Captain if they could spend a few extra days to see the sights while there, and all expenses were paid by the police department.

Further, after spying the flier about Liberty’s release in a realtor’s window, the men came to the Center to help win a baseball game. Hutch explained that he thought it was best no one knew they were ‘undercover sleuths,’ so as to not detract from the carefree joy of visitors, and Starsky had agreed to go along with the ruse.

“Undercover,” Alec said, hitting on that key point. They might actually be better actors than he previously gave them credit. But it didn’t explain the men’s tenderness with each other—unless they were somehow using it as bait? But to what end? Homosexual behavior was no longer illegal in Colorado. “That tells me everything—almost,” Alec surmised.

“What are we leaving out?” Starsky wondered, pocketing his badge, too. “There’s not much more to tell. We’re simple guys.”

“You’ve left out what’s really going on between both of you.” It just had to be authentic. Alec was a good judge of character; he had learned to be discretionary the hard way.

“We’ve told you the truth,” Starsky insisted.

“I appreciate the information about your jobs and who you are,” Alec replied, making eye contact with Starsky’s romantic blue eyes; Starsky was such a sexy man. Alec so badly wanted to trust him. So far, he believed he could—and he respected what they’d confided in him. “More than you know. But you haven’t told me the truth about who you are—together.”

“Partners,” Hutch and Starsky said in unison, as if it should have been obvious by then.

“There’s more to you than partners,” Alec assumed, making it clearer what he’d meant. He’d never seen two men behave as affectionately together as these two did—police or no police badges. “I think you’re much closer to each other than you pretend to be on the surface.”

“I told you he thinks we’re gay,” Starsky said to Hutch, drinking what remained in Hutch’s wine glass. “Didn’t I tell ya?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put a label on it,” Alec said again, having first made that notation in the meadow, not defensively, and trying a gentle smile. He really did forgive Starsky’s resistance to the accusation because he himself knew all too well the ramifications. “I’m just pointing out that I believe there’s more going on here than you’re telling me there is—and not that you owe me those details.”

“What makes you say that about us?” Hutch asked. His blue eyes, too, were compelling.

“For One,” Alec said, nodding toward Starsky as he answered Hutch, “this friend of yours has done nothing but sing your praises.” Starsky had cheered Hutch on at the baseball game, insisted Hutch play the guitar and sing around the campfire, and that Hutch could make the best pancakes known to man.

“That explains my friend,” Hutch agreed. “Explain me.”

Alec shrugged at the obvious; theirs was a mutually admired relationship. “He sings your praises. You let him.”

“That’s One,” Starsky said with a light laugh, as if Alec had a solid foundation to his claim. “What’s Two?”

“That you can’t keep your hands off each other—or not drink out of each other’s glass or eat off each other’s plate or … spoon—especially one licked clean by the other guy.” They’d done those things: more than once, including sharing the same utensil to eat Starsky’s dessert that night.

“Okay,” Starsky said, that time with a heartier laugh, as if he and Hutch had been cornered and he wasn’t completely sure he cared. “Is there a Three?”

“Your physical proximity to each other,” Alec pointed out, “even here at the table.” They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, and probably knee-to-knee. “Since you arrived at the Center, all I’ve seen between you both is a certain kind of demonstrative closeness and affection not usually shared by men who profess to be straight.”

“We’re not gay,” Starsky repeated himself. “I told you that.” He sounded more matter-of-fact than perplexed.

“And I’m not saying you are,” Alec argued. He was no longer afraid he might be angrily challenged or, worse, assaulted for his observations, despite the lively dialogue, and he was determined to see it through to its end. “But I’m not saying you’re straight, either—at least not with each other.”

That’s when Hutch made the surprising comment that he and his partner assumed Alec had invited them to dinner in order to offer them a job—the only mutual business they appeared to be interested in. Alec hated to let them down, but he was honest about his invite not being a job opportunity. Having said that, he also told them he could easily get them work with any state or federal government agency—given their credentials. That was true, too.

But Alec was internally disappointed to realize neither man had come to the dinner with the same hope he had. Despite that, the boys were still curious about his interest in them.

“So, what is this dinner about?” Starsky asked. “It’s not what I think is the reason, is it? Are you hitting on us? I mean, you were married once.”

Alec spoke to his first marriage that ended in divorce, and his subsequent engagement to Emily that ended in tragedy, but his answers didn’t fully satisfy Starsky.

“But you’re hitting on us, right?” Starsky asked, seeking clarification or confirmation—or both.

Alec unsuccessfully repressed a careful smile. It was his turn to be revealed. “Yes.”

“So … closeted gay?”

“Just a man who loves sex,” Alec professed, remembering that he was with men first and foremost, “perhaps as much as you two love it.”

“Well,” Starsky said, but he never finished his thought.

“I trust I can speak openly,” Alec presumed, feeling as safe then as he’d ever felt with them, “and not have you leave here with a bad taste in your mouths or arrest me for assault? That’s not how I’d want this weekend to end, especially after all of your help.”

“We’re just law enforcement,” Hutch reminded Alec, “not judge and jury.”

“And we’re not in our own jurisdiction, anyway,” Starsky added, following Hutch’s lead. “Unless you’ve killed or hurt somebody, say what’s on your mind.”

Alec drank a few sips of wine from his glass for added courage, momentarily considered his thoughts before verbalizing them, and then looked at the men across the table from him. He had their undivided attention while he explained that he’d been professionally trained—and had years of experience—studying both human history and animal behavior. His studies enabled him to live his life closer to nature, to not be hindered by religious dogma or cultural bias, and to enjoy human sexuality with both women and men. When he was finished, he believed he read from Hutch’s soft expression that Hutch envied him.

“Kind of like a free spirit?” Starsky asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

“Kind of like that,” Alec agreed, accepting the definition with a nod. But he also wanted them to know why he’d invited them to dinner. “I enjoy sex with men very much—more than I enjoy it with women. Contrarily, I like relationships with women better than those I have with men—and I tend to fall in love with women, hence the marriages.”

“You don’t fall in love with men?”

“It’s more like ‘in lust’ with men.”

“I think me and Hutch are in love.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Alec observed with a hint of envy in his voice; his turn to wish for something else, something more, and to believe he’d never get it, “which might make this entire conversation moot.”

“Moot,” Starsky mumbled, as if to trigger its meaning.

“As in, pointless,” Hutch defined it for him.

“Oh, but I want to hear what you’re telling us,” Starsky said to Alec, as if Alec’s free-spirited lifestyle was something Starsky could learn from.

Alec promised them he wasn’t set on breaking them up—or their hearts, for that matter, either. He was a man of his convictions. He watched then as Hutch poured some of Alec’s remaining wine into his own glass and drank from it. Had Alec made the blond nervous? If he had, was it because Hutch felt threatened or because Hutch anticipated the invite he sensed was forthcoming and he wanted to accept it?

“I left California because of its laws against homosexual sex,” Alec admitted, having paused only to watch Hutch share his drink. “Colorado has long been a free state in that regard; California only for the past few years—long after I left it.”

“We’re all finally allowed to be our natural selves is what you’re saying,” Hutch assumed, making concerted eye contact with Alec, “and this is where my partner and I come into the picture.”

“Oh,” Starsky said under his breath, as if his suspicions had been realized and the purpose of the dinner had finally hit him, too.

After telling them he’d been left to wonder who they really were together following Starsky’s failed attempts to set the record ‘straight,’ Alec raised an eyebrow to encourage the private truth he already suspected. By then, they should have realized they could trust Alec as much as he trusted them.

“We lived through a rough time,” Hutch acquiesced. “We realized nobody else gave us what we give each other: loyalty, trust, love, friendship, devotion. The only thing we didn’t have together was sex—and we finally found our way around that, too.”

Alec tried not to show his relief to hear Hutch’s confession, but he was sure the soft smile was written all over his face. His first hunch had been that they were cops; his second that they might be lovers. He really was good at judging human behavior—and character: Starsky and Hutch were honorable men.

“But it doesn’t mean we’re gay,” Starsky was quick to say, again. “I don’t mean I’m judging anybody who is—you’d be bisexual, right, Alec? We like sex with women, too, so maybe we’re some kind of label.”

“How about no labels?” Alec offered. If he could get them further past their brainwash, he might open up their world in ways it hadn’t yet been. “How about we’re just … human—and male on top of that?”

“I like it,” Hutch said—and he sounded as if he really did.

“Okay,” Starsky echoed him, acceptingly, “but I’m also saying we aren’t attracted to other guys. So, if you’re suggesting here tonight that we should have a threesome, why would we choose a man to have it with if we’re not that way, hm?”

“You don’t have to be attracted to men to be attracted to the sex men can give you,” Alec proposed, grateful that the boys were still curious about his perspective, “the kind of sex, say, that you don’t get to have with women.”

“What kind, like?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “Like sodomy.”

“That’s anal sex, right? Okay, yeah, I’ve never known a woman who wanted that.”

Alec had likewise never known one. “Some men like to be rimmed,” he added, offering up another ‘kind’ of sex play. “Perhaps I’m talking to two of them right now—and women aren’t fond of that behavior, either.”

“Rimmed,” Starsky mulled. He nudged Hutch with his elbow. “What kind is that?”

Hutch shrugged—and they both looked to Alec for the answer.

He succeeded in not exposing his amusement. “You guys really aren’t well-versed in liberated sexual conduct, are you?” They were definitely priceless.

“Words are one thing,” Hutch said, apparently defending themselves. He implied he may have known the act, but not by its title. “When I’m having sex with him, I’m not thinking about how to define it.”

“So, what is rimming?” Starsky asked, braving his question as he leaned in closer so Alec could answer him in a lower voice. The restaurant was still busy and no one could hear them above the cacophony, but Starsky apparently wasn’t taking any chances.

“Oral stimulation of the anus,” Alec replied, bluntly, without commentary, “kissing, sucking, licking it.” The idea of rimming Starsky and Hutch titillated him as he sat there.

“I think you just embarrassed me,” Starsky said with a laugh.

Was he embarrassed by the nature of the act or because he was beginning to feel aroused as well?

“Then there’s fellatio,” Alec reminded them, lest it be forgotten in all the talk, and hoping the mention would attract both men so much they’d be compelled to join him in his room later. He appealed to their primal nature. “Who knows better what a man craves and needs more than a man knows? Who’s better at edging a cock? deepening and heightening its pleasure at the same time? You guys have certainly figured that out by now.”

“So, cut to the chase, as we say in Hollywood,” Hutch prompted Alec, visibly uncomfortable—or awkwardly excited—and wanting to get to the point of it all.

There’d be no beating around any bush. Hutch and Starsky weren’t cops that night; they were men, interested in sex, open to the idea of the impending proposition. So Alec reminded them he wasn’t looking for a commitment, that he was drawn to both men—Hutch because of his beauty and his big heart, and Starsky because of his masculine sexiness. He told them he hoped one or both of them would lie down with him, “purely for the pleasure of the sex.”

“Meaning,” Starsky said for clarification, “that we go someplace tonight—together, the three of us—and simply suck each other off for the fun of it? like free spirits?”

“Suck each other off—that, and sodomy if you’re game,” Alec said, to-the-point on the heels of Starsky’s direct question. He especially liked that neither man had intercepted him at the pass. They were still engaged in the conversation. “And we take turns, so we all get what we’ve ‘come’ for: fingering, balls-sucking, rimming,” he added to the itinerary, still not deterred. “If you’d like to try them out with another man, I’m happy to perform any and all of the above—for one or both of you—and I hope you’ll do likewise for me with some of those pleasures. No pressure to do them all. Help me get off in any way possible and I’m happy.”

“That’s an interesting list,” Starsky said in a subdued voice after a thoughtful moment. He kept direct eye contact with Alec. Between the two, Alec suspected Starsky was the more sex-driven: he was unmoved by the details of man-on-man sex with a relative stranger; he simply didn’t want to be thought of as gay.

“I also get tremendous joy out of giving,” Alec promised him with a hopeful smile, enjoying Starsky’s overall seductive look again: his dark hair, sultry eyes, muscled body, imagined hairy chest and belly. But there was Hutch, too: that perfect face, crystal blue eyes, formidable presence, gentle soul. “Neither of you is compelled to go out of his way to please me,” he assured them. “Just watching both of you ejaculate—through self-masturbation or at the mercy of each other—and purely from the standpoint of a ‘voyager’,” he said with a light laugh, “would be a thrill I couldn’t measure.”

Starsky and Hutch looked at him; in their eyes, he could see personal conflict—as if they would follow their penises anywhere while, at the same time, they weren’t sure they were allowed to; what could Alec offer them that any woman couldn’t, besides what he’d already listed?

He read the men’s minds. “The one thing you can’t do with just two guys,” he explained, “is fuck the one who’s getting sucked at the same time. I’m guessing neither of you has had that experience—or fantasy—with a woman or another man?”

“We don’t even talk like this,” Starsky said with an almost nervous laugh, despite his otherwise stoic demeanor. “We just do what we do, know what I mean?”

“That just makes you all the more precious,” Alec admitted, licking his lips as he held lingering eye contact. There was nothing left to say except the details of his plan: that he’d stopped by the hotel on his way to the restaurant, paid for a couple of rooms—one for them with two beds, and his room with one—and they could choose to stay in Estes Park overnight, with or without him in bed, or they could drive on to Denver.

Both men dropped their gazes and were silent for half a minute. Were they stunned? Did they need permission from the other? Possibly. Probably. And Alec didn’t want to put either of them on the spot—nor cause them to give the wrong answer because they were afraid to admit the real one in front of Alec without his partner’s approval.

He quickly suggested that he would leave them alone to discuss it between themselves. Whatever their decision, he wanted them to appreciate that they were welcome to the two-bed room, and there would be, “No strings attached and no hard … no bad feelings if you don’t want to have sex with me.”

Hutch finally lifted his eyes and looked into Alec’s. He was wordless. Alec couldn’t read him, but what more could be said? Belaboring the point was losing valuable nighttime, assuming they would decide to have sex with him, one or the other, or both of them.

That notion was Alec’s cue to part company. He explained that he would have the waiter send over a couple of coffees in case they wanted to drive into Denver that night, and that he’d pay for the dinner bill on his way out of the restaurant. If they chose to leave Estes Park, they could give the room key to the head waiter and Alec would pick it up in the morning on his way back to the Center. He then stood and leaned over to shake each of their hands, purposefully conveying his admiration and fondness for them through his eyes and in the warmth of his touch.

Starsky and Hutch, especially together, were the most beautiful men he’d ever met or had the fortune to know.

“In case we don’t see each other again: thank you for everything, especially our animal hospital. I couldn’t possibly find the words to tell you how much it means to us and to me personally, but I’ll never forget either of you. Drive safe and smooth flight home, and—if I’m lucky—I’ll see you again: either tonight or some time down the road of life.”

Whether they stayed that night or left in the morning, one thing was certain: Alec was going to miss them.

* * *

The hotel that Alec had invited Starsky and Hutch to stay in overnight—with or without him—was opened to the public on Independence Day in 1909 and most of its original architecture remained. It was located roughly five miles from the entrance to the Rocky Mountain National Park and was initially a resort and health retreat for well-to-do guests. Spectacular views of Lake Estes, the Rockies, and Longs Peak, could be seen from the second and third floors of the now 140-room historic landmark, more popularly known as the Stanley Hotel.

Alec was torn between booking a room for the men on the west side—where they would be hard-pressed to miss the picturesque landscape from their window in the morning—or booking his room on that particular side, the one he hoped to spend the night in with two of the sexiest men he’d ever met. Either way, he wanted to also join them in marveling over the breathtaking scenery transformed by a Colorado sunrise.

But he had little time to make a decision, having stopped by the hotel on his way to the restaurant, and not wanting to keep Hutch and Starsky waiting any longer than was necessary. In his haste, he chose to reserve the mountain-view room for his guests—a gift they were sure to appreciate juxtaposed against the concrete freeways and towering skyscrapers of their Los Angeles homes.

As he pulled into the parking lot of the colonial-style hotel after his dinner with Starsky and Hutch, Alec realized his choice in who-got-which-room had ultimately been a defeatist one: he’d assumed, without any real evidence, that he’d probably be sleeping alone that night.

But just in case his instincts proved to be wrong, he parked his red pickup truck on the east side of the building, as close to the hotel’s gargantuan entry doors as he could find a space, so that Starsky and Hutch would be sure to see it and know they’d arrived at the right place—not that they could miss the grandiose three-story building nestled among the ancient rocks that dwarfed it. There was so much Alec could show the men, if only they had more time.

Along the moonlit pathway to the wide front steps that joined an expansive, covered porch, Alec briefly stopped to look up at the stars that had begun to appear in the cloudless, moonlit sky. The night was cool and the mountain air refreshing. Maybe all he would get out of the erotic solicitation was the thrill of the pursuit. He was still a fortunate man: saving lives and living his dreams in mostly untamed country among people he dearly loved and who loved him in return. What more could he ask for?

The stately hotel offered its own blessings: imposing, three-story palace-like structure, ornamental window casings, and its iconic, noticeably high octagonal dome atop its roof, while inside, the furnishings were fashionable turn-of-the century antiques amid rustic colors and wooden beams. All-in-all, a far cry from Alec’s bungalow behind the main house at the Center. He would enjoy his overnight stay at the Stanley—just not as much as he would if the men he’d pursued were to join him. But one shouldn’t be greedy, he told himself.

Upon entering the spacious lobby and heading for the elevator with his duffel bag in hand, Alec was stopped along the way by a young man who asked if he was ‘that guy who saved the bird.’ Alec had rescued untold number of birds over the decades, but he assumed the admirer had meant the newsworthy bald eagle. He introduced himself to ‘Brian’ with a handshake, and silently cussed himself for not having a business card handy. In a hurry to get to his room, he apologized for his rudeness, and suggested to his eager acquaintance that he make an effort to visit the sanctuary before leaving Colorado; Alec would return to the property the next day.

Alone in the elevator, Alec replayed the short conversation he’d had with Brian, a hopeful biologist who appeared privileged to have met him, seemed excitedly nervous, stumbled over his words, but was still able to convey his respect. “We didn’t get here in time to see the eagle’s release this afternoon,” Brian sadly told him, pointing to his family of four who stood near the check-in counter. “We were all so disappointed—but it sure is a pleasure to run into you. I recognized you from pictures.”

“You have a keen eye,” Alec observed with a laugh, a little embarrassed, but also flattered and shy. “Most people don’t expect me to be this far from my cage.”

“Don’t let me hold you up then,” Brian apologetically insisted. “We’ll come out tomorrow,” he promised. “You’ve been our hero for a long time.”

It wasn’t unusual for Alec to meet strangers in that way; he just wondered what they’d really think of him if they knew what he hoped to be doing later that evening. He would bet most people would turn on him in the blink of an eye.

Once in his room, he switched on the overhead light and got busy. The king-sized canopy bed was itself a sight to behold: with its deep mahogany wooden frame, hand-carved headboard, and plush gold comforter. Numerous inviting pillows—both practical and decorative—adorned the top of the mattress, and two matching nightstands, showcasing stained-glass lamps, flanked each side. Would Alec have to spend the night alone? Not a bad way to enjoy time away from home, but he hoped for otherwise.

There was a writing table and chair by the window dressed in heavy taupe drapes that hung from ceiling to floor, pinned back on each side by substantial tassels. A large mission-style dresser and attached mirror were positioned near the bathroom’s entrance, and he figured that a television set was probably hidden inside the mammoth wardrobe on the far wall.

Even the bathroom was romantic with its light-reflecting tile shower, claw-foot, stand-alone bathtub, and porcelain pedestal sink beneath a framed, antique mirror, lit on each side by old-fashioned lanterns. The lighting in both rooms couldn’t have been more pleasing to the eye: their amber glow gave the luxurious suite a charming and tranquil atmosphere.

Luckily, Alec had gotten a haircut, and his beard and nails trimmed, just a few days prior—in preparation for the two-day fundraising events at the Center—so he was able to finish primping for his hoped-for date rather quickly. He showered, dabbed himself with the perfect amount of cologne on both his face and inside his thighs, and then dressed in black lounge pants, clean socks, and a fresh, dark gray-and-red flannel shirt, sans any undergarments.

He purposefully left his shirt untucked with two top buttons undone so his chest hair might show through the opened collar—for whatever it might be worth to someone. He wasn’t vain, but he’d always been aware of his handsome face, healthy and muscled build, and overall attractiveness. That night, he also epitomized casualness.

He packed his jeans and sweater and dirty socks into the duffel bag to keep the room tidy, and placed it on the writing table to make certain it wasn’t underfoot. He also tidied up the bathroom from his shower and teeth cleaning, returning his few toiletries to the small bag, but left it on the glass shelf above the sink in case he or they would need it later.

Although he considered closing the drapes for privacy, he soon realized after a glance to the parking lot below that no one could see that high into the room, despite the full moon, so he decided to leave them open. The hotel’s outdoor lampposts shined their own version of romance into the equation, and the silhouetted mountains—especially the starry night sky—served to remind him that the humbling magnificence of nature was ever-present.

Spying the bedside clock radio, he spun its dial until he found a classical music station, and set the volume to low. He then killed the bathroom lights and lit the candles he’d brought with him—placing them strategically about the room before he snapped off the overhead chandelier and turned on a lamp, the one on the farthest nightstand. The peaceful ambiance was immediate, soothing, and remarkably dreamy.

But he didn’t forget the most important thing, and that was the six-ounce plastic bottle of oil that he placed on the nightstand within easy reach of the bed; he’d made certain there would be plenty of lubricant on-hand for three men on an overnight marathon of sex-making.

The coup de grâce was the bottle of wine he’d brought along and set on the dresser beside a corkscrew and two bubble-encased long-stemmed wine glasses, which he gently unwrapped and was pleased to find unbroken. They gleamed in the candlelight and further sparkled from the red, green, and yellow bouquet behind them—a vase filled with freshly picked mountain wildflowers, compliments of the hotel. One wine glass was for himself, and the other for Starsky and Hutch; they sure didn’t mind sharing the same water bottle.

Alec stood back to survey the room when all was done, pleased by how it looked and felt: cozy and inviting, relaxing and romantic. All that was missing were the two men he hoped would show up. But as time slowly wore on, his doubts magnified, and he eventually tired of his frequent visits to the window in search of a specific rental car.

Instead, he found himself alone against the bed’s headboard, concentrating on the sounds outside—of vehicles pulling into the parking lot below, of the occasional ping of the nearby elevator, and of voices in the hallway—but no one came to the room. Despite the music’s low volume, the silence was deafening. He began to think his guests had long-decided they wouldn’t be rolling around on a bed with him.

Maybe he’d come on too strong, believing he knew the hearts of those men better than he possibly could have; he’d barely known them for two days. Or maybe they were simply too wary to engage a relative stranger in that way. Or perhaps they were on official business, after all, and he wasn’t their target, so they had to secretly return to Denver, regardless.

The remaining possibility was that they’d retired to the room on the other side of the hotel, one floor down—where they would get to lay eyes on a magnificent sunrise shining over the Rockies. Alec would only learn of their stay when he would check out of the hotel to make his way home. He might recognize their white car in the parking lot, to at least know they’d stayed overnight and hadn’t driven all that way into Denver in the dark.

Why didn’t he think to give them a phone number? They could at least let him know they were safe at home the following night, and he’d have some down-the-road contact with which to reach them—or vice versa.

Still, Alec felt certain he’d read them right: he’d initially guessed they were police officers and that they were probably lovers—Hutch’s confession confirmed both those things. And didn’t Hutch change his food choice after Alec told them they could eat whatever they wanted so long as they didn’t plan to kiss him if they chose to eat animal flesh? Hutch changed his order to a vegetarian meal. Was Hutch hoping or planning to kiss Alec?

In the end, Hutch and Starsky were obviously just that much in love with each other: no man and no one could come between them, not even for some harmless sex play.

Had Alec meddled in their affairs? he wondered. Insulted them somehow? Should he be ashamed of himself? He’d never been prone to self-deprecation, but the time on the nightstand clock-radio ticked away the minutes. How long had it been since he’d left the restaurant? An hour, he calculated, yet it felt much longer. Perhaps he should give them more time. If Hutch and Starsky were discussing the pros and cons of having sex with Alec, they might still be at the table a few blocks away. Alec should have brought a book to read.

He wasn’t smug. He didn’t think he had the kind of charm it would require to talk two beautiful men—who were in love with each other—into a sexual romp with him. He just hoped they would be horny enough to take him on; he fantasized that they might entertain the notions—and the visuals—of how it would feel and how it would look to lie naked with each other on the bed, kissing each other’s lips, stroking each other’s hardened penises, tasting each other’s warm skin, feeling each other’s heat and arousal, joining bodies, reaching orgasms together—and then actually do it purely for the sex.

A simple wish in the scheme of wishes—and that was dependent on both men agreeing to join him. Maybe only one man would show up. Alec found it interesting—in an amusing kind of way—that he couldn’t predict which one; he could make a case for either man engaging him. But neither might, too.

On that thought, it was probably best if Alec gave up his sexual desires and drowned them instead in that bottle of wine—all on his own. It would surely help to ease the inevitable disappointment. After another ten minutes passed, he made the decision to do just that, and finally pushed off the bed, crossed the room, and reluctantly opened the bottle.

Romantic musical classics played over the radio while candlelight danced shadows on the cloth-covered walls and wood-beamed ceiling. In the end, Alec would still sleep in the lap of luxury, enjoy a leisurely hot bath in the morning, dine for breakfast on the patio—whose backdrop was the dazzling Rocky Mountains—and listen to country music on the long drive home. Something all the more memorable by John Denver came to mind.

“Toast to self,” he said aloud into the room as he poured wine into one of the glasses, filling it halfway. He was at least proud of himself for having made the effort to engage sex again, even if it didn’t pan out; it had been years since he’d felt ready to enjoy life’s necessary pleasures. Leaving the past behind and turning that corner had been long overdue. Time to get back into life, he decided, savoring the aroma of the Cabernet in that moment, as if it were truly his new beginning, and long before he would actually taste the wine.

But he was serendipitously stopped even from that little pleasure—by a knock on the door.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: DAVID STARSKY

Starsky changed his seat at the table to across from Hutch, against the bay window, overlooking the street. Alec had just left them to themselves and Starsky made the switch so it wouldn’t appear to other restaurant patrons that he’d chosen to sit next to a man when he didn’t have to, even though they’d done it countless times before; this time seemed different.

Their coffees were delivered along with a small pitcher of cream and a variety of sweeteners and, for several minutes, neither he nor Hutch said a word to each other. Even as Hutch watched Starsky dump a pound of sugar into his cup, he still didn’t say anything.

“You like him,” Starsky finally observed when he realized he would have to be the one to break the stalemate. He figured Hutch waited on him to start the conversation because they were in unfamiliar territory and neither of them knew where to begin.

“I do like him,” Hutch replied, casually looking at Starsky. He appeared relaxed, especially for a man who’d just been sexually solicited.

“You like him a lot,” Starsky clarified. Perhaps Hutch hadn’t understood his opening remark.

“He’s an honorable man,” Hutch concluded. “He walks the walk.”

“Yeah, he does, but … you know what I mean.”

“Are you asking me if I like him well enough to bang him?”

“C’mon, don’t be crass,” Starsky complained. He didn’t want to degrade their predicament. “You don’t have to be defensive.”

“Is it my choice of words you don’t like or that I’m being defensive?”

“Both those things.”

Hutch thought a moment and then reworded himself; crass was usually a Starsky trait, not his own, so it may have puzzled him to know he’d offended the man. “Are you asking me if I like him enough to have sex with him?”

“Well … do you?”

Hutch looked out the window into the growing dark of dusk. The occasional car passed on the street. He obviously wouldn’t give Starsky an impulsive reply, but he probably didn’t want to be misunderstood, either. When he finally looked back at Starsky, he carefully said, “I like him enough to not have a knee-jerk reaction to what he wants from us; I’d like us to at least consider it first.”

Starsky had his answer—and there would be no going back on the decision he made in that moment. But he still had questions; he wanted to know Hutch’s heart, not just his mind. “Would you want to do this with him if he was … you know …”

“What?”

“Ugly?”

Hutch sat back, seemed surprised by the question, then shrugged. If Starsky knew his partner as well as he believed he did, Hutch wouldn’t lie to him about that, either. “Yeah, okay, I suppose that would make a difference,” Hutch said. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s a good looking guy. But so are you—especially in red.”

Starsky was dressed in jeans and his red zippered sweatshirt over a white tee-shirt. Was Hutch patronizing him? He tried again with a more accurate description of Alec. “He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s that, too,” Hutch agreed with a gentle smile.

“I noticed you noticed that about him the minute we all met.”

“How do you mean?” Hutch asked. “Something I said?”

“Just the way you looked him over.”

“I almost ran into him, remember? I was sizing up the threat.”

“You weren’t thinking, ‘nice looking guy’?”

“If I did, it wasn’t for the reason you’re suggesting.”

Starsky considered Hutch’s answer while he sipped his sweetened coffee. So many thoughts raced through his mind and he didn’t know which to voice first. Perhaps it didn’t matter and he should just wing it. “At what point in the weekend did you start to be attracted to him?” He didn’t hold back.

“Half an hour ago,” Hutch said, as bluntly, “when he hit on us. But you’re supposing I’ve been attracted to him all along.”

“You said he’s not so ugly you wouldn’t have sex with him.”

Hutch laughed, as if Starsky was nonsensical, and reiterated the timing. “As of thirty minutes ago.”

“You weren’t checking out his ass when he walked in front of us all those times we followed him around the place?”

“No. Were you?”

“No,” Starsky emphatically said. There it was, he inwardly noted: his fear. Despite the perceived accusation, he welcomed Hutch’s pushbacks. They helped him to see himself.

“He’s a beautiful man,” Hutch said again. “Fact, is all.”

“Would you say he’s better looking than me?”

Hutch squinted at him—and not as if he was mentally comparing the two men, but because he obviously didn’t appreciate the question. “You’re asking me to be objective about something I’m highly subjective to.”

“That made zero sense to me. Speak English.”

“You want me to rate the two of you on some scale. I can’t do it. No one is more attractive—or more important—to me than you are.”

“But he’s handsomer.”

“Not in my eyes.”

“He’s got an overall … kinder … look to him.”

“So do I—and you know I can be an asshole sometimes.”

“Alec doesn’t strike me as that type,” Starsky said, not intending to degrade Hutch with the comparison; it was merely a ‘fact, is all.’ He did his best to be unbiased, but Hutch eluded him. Or maybe that’s what Hutch had tried to say when he told Starsky he was ‘subjective’ when it came to his partner. “Okay, so, you don’t find him more attractive than me, hm?”

“Where are you going with this?”

Starsky still didn’t know. He felt his way along. “He’s everything I’m not.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Okay, so he has dark hair and blue eyes like me … and he probably has a hairy chest—if you can go by his arms—and not a bad ass, either. But he’s better looking. You know it and I know it.”

“I don’t know it.”

“He’s a nicer guy, too.”

“I’ll give you that. His compassion knows no boundaries. Field mice come to mind.”

“Field mice?”

“Some of animals he rescues.”

Starsky understood. Any man who could care for a field mouse was a man with a kind heart. “He’s got science degrees.”

“So?”

“He’s smart.”

“So are we.”

“He’s built his own business.”

“What’s your point?”

“People like him.”

“We’re also likable.”

“Not by everybody, not the way he’s liked by everybody.”

“He doesn’t deal with criminals.”

That was true. But… “He reads.”

“So?”

“He reads the kinds of stuff you read: smart stuff.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re both smarter than me.”

“We’re educated differently, but we’re all smart—he in his way, us in ours.”

Starsky tried a different approach. “He knows who he is.”

“So do we.”

“With one difference.”

“What’s that, Starsk?”

“He’s …”

“He’s, what?”

“ … like you.”

“Like me?”

“He’s a lot more like you than I am.”

Hutch seemed genuinely confused by Starsky’s comparisons. He leaned forward on the table again. “You said that this morning, Starsk, that he and I are alike, but what are you really saying? That I’m more attracted to myself than I am to you?”

Starsky laughed, but sadly. He’d been cornered and hadn’t expected it. He should have known better than to debate Hutch when he was feeling unusually vulnerable. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“What other way do you want me to put it? You’re comparing yourself to him and because you think he’s a lot like me, I must find him more attractive. Is that your logic here?”

“Yeah, I guess so. You both love nature—”

“—and ‘fresh air and stuff’; yeah, I remember.”

“You started talking about living in the mountains, maybe getting a job up here.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?”

“Sure. But…”

“But, what?”

“But I thought you were saying you want to do all of that with him.”

Hutch sat back against his chair again and sized up Starsky’s claim. He hadn’t touched his coffee. “I don’t know whatever gave you that idea, buddy.”

Starsky shrugged, broke eye contact, stared into his cup. He felt emotional and childish. He wasn’t normally this unsure about himself. Maybe if Hutch had said up front that he had no interest or desire to bed Alec Henley, then Starsky could have put whatever troubled him into the rearview mirror. But Hutch said he was open to having sex with Alec, that he even wanted them both to consider it.

“How many years have we known each other?” Hutch asked, tapping the table to get Starsky’s attention. Despite the lively debate, he wasn’t angry. “Think about everything we’ve been through together: the training, the cases, the promotions, the fights, the car chases, the bullets, the losses, the whacko women, the injuries, the risks, the drinking and the dating, the good and the bad times, the trust and the love and the loyalty we have—in and for each other—and now the sex, too. How can you possibly ever think I could untangle myself from you—or would even want to?”

That’s what Starsky wanted to hear, even though it didn’t make him feel any less foolish. His gratitude for Hutch’s answer left him speechless. He bit his lip and held eye contact with those crystal blue eyes, knowing they both knew he was being rather ridiculous. He also believed Hutch could hear his silent apology.

“I’d die for you, partner,” Hutch reminded him, not facetiously, “and I’d die without you.”

That was a solemn truth Starsky could hold onto; he felt the same about Hutch—all the way into the very bottom of his heart. But despite his valiant effort not to let his emotional reaction show, he didn’t succeed. “Thank you, partner,” he said with a notably quivering voice, not averting his eyes. The look of love all over Hutch’s face was one of forgiveness, and Starsky couldn’t get enough of it. “I don’t mean to be such an ass.”

“You’re out of your element,” Hutch explained with a kind smile; it enabled Starsky to not feel judged even then. “Add to that your fear of being abandoned,” Hutch furthered, “and I’m sure this visit hasn’t been easy on you—especially after our male host invited us for a romp on his bed with him.”

Hutch nailed that, too.

“But I’m not leaving you for anything or anyone,” Hutch promised, bringing them back to the point, “so, let me spare us the time if this is the case: what I don’t want to do is anything you don’t want to do, no matter how much I may want to do it.”

There was the Hutch Starsky remembered so dearly. “I love you, man,” he graciously said, appreciating the answer—and more than Hutch probably knew he did. “But before I tell you what I think about all of this, I want to tell you how I feel about him and why, okay?”

* * *

Alec Henley was a beautiful man—not as much as Ken Hutchinson was beautiful, but more than any other man Starsky had laid eyes on. Maybe Alec was a mix: a lot of Hutch’s beauty, a little bit of Starsky’s sexiness, and a whole bunch of charisma and warmth, a sort of Starsky and Hutch rolled into one.

Starsky had just jumped down from the fence after admiring elk and bison, and turned with Hutch toward the house when they nearly collided with Alec and his friend, Kevin, the both of them apparently arriving on scene to make their acquaintance.

All four men immediately braked to a stop in time. In that split second, even before anyone said anything, Starsky noticed right away that Kevin was an attractive man, but Alec was actually beautiful. He had presence and it was harder not to notice his appearance. He was roughly the same height and weight as Starsky and Hutch, and was probably somewhere in his early forties, with bright blue eyes—rimmed in laugh lines that spoke of his lighthearted nature—and dark, wavy hair, gray around the temples, cut shorter than Starsky’s. A black scruff of graying black whiskers grew over Alec’s face, around his nose and mouth, along his chin and jawline, a closely trimmed beard in its length, but not quite, and he was of healthy build, muscled, and athletic.

In that same second, Starsky noticed Hutch size up Alec’s features, too.

“Whoa,” Alec said with a laugh, playfully throwing up his hands. His voice was warm, friendly, and notably masculine—like the rest of him. “Not the way we intended to meet you,” he insisted as he introduced himself to Hutch and Starsky as the Director of the Sanctuary, cheerfully smiling and eagerly shaking their hands in greeting. After Hutch told Alec to call him “Hutch,” and upon hearing Starsky’s full name, Alec asked Starsky if he was to call him, “Starsk?”

Alec was witty, too.

“Starsky,” Starsky politely corrected him. “‘Starsk’ is reserved for him,” he explained, giving Hutch a gentle nudge. He noticed that Alec quickly looked Hutch up-and-down, perhaps for the second time.

Starsky’s heart sank. He didn’t know why. Up until that moment, he was on a fresh air high, excited to have been on their way from Denver to the Hidden Valley Wildlife Center, but especially because he was about to come face-to-face with an American bald eagle.

After stopping at the deli in Boulder to buy food and wine for the Center’s festivities, they made the climb from the Great Plains into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Starsky felt the weight of the world fall away with every westward mile they drove—and he was actually thankful for it.

The refreshing scents of pine and aspen entered the car through its open windows, caught on the wind at the perfect temperature, not cold enough for jackets, but not warm enough to take them off. Starsky watched Hutch drive, admiring his look and noticing how tousled his hair had become. Dressed in snug jeans, a loose green tee-shirt, and his familiar baseball jacket, both hands on the wheel, masterfully maneuvering the highway, that perfect profile, and Starsky was in love with his partner all over again. There couldn’t possibly be a more beautiful man on earth.

Hutch could wear anything—and had: cowboy hats, ponchos, yoga pants, and costumes too numerous to remember. On this particular day, Hutch was dressed casually in clothes Starsky was most pleased to see on him.

But that was the point: Hutch was known to him—personally, professionally, as a mentor and a savior and a friend. Recently, Hutch had even become intimately known to Starsky; he had seen the man naked, stripped of his clothes, lying on the bed beside him, walking to the bathroom in front of him, standing at the kitchen telephone, fully nude, flaccid, natural, comfortable.

Starsky had seen Hutch in pain and in elation; he’d been the brunt of Hutch’s anger, his annoyance, his laughter, his love, his abuse, and his kindness. He’d since come to know Hutch’s pleasure and his ecstasy, his private noises—the moans and the whispers and the sighs—his gentle touches and his purposeful pleasure-giving hands, mouth, erection.

There was no man more beautiful, no man more familiar, no man more … his. Starsky would never know a love greater than the one he had with Ken Hutchinson.

Hutch glanced over at him, probably because Starsky had been quiet for a while and Hutch needed to check on him. When Hutch noticed Starsky carefully studying him, he shyly smiled, and put his eyes back on the road.

Another thing about Hutch that Starsky knew: his partner’s honor, trustworthiness, loyalty, vulnerabilities, insecurities, beliefs, intelligence, shyness. What didn’t he know?

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Hutch eventually asked, when it seemed the silence in the car had gone on for too long and he’d continued to feel Starsky’s eyes on him.

“Nothing,” Starsky quietly replied. He didn’t have anything to say. He simply wanted to immerse himself in Hutch. But he didn’t mean to make Hutch wary or curious, so he pulled his gaze away and looked out the window instead. Hutch was in everything of nature, too.

The passing scenery was both spectacular and pristine—each curve in the road leading them deeper into peaks and valleys. It wasn’t a scary mountain highway; its curves were sweeping and long, lined in tall pines and similar alpine trees, with rolling-away edges into open meadows along the passenger side. Some of it reminded Starsky of other places he and Hutch had been, but not as expansive as where they were in that moment.

“Is this when you tell me there are Whack-Knees still living in these here parts?” Starsky asked, knowing his question would rattle Hutch’s sensibilities; that’s why he worded it the way he did—his sequel to their Yosemite visit.

“Too many tribal nations to count,” Hutch replied, briefly glancing at Starsky and mocking annoyance with a slight shake of his head. “Apache, Cheyenne, Sioux, Shoshone—to name just a few—but no evidence of Whack-Knees.”

Hutch hadn’t missed a beat.

Starsky tried again after he repressed his laugh. “Are we going to see moose elk along the way?”

“We might see both,” Hutch declared, sounding hopeful. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

Starsky studied Hutch more closely; the man sounded serious. Was he? and shouldn’t Starsky know that about Hutch by now, especially after all they’d been through together, intimately and otherwise? “How come you know so much about shit like that, hm, Hutch?”

“About moose?”

“And where they live and where they don’t? And about Indians.”

“I read.”

“You remember everything you read?”

“Aren’t you the leading expert on vampires and werewolves?” Hutch wondered with a ridiculing chuckle. “I’ll bet you could tell me more than I want to know about those subjects.”

“Don’t forget I know a lot about zombies, too,” Starsky dryly added, looking back out the window. He’d been bested and was playfully dismayed. The only way to get even with Hutch was to join him in making fun of himself, but he felt too lazy to keep up.

“Stay on the lookout for Big Foot while you’re at it,” Hutch suggested, teasing Starsky further. “Or aren’t they found in ‘these here parts’?”

Starsky rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word. It was time to abandon his losing battle. He again turned his attention to the scenery outside his open window, enjoying the temperature and the aroma of the woods. Hutch had the right idea, the things that interested him, but those were relatively foreign concepts to the city-bred David Starsky. Besides, he did like learning from Hutch. His partner’s vast knowledge was yet another reason Starsky admired him.

It was right around then that Starsky saw the bison and the three-member elk herd behind a no-climb fence alongside the road on the passenger side of the car. “Moose elk!” he blurted, sitting up in his seat, excited to lay eyes on the antlered animals. “Holy shit, Hutch, there’s a buffalo out there, too!”

Hutch slowed the car—an action Starsky thought sweet, that Hutch would give him more time to view the wildlife, but he soon realized that they’d arrived at the Center and Hutch braked in order to make the right turn into the driveway.

“It’s a bison,” Hutch said as he drove onto the premises.

Starsky didn’t take his eyes off the animals. “I’m talking about the buffalo over there,” he clarified, pointing out the window to the iconic bovine. “Do you see it, Hutch? Kinda hard to miss.”

“I see a bison,” Hutch reiterated, “and I see elk.” He pulled into a parking spot near the pasture and stopped the car. “Try not to embarrass us,” he joked as he killed the engine, “and follow my lead.”

“So, the words ‘oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam’ are all wrong, too; is that what you’re telling me, smart-ass?”

“There aren’t any antelope out here, either.”

Starsky thought he’d finally found a way to outsmart the brilliant Hutch. “Pronghorn antelope, Hutch. Ever heard of those?” he smugly asked. He remembered reading about them in a pamphlet that showcased the American West while they spent time at Yosemite.

“Pronghorn aren’t technically antelope, Starsk, and bison aren’t technically buffalo. You’d know that if you read books beyond those about vampires, werewolves, and zombies.”

Outdone again. “I’ll try not to embarrass us,” Starsky promised under his breath, feeling chagrined. “But if I find out you’re wrong, I’m going to rub it in your face.”

“Rub whatever you want in my face,” Hutch said with a jerk of his eyebrows as he threw Starsky an air kiss.

Starsky was about to respond in kind, but two young women suddenly appeared outside his window, both long-haired blondes, twenty-somethings, attractive and pretty, especially in their shorts and tee-shirts, and hiking boots, too. He and Hutch got out of the car and introduced themselves to Sally and Sarah. Was Starsky allowed to notice the women’s beauty when he was in love with Hutch? Maybe the notation was just habit—or the detective in him.

Hutch mentioned the food and wine they’d brought and asked where he and Starsky should place the two trays and bottles. But Sally and Sarah were happy to take the items off their hands so Starsky and Hutch would be free to enjoy the sanctuary at their leisure. Starsky was first to head over to the fence for a closer look at the grazers he’d spotted from the road. Once on the top rail and laying eyes on the majestic animals, he made Tyler’s acquaintance, a staff member, assigned, the young man said with a laugh, to “Honcho Herd Handler.”

“Is it true that’s not a buffalo?” Starsky asked. If anyone could settle the debate, Tyler would—with a title like his.

“People call it a buffalo,” Tyler said, sounding amused, “but it’s more closely related to cattle; technically it’s a bison—of which there are only two species in America, and one in Europe. To muddle the water further, the babies are called ‘red dogs,’ because they’re a reddish color at birth that lasts for a few months.”

The rest of what Tyler told him were facts beyond Starsky’s ability to assimilate—a lesson on sub-tribe and genus—and something else about ‘near extinction’ and ‘30 miles per hour.’ He promised himself he wouldn’t tell Hutch what he’d learned. Hutch would only rub it in his face—and not the kind of rubbing Starsky was hoping for after sundown.

Only a minute later and he and Hutch would nearly run into Alec and Kevin. Starsky would feel further diminished, that time by Alec’s physical appearance and friendliness, figuring Alec was probably smarter than Tyler, too, because he was the Director of the Center, not the lowly “Honcho Herd Handler.” When the four men discussed the baseball game and Hutch made the case that Starsky should sit it out, Starsky felt all the more depreciated.

Alec was outwardly disappointed that Starsky couldn’t play, but he was apparently relieved to include Hutch. “I’ll take my players any way I can get them,” he said, squeezing Hutch’s bicep as the men turned toward the house, obviously concluding by the feel of Hutch’s muscle that, “I think we can beat ’em even without our two lame friends.” His wisecrack triggered the intended relief and laughter.

But by then, Starsky had already begun to feel as if he was on the outside looking in.

* * *

“Their whole world just turned right side up,” Starsky said after the baseball game, grabbing Hutch in a headlock and kissing the side of his face. “You’re the hero.” He couldn’t remember a time he was more proud of Hutch—nor help but notice how utterly overjoyed Alec Henley appeared; he stood nearby, head tilted in visible gratitude, an open smile on his mouth—so big that it put Colorado to shame—and a notable look of fond affection shined in his blue eyes.

Not long after, while Starsky and Hutch sat side-by-side at the picnic table for the potluck, Starsky sensed Alec’s attention from his seat at a neighboring table. But every time Starsky attempted to make eye contact, he didn’t catch Alec paying him or Hutch any mind at all.

It wasn’t until the campfire that Starsky caught Alec’s eye. Maybe Alec had begun to think Starsky and Hutch were gay—Starsky did shove a roasted marshmallow into Hutch’s mouth, and Hutch licked Starsky’s fingers clean during the force-feeding—or maybe Alec himself was gay and he was attracted to one or both of them. Whatever the reason, Starsky noticed Alec’s attention.

“Do you like your job?” Starsky asked Tyler, hoping for clues—or outright facts—to answer Alec’s gender orientation question for him. Were his endeavor a murder investigation, Starsky would come right out and ask what he wanted to know, but homosexuality was a taboo subject, especially because Starsky had recently engaged in that kind of behavior himself. “Does wildlife rehab pay well?”

Tyler was an easygoing person, an obvious introvert by nature, someone who gladly engaged others, but preferred to remain silent unless spoken to. He was probably in his early twenties, and was a rather lean and tall young man, with a bit of a creative vibe to him, too. “I love my job,” he told Starsky, not holding back. “It saved my life.”

“How was that?”

“The Sheriff’s Department gave me a choice: time in jail or time in community service; they were adamant about the Center—some contract work that Alec had arranged with the county, in part an experimental rehabilitation program designed to knock sense into senseless behavior—such as mine was at the time.”

Starsky was impressed. He was used to sending troublemakers and worse to jail—though he did believe in conditional sentencing. “I assume by your answer that the experiment succeeded.”

“I’ve been here over two years now,” Tyler proudly said, watching Starsky roast a marshmallow. “Clean and sober with a strong belief that other people’s property is theirs and not mine for the taking.”

“All the fresh air, hm?” Starsky commented, hoping to solicit more details. He felt Hutch lying beside him in the grass, ignoring him, but present. “Or your boss is a magician?”

Tyler laughed. “He had little to do with it really; mostly, coming up here helped me to get away from the wrong crowd and find value in nonmaterialistic things.”

That made sense.

“And he’s not much of a boss,” Tyler added, not disparagingly.

“No?”

“More like a teacher.”

“But he must have rules to follow.”

“Just … ‘do no harm’ is all—and he leads by example.”

“Good guy?”

“I’ve never known anyone more deserving of respect than he does. I mean, some people you gotta respect, you know? like cops, for example.”

Starsky didn’t blink.

“But that’s forced respect,” Tyler explained. “Alec is one of those people you can respect because his person is worthy of it.”

“What would you say is his most redeeming quality?”

“He’s a kind person. That doesn’t mean he’s perfect. But he is kind.”

“Temper nonetheless?”

“I’ve only seen him unleash it on mean people.”

“So he does have a breaking point.”

“Yeah, when it comes to cruelty and meanness, he can be … formidable. He doesn’t handle stupid very well, either. You should see him when he’s speaking at a City Council meeting or a Senate hearing. He takes no prisoners.”

Starsky agreed that Alec’s activism was respectable, too. Maybe Alec simply sensed Hutch’s kindness—at least the gentleness of Hutch’s deeper nature; Hutch could be quite mean, after all, and no one knew that better than Starsky.

“Is he a family man?” Starsky asked, figuring he’d asked enough other questions to delve into personal ones. “Married with children and all that?”

“None of the above. I mean, he was married a long time ago. Divorced. Then he was engaged up until last year. His fiancé was killed, along with her horse, in a riding accident. He hasn’t been with anyone since. I don’t think his heart can take it.”

The question was at least answered: Alec was straight. He must be watching Hutch and Starsky closely because he suspected they were the gay ones. After more conversation, and learning that Tyler had a guitar, Starsky insisted Hutch play it for a singalong around the campfire. He didn’t intend to make Alec think he was in love with Hutch; he simply wanted Alec to see that Hutch was creative, therefore a sensitive person, therefore he may have given off a vibe of being tolerant of everyone—friendly and demonstrably affectionate—including and especially toward his partner, who just happened to be another man.

But when Hutch dedicated ‘Boy From the Country’ to Alec, and Starsky saw tears in both men’s eyes, he was afraid Alec might believe Hutch was infatuated with Alec, the country boy, and not the boy from the city. Starsky was then determined to lay claim to his man—without it coming across as if he and Hutch were sexually intimate. But how to do that was the question—especially in such un-chartered territory as the jealousy he’d unexpectedly begun to feel?

* * *

Alone by themselves in the car later that evening, sharing a banana and a small bag of mixed nuts, drinking bottled water, and Starsky wasn’t sure he heard Hutch correctly. He’d told Hutch that the stunning Colorado scenery had apparently prevented his blond partner from noticing the beautiful twenty-somethings who were on his trail—and who were also blonde. Oh, the perfect babies they could make!

But Hutch insisted he had no interest in young women because he was in love with Starsky, assuming then that Starsky had an interest, and telling him, “If you want some, get some.”

Starsky didn’t want a woman, either, but he was surprised to hear Hutch tell him he was free to have sex with women if that’s what he wanted.

“I’m just telling you,” Hutch clarified, sounding as if he didn’t mean to offend Starsky, “that as long as you’re in my bed every night by end of day, I don’t care what you do, Starsk. Live your life.”

“I’m not sure I can say the same back,” Starsky quietly replied, first disappointed in Hutch’s view of things and then in himself for not being as liberated. Living his life with Hutch was all Starsky wanted anymore; how could Hutch think he’d want anyone else?

“You don’t have to,” Hutch promised, believably not expecting the sentiment in return. He ate nuts and finished his piece of the banana and eventually drank water while Starsky slouched against the back seat and deeply sighed.

The argument also wasn’t over about whether Starsky would regret having talked them into sleeping in the car that night, but Starsky was sure it was the right decision for them based on the preponderance of evidence.

Hutch wasn’t convinced. “When you wake up tomorrow with a stiff neck and a bad back,” he told Starsky, “remember this was your idea.”

Starsky grunted and slid down across the seat, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, and tilting his head to look out the passenger window at the starry, moonlit night sky to avoid his feelings. Theirs had been a frivolous conversation, nonsensical and silly, with moments of hard-core reality interwoven throughout. But meanwhile, Starsky never braved telling Hutch he’d begun to feel insecure and possessive, emotions he’d never experienced when it came to Hutch’s affections for him or others.

Matters only got worse for Starsky when they were invited to spend the night in the only available guest room at the house—with a single bed in it, albeit a king-sized one.

“He thinks we’re gay, Hutch,” Starsky lamented, once he entered the bedroom and discovered that he and Hutch would have to share a mattress.

Hutch was indifferent. “Who cares?”

“Everybody’s going to think we’re gay,” Starsky complained, feeling frustrated and annoyed by that idea, and disappointed that he couldn’t do anything to circumvent it. He stood inside the closed bedroom door, their backpack at his feet, and watched Hutch. How could Hutch be so blasé about such perceptions?

“So they think we’re gay,” Hutch said, unbuttoning his shirt as he readied for bed. “Let them think whatever they’ll think; we have no control over that.”

“You don’t even want them knowing we’re cops.”

“I don’t want to dampen the mood around here,” Hutch explained.

“Maybe they’d appreciate us.”

“Or maybe they’d walk on eggshells in our presence.”

“You have a problem with them knowing we’re cops, but not thinking we’re gay?”

Hutch removed his shirt, tossed it over the armchair in the corner of the room. He stopped to face Starsky. “Back to my original point: so what if they think we’re gay, huh?”

“I don’t want them thinking we’re…”

“We’re, what, Starsk? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Weak,” Starsky blurted, not realizing until that moment that he thought that way himself. It was definitely some kind of weakness he was already feeling.

Hutch seemed as surprised as Starsky. “Oh,” he carefully said. “That’s how you see gay guys?”

That’s not how Starsky viewed homosexuals any longer, and he tried to justify his impulsive thoughts. “That’s how the world sees gay guys. It’s straight guys who fight to defend the women,” he figured, still leaning against the door, settled, and keeping his voice low. In his mind, men fighting to protect women made those men more aggressive, therefore stronger than men who didn’t have a need to protect women.

The one-bed bedroom with two nightstands and lamps that they’d been given was at the front of the house off the living room hallway; a guest bathroom separated it from the next room over. They didn’t have to whisper, but it was late at night, and keeping their voices down was still a wise idea.

“C’mon,” Starsky argued, when it seemed Hutch was disappointed in him, “you know I’m not judging gay boys. I’m saying the world sees them different and I don’t want people to see us different. I like these folks, you know?”

“What do you want to do about it, Starsk?” Hutch argued, turning away to sit on the mattress and remove his shoes. “Would you rather we sleep in the car?”

Starsky most certainly didn’t want to sleep in the rental car any more than he imagined Hutch wanted them to, but he was still unwilling to join Hutch on the bed, despite Hutch standing to take off his pants, and purposefully showing off his bared butt. “Well, I mean, Hutch, why else did Alec give us a room with one bed, hm?”

They debated the reasons, but didn’t come to an agreement on any one thing. Starsky was so determined to convince Hutch of his position that he refused to even drop his gaze from Hutch’s eyes to acknowledge Hutch’s frontal nudity, flaccid penis and bulging sac notwithstanding.

Hutch eventually turned away from him to pull the comforter and sheet back from the top of the mattress. “You’re not making any sense, partner,” he said, sounding dismayed. “This was the only available room and it happens to just have the one bed. Let’s be glad it’s a king and not a queen; that alone should make you feel better.”

“That’s not funny, Hutch,” Starsky said, finally pushing off the door. He could see he was losing the battle and he wanted his assertive presence to help him win it.

But Hutch bunched pillows against the headboard, suggested they get some rest, and then finish the discussion in the morning. “There’s nothing we can do about it now,” he said, climbing under the sheet and pressing his back into the cushioning pillows. He looked Starsky in the eye, but didn’t say anything else, as if he was done arguing with his partner.

“He’s going to know we slept together in here,” Starsky reminded him, defiantly trying again. He stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and stared at Hutch, knowing Hutch was trying to melt him with those beautiful blue eyes—and his smooth naked skin—but feeling determined not to let him.

“He won’t know if we’ve had sex in here—unless you tell him,” Hutch posited.

“Are we going to pretend when we see him again that we’re so comfortable with each other that we’d sleep in the same bed?”

“Aren’t we that comfortable with each other?”

“I just don’t like it, Hutch—people thinking we’re…”

“Would you feel better if one of us sleeps on the sofa in the living room?”

“No.”

“Because you want to sleep with me or because we weren’t invited to sleep on the sofa?”

“That first part. Well, the second part, too.”

“Okay, so it’s either in here or in the car,” Hutch decided. He pulled the blankets up over himself, to under his arms, folded his hands in his lap, watched Starsky, waited.

Defeated, Starsky sighed and finally began to undress. “They’re going to think we’re gay,” he whined again. “I mean, Alec already must think it.” He tossed his clothes on the chair, too. “It’s why he gave us this room in the first place.”

“Or maybe Alec just didn’t want his guests—especially the one who helped him win his hospital money—to sleep in a car all night.”

“Maybe.”

“And this was the only room, one we’re lucky to have.”

“Maybe,” Starsky repeated, going to his side of the bed and slipping under the sheet. He stacked two pillows behind his head. “Or maybe he wouldn’t have made the offer if he thought we were straight.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t care if we’re gay,” Hutch supposed.

“We’re not gay.”

After Hutch suggested that perhaps Alec was gay, Starsky told him what he’d learned about Alec from Tyler: that Alec had been married, didn’t have any children, that he’d been divorced for years, and that he eventually became engaged, but his fiancé had been killed in a riding accident. Alec was a heterosexual man, in other words, and he obviously gave a one-bed bedroom to two men he believed were gay.

“Besides,” Starsky continued, pressing forward in his debate by his new feelings of inadequacy, “he’s a man’s man. Look what he does for a living.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Look at what we do for a living.”

“He doesn’t know what we do, so he thinks we’re weak; he’s not,” Starsky concluded. Isn’t that what mostly troubled him, that he and Hutch couldn’t openly be who they were—tough cops when they had to be?

“He doesn’t think it after what I did today,” Hutch argued. “Did you count my home runs?”

“You’re baiting me,” Starsky angrily complained.

“I’m de-bating you, not baiting you. But, even so, you probably mean I’m patronizing you.”

“I know you’re not taking me seriously.”

Hutch turned onto his side to face Starsky. “I just don’t know what you want us to do about it, Starsk.”

Starsky was pressed up to the headboard, pillows at his back and head, arms crossed over his hairy chest. “I don’t know, either,” he admitted in a low, surrendering voice. “I guess I’m just feeling insecure.”

“Why? How come?”

“It’s taken a long time to recover from that day in the parking lot.”

“The day you got shot,” Hutch assumed.

“Yeah,” Starsky said with another sigh. “That day.”

“It took a strong man to recover from that shooting,” Hutch observed.

After a minute of silence, Starsky shifted just his eyes over to Hutch. He appreciated Hutch’s assessment; maybe he should have mentioned first how vulnerable he was feeling instead of worrying about what others thought of them. They could have gotten to the root of his turmoil sooner. Since the shooting, they hadn’t had to use their muscle for any circumstance. Maybe Starsky would never be the strong man he’d once been. How would he know until he was put to the test again?

“If anybody knew even half of who you are,” Hutch gently said, affectionately squeezing Starsky’s forearm, “they’d never question your manhood or your strength—or anything else about you.”

Sweet, sweet words; they meant more in that moment than either of them could know. “Yeah, okay,” Starsky softly replied, clasping Hutch’s hand. “It’s that I had to sit out the game; that’s what triggered me. And then this room with just one bed and the way people think, you know?”

“We live in a different world, partner. I chose not to tell anyone about our jobs or our experiences—without consulting with you first—because I thought everyone would enjoy themselves more if they didn’t know.”

“And you might be right.”

“That you so easily went along with it made me think we were of the same mind.”

“Usually, we are,” Starsky admitted. And they always seemed to eventually find their common ground, too. In the end, despite it all, they belonged to each other. Well, at least Starsky knew Hutch belonged to him. Why was he feeling as if Hutch didn’t feel the same way? Because Hutch would allow him to bed women? Because they both knew they’d met a beautiful man with a big heart who was smart and well-loved and—

“I’m not ashamed of our work or who we’ve become together,” Hutch said, as if he’d read Starsky’s mind, and was reminding him that they too were everything Alec was.

“I know you’re not,” Starsky said. Neither was he. He just didn’t want others to be ashamed of them—others who mattered, others like Alec Henley, a man who was respectable and admirable from every which way.

“So let’s get some sleep,” Hutch said again, “have ourselves some pancakes in the morning, and watch an eagle fly away home.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, trying a smile. He more than liked what he heard as he let go of Hutch’s hand to toy with his watch. He hadn’t forgotten a minor detail. “But in between sleep and pancakes … well, I mean, just so you know, the alarm is still set to 3 a.m.”

* * *

Hutch’s skin tasted of his familiar sweat, soft and warm to the touch at Starsky’s lips. Hutch’s slow, deep breathing didn’t go unnoticed, either. He apparently hadn’t heard Starsky’s watch alarm, incessantly beeping in the wee hours of the morning before Starsky could figure out how to silence it—sounding so loud in the dead of night that it was as if someone had frantically called the fire department. Hutch also didn’t seem to be aware of Starsky’s kisses moments later—along his shoulder, down his arm, across his hand—while he slept.

Starsky knew this because Hutch’s breath—the audible exhale, its long and interrupting pause, the inevitable extended inhale—told him Hutch was in oblivious slumber. Hutch lay on the bed beside him, on his back, one leg snug along the length of Starsky’s under the blanket, and his other, the left one, bent out from his side outside of the comforter.

They were nude beneath the covers, already touching each other from hip to foot when Starsky woke—to feel connected, he assumed, though not in an obviously conscious way. It’s just who they’d become, naturally.

Starsky considered leaving Hutch to himself, but he soon couldn’t resist the temptation to lay his hands on Hutch once he studied Hutch’s profile in the moonlit room, and the smooth contour of his shoulders. Of course, pleasing Hutch was also self-serving, if for no other reason than bringing Hutch to orgasm was a thrill that would lead to Starsky’s climax, too, even if it were provided by his own hand.

After Starsky rose to his elbow, pulled the sheet back, and leaned into Hutch to carefully knead his closest nipple with his teeth, tongue, and lips, Hutch’s breathing changed, became shallow, accelerated, more conscious.

Hutch was further brought out of his hibernation when Starsky pushed the sheet and light blanket to Hutch’s knees, and then rolled over him to follow an unmarked trail from Hutch’s chest to his navel with soft, moist, loving kisses along every inch of the way. When he finally made contact with the already engorging tip of Hutch’s penis, he heard Hutch exhale a long breath—a kind of sleepy, contented surrender.

Excited to have the green light, Starsky showered Hutch’s erection with loving kisses and licks, gentle sucks and strokes, relishing the inevitable journey of Hutch’s arousal—almost as much as Hutch did—from its initial nearly flaccid innocence to its larger, fuller, and more engaging presence. Each stroking pass of Starsky’s mouth and hand, lubricated by his saliva and eventually by Hutch’s pre-cum, made Hutch’s shaft stiffer, thicker, harder.

Starsky loved the feel of Hutch’s erection, its musky aroma, its animal taste, its erotic appearance when he paused to examine it with his eyes in the moonlit room. There wasn’t a single thing about Hutch that he didn’t absolutely feel grateful to know and to have. “You’re so awfully beautiful, Hutch,” Starsky said to him—without actually speaking the words.

Hutch’s breathing had deepened, become labored, and his skin lightly perspired. He tangled his fingers in Starsky’s dense curls as if he would guide him, but seemed powerless to carry through. In those brief moments that Starsky opened his eyes to steal glances of visual inspiration, he was further aroused by the sight of Hutch’s glistening body, his heaving belly, his erect nipples, and his mouth parted in glorious pant. The well-muscled, blond, blue-eyed, delirious Adonis was definitely in heaven—right where Starsky wanted him.

When he maneuvered to settle between Hutch’s knees, Hutch opened his legs, granting Starsky the space to better fellate him—because they both knew the score, wanted the same end goal, together. Hutch’s penis had long-emerged from its foreskin as Starsky licked and kissed and teased the meaty phallus’ highly sensitive frenulum, its unsheathed cap, and around the edge of its fleshy crown. He sucked Hutch all the way in, and then out, over and again, spurred by Hutch’s more frequent moans and whispers. He could eat Hutch forever just to let his man feel that good for that long.

At times, Starsky wanted to giggle, purely from delight, not ridicule, but he was cognizant of the past-midnight hush in the room, fractured only by both of their softer moans, their heavy breathing, and Hutch’s occasional hiss of ecstasy as he sucked air between his teeth; the pleasure was that exquisite. “I know how much you’re loving this,” Starsky noted, but only to himself.

He was so immersed in pleasuring Hutch that he failed to notice how aroused he’d made himself—or how close to ejaculation Hutch had suddenly been pushed to—until Hutch tightly held Starsky’s head, freezing them in mid-action, and breathlessly whispered, “I’m gonna come,” just as he immediately emptied his sac into the back of Starsky’s throat. He obviously fought off his impulse to cry out in overwhelming submission as he writhed beneath Starsky like a man in excruciating pain—or in his case, one in the throes of pure elation.

Starsky thought he might follow in kind just from the feel of the hot, creamy delivery that filled his mouth as Hutch bucked against him, knowing he’d driven Hutch into that degree of liberation, but Hutch wouldn’t let him go. Starsky did his best to keep from laughing, all while making an honest effort not to be forced into swallowing Hutch’s ejaculate—and not because he couldn’t or wouldn’t eat it, but because he hoped to use the viscous deposit to coat his own shaft for a mutually satisfying orgasm.

He had to wait for Hutch to finish emptying himself, realizing after more than a minute that Hutch had already done so, but he’d done so rather quietly—in a kind of silent aftermath unfamiliar to Starsky since they’d been sharing each other’s ejaculations; they were often quite noisy in their orgasms. Obviously, Hutch had remembered to repress his usually loud expressions of triumph, despite that he’d been awakened out of deep sleep into his fellatio, and was probably still in a dreamy state of bliss.

“Good boy, Hutch,” Starsky praised him for not letting the entire house know he’d just climaxed. But his words were just thoughts as he slid Hutch from his mouth, feeling the swollen shaft’s heated skin against his tongue during its departure, and especially marveling at its size. He successfully caught most of the hefty mound of semen in his hand and immediately put it to use on his own engorged penis, covering it completely with self-gratifying strokes, leaning back on his elbow to gain better access. The lubricant was viscous and warm, and it quickly made him firmer, forcing him into deeper breaths and even fewer thoughts.

Instead, he kept his eyes on Hutch—using the visuals of Hutch’s blissfully closed eyes, his shining skin, and his still-rigid penis to enhance his own building arousal. His man was beautiful, sexy, primal, and male—all the ways Starsky felt in those minutes, and all the ways he was happy to have made Hutch feel. “You turn me on so hard,” he thought.

But bringing himself to orgasm was not meant to be.

“Come up here,” Hutch whispered, opening his eyes and finding Starsky’s return gaze in the dimly lit room. A hint of a happy smile was on his face. “Don’t finish like that; come up here.” He managed to reposition himself against the cushioning pillows at the headboard, tugging on Starsky’s arm to pull him out of his self-indulgent intentions and into Hutch’s idea instead. “Let me take care of you, Starsk.”

“Oh, boy,” Starsky said in a low voice as his heart pounded harder. Hutch’s invitation was one Starsky could not refuse. Did the man know what he was asking? Starsky would get to set his own path toward that electrifying and undeniable end. He quickly abandoned his masturbation and eagerly rolled into Hutch as he crawled forward onto him, stopping along the way to indulge a lingering, wet, tender, loving kiss that he stole from Hutch’s lips.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth until I come,” he said—again, without words, hungry thoughts that rolled around in his head; his need for oxygen outweighed his wish to be heard. “You’ll see.”

Despite having already depleted himself, Hutch still seemed to find enjoyment in the tasty and passionate nursing they briefly shared of each other’s penetrating tongues. Together, they quietly moaned and deeply sighed while they wordlessly devoted themselves to ratcheting up Starsky’s desire and anticipation.

As Starsky knelt over him, he felt Hutch’s fingers in his hair again, but they were soon on his penis, too. Hutch’s warm hands also gently massaged and fondled Starsky’s sensitive sac, stroked his hardened shaft, teased that sweet spot on his cock’s underside, near the tip and below its crown, and used its pre-cum when it finally emerged for a slicker lubrication that built Starsky’s neediness into lustful satiation.

His heart pounded, his penis was as swollen as it had ever been, and he ached for that final and inevitable satisfaction. Hutch had not only given him permission to engage, he’d encouraged him. Maybe he’d even demanded it. Starsky wasted no time in mounting Hutch, straddling him, his knees on either side of Hutch’s shoulders, using his right hand to balance against the headboard, and his left—along with his eyes—to guide his yearning penis into the snug and lubricious warmth that awaited him.

“Oh, god, that feels so good,” Starsky wanted to say, but didn’t.

The slippery and tight contact was instantly spellbinding and stimulating, so much that he didn’t think he could last long. Not that it would have mattered; he probably shouldn’t expect Hutch to be ‘mouth-fucked’ for an extended period of time, but mainly because Starsky was still conscious of their whereabouts: they were guests in a large house out in the country, one filled with strangers and blanketed in easily shattered stillness. He was afraid everyone could hear a pin drop—even, or especially—in that mountain wilderness.

With that in mind, Starsky gingerly gripped the headboard in both hands, hoping it wouldn’t creak—and it didn’t—while he watched the action between his legs—his penis nearly disappearing and then reappearing in Hutch’s eager, sucking, desirous mouth—and was further aware of the muted sounds of their tandem breaths and grunts, of their moans and pounding heartbeats.

Hutch was exceptionally beautiful in the moonlight, appearing breathless: his tousled blond hair, the heated shine over his skin, the willingness of his receptive lips, tongue, depth of his mouth, the shape of his neck and shoulders. His gentle hands carefully squeezed and cupped Starsky’s sac, caressed his naked buttocks, petted his legs and belly, and stroked his back—tantalizing sensations—all while eagerly sucking, moaning, and licking Starsky’s rhythmically thrusting penis.

How he loved and needed Hutch. “Are you okay?” he wondered, but he couldn’t get the breath to speak the words past his lips. Just as well. Hutch seemed okay; always the willing partner.

The room air cooled Starsky’s skin as sweat broke over the whole of him, and he feared he might lose the ability to breathe. His penetrations and withdrawals were deliberate, but careful, though nonetheless spellbinding by the perfect pleasure they gave him. Hutch was there with him, spurring him on, his mouth slick with saliva and seminal fluid, even his own, and with just the right firmness and intentions.

“I love you so much,” Starsky wanted to tell him, but he was overcome in that moment. He finally erupted, surrendering to the primal forces at play and allowing them to push him off the edge into orgasm. How he managed to control his audible reaction to the cresting intensity of ecstasy as it rolled over him was beyond his understanding, but manage, he somehow did. He pushed as deeply into Hutch’s mouth as he could physically go—careful not to gag his man—and ejaculated, long and hard, losing all thought and reason in the overwhelming euphoria, each pulse of semen a diminishing wave of bliss, but no less coveted than the previous one.

Only when he felt his legs trembling did he realize he’d stayed longer in that position on the bed than he’d intended; Hutch didn’t even hint that Starsky should move off of him any sooner. “You must love me so much,” he said in words only he could hear, the ones inside his head. “You’ll do anything for me.” He slowly withdrew his drained penis and pushed back from the headboard, bending down to kiss Hutch’s lips in grateful passion—tasting both their ejaculates in the exchange—and then swung his leg over Hutch to officially dismount from him. “I don’t know what I did so right to have someone like you make me feel the way you do.”

There were no audible words, only breath and heartbeat, sweat and semen. The kiss was the goodnight—or so Starsky believed. He rolled off of Hutch, pulled the sheet and blanket up over them again, faced away from his partner as he tried to catch his breath, purposefully remaining pressed to Hutch’s length, to feel Hutch’s still-steaming body at his back and butt, his legs and his feet. He wanted to stay joined, but to doze, too, to drift away on the calming gift of their sex-fueled encounter—commingling sweat, semen, and experience, and knowing Hutch felt just as he did.

There had been love in the mix. Starsky had felt it in their mutual touches, but also in his heart-of-hearts. There was unconditional acceptance in what they had done, selfless giving, implicit trust in each other, unwavering loyalty; those were never absent and never had been. Starsky knew that—again—because Hutch had made certain to gratify him, despite having already exhausted himself. He even gave Starsky the liberty to enjoy his climax from a position of penetration—by inviting him into the mount so he could control his own pace, his own drive, his own sense of primal maleness.

Hutch also experienced the thrill of Starsky’s orgasm with him—evidenced by his weighted breath, his approving moans and his expressive grunts and his sensual kisses and sexy licks, the enthusiastic sucking and the tender caressing, all stimulating sensations that made Starsky feel desired, exhilarated, and relevant.

Hutch loved him. He’d proven it in big and small ways over the years, not the last or least of which had been in the past few months following that terrible shooting in the police station parking lot. He’d taken Starsky under his protective wing, helped him to fight frustration and hopelessness, rebuilt his confidence and his strength, allowed him to fail without judgement and to rise again.

But to cross that line into a taboo realm of sex and physical intimacy with Starsky was Hutch’s most telling and ultimate sacrifice—and yet they atoned for nothing. The love was simply that great. No one could give Starsky the uninhibited and always willing sex-making he craved as freely as this man did.

Starsky was again reminded of Hutch’s love when Hutch rolled into him, wrapped his arm around Starsky, pulled him close, and snugly held him in a warm embrace—as if he would never let Starsky go. Hutch’s warm breath was at Starsky’s ear as Hutch nuzzled his damp hair, tenderly kissed his neck, and eventually relaxed against him as they began their mutual return to sleep, together.

“Thanks, partner,” were Hutch’s playful words, as if he’d been the only one to benefit from their copulation.

“Any time,” Starsky affectionately replied, trying not to laugh as he tightly hugged Hutch’s arm to his haired chest and closed his eyes. He felt exceptionally safe in those minutes, appreciated and wanted in ways he’d never felt before, confirming again that he was ultimately where he was meant to be.

Wasn’t that what Hutch tried to tell him earlier in so many imperfect words? that, no matter where Starsky went or what Starsky did, he was to be in Hutch’s bed at the end of every day, in Hutch’s strong arms, wrapped in Hutch’s undying love—right where he belonged?

* * *

“Is that a bobcat?” Starsky wondered. He stood outside a cage beside Alec, having helped feed many of the animals that morning, and was surprised to see the wild cat, having never been that close to a feline predator of such size before.

“She’s actually an orphaned mountain lion,” Alec informed him.

Starsky took a step back after hearing that clarification; a mountain lion was a formidable beast. How could he have confused it with a bobcat?

“Easy mistake,” Alec added, but Starsky thought Alec was just trying to make his guest feel better for knowing so little about animals. “It’s just a cub,” Alec explained, “so you have the size right—and baby mountain lions have speckled coats, too, similar to lynx and bobcat. But you can always tell the difference by the length of their tails.”

Starsky hadn’t noticed the cat’s tail; still, he appreciated that Alec forgave him for being so ignorant. The Hidden Valley Wildlife Center sure was a fascinating place, hosting quite the menagerie of animals. Starsky had already helped feed coyotes and deer and birds of all kinds, and there were still many more animals to see.

He eventually discovered two horses, a donkey, and a mule, together in a sizable pen—which led him into a conversation about his and Alec’s mutual fiancé losses, ultimately sharing the private details of their past broken hearts. Starsky even confided in Alec about his fight with Hutch over Kira. Admittedly, his telling of his private life—where it concerned women—was actually his effort to convince Alec that he and Hutch weren’t gay. But it backfired on him.

“Who won the lady?” Alec asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“We compromised and invited her into a threesome,” Starsky remembered, sadly laughing because it really wasn’t all that funny, “but she didn’t want to join us, so we went our merry way without her.”

“Meaning just a twosome? Women aren’t worth it anymore?”

Starsky appreciated why Alec may have made that observation, so he quickly scrambled to repair it. “Hutch might not think so,” he said about Hutch’s perspective, stumbling over his answer when he realized he’d accidentally set himself up for more questions. He turned back to the fence to watch the horses, figuring the distraction would enable him to think better. “But … I mean … I’m still open to the big wide world of romance.” He assumed that little lie would have sent the message that he was a single man on the prowl for female flesh.

“Well, a man has to get laid now and then,” Alec empathized, joining Starsky at the fence.

But Starsky didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to keep stepping into the wrong dialogue. He decided it was time to change the conversation, or else get himself in deeper, so he asked about horses instead. “You think … like the song … that animals can talk?”

“I do think animals can talk,” Alec said with conviction, and sounding as if he was more than happy to abandon the personal conversation they’d been having, as if he’d sensed Starsky’s uneasiness with it. “If we listen closely, we can hear them,” Alec continued. “Take these horses, for example. They’re talking to us right now. If you pay attention, they’ll tell you what they’re saying.”

Starsky studied the animals, but none of them moved. The two horses stood tail-to-nose together, shooing the occasional fly from each other’s face with their tails, and the donkey grazed on what remained of the morning hay. Even the mule seemed to doze beside the cross-fence. Starsky didn’t hear or see anything that told him the animals were speaking.

“So, what are they saying to us, hm?”

“That they’re relaxed, content, untroubled.”

“Yeah, well, I mean, that’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? If this was a bunch of people lazing around, that’s what they’d be saying, too.”

“Up for a more in-depth lesson?” Alec asked, sounding hopeful. “I promise you won’t get hurt.”

“Sure,” Starsky said with a light laugh, realizing Alec knew him better than he’d previously imagined the man did; his host understood that his guest hadn’t much experience with animals, and therefore they made him nervous, especially big ones, like horses. “Tell me what else they’re saying.”

“Crawl through the fence and approach the horse who’s facing us. As you walk up to him—slowly—stop about five feet from him, and then tell me what you heard him tell you. You won’t have to touch him, just approach him and stop.”

Starsky had to look at Alec to make sure Alec wasn’t just playing one of Alec’s games to make Starsky look bad, having already confused a mountain lion for a bobcat, but Alec seemed serious. That, and Starsky was fairly certain Alec wouldn’t have suggested he enter a corral with horses even as a joke wherein Starsky could be injured. He trusted Alec at least that much.

So Starsky crawled through the wooden rails of the fence, feeling a bit anxious to now be within reach of the animals, but still trusting Alec not to do him wrong, and did as he’d been instructed; he stopped within five feet of the big brown horse who faced them.

The horse didn’t move or make a sound. Starsky waited. When he didn’t hear anything after half a minute, he looked over his shoulder at Alec. “Nothing,” he said. “Not a peep.”

“I beg to differ,” Alec argued, leaning his forearms on the middle fence rail while he watched through the slats. “Come back and walk up to him again, stopping where you did the first time.”

Starsky repeated the move, feeling less anxious because the horse hadn’t attacked him during the initial exercise. But the horse still didn’t make a sound. Starsky looked back at Alec. “You’re pulling my leg, hm? Making this city boy feel stupider than he already feels?”

“Not even a little—and you strike me far from stupid.”

“But he’s not saying anything.”

“You weren’t listening. Come back, walk up again, and this time, pay as close attention to his every move, even if it doesn’t seem significant.”

That time, when Starsky walked up to the horse, he noticed that the horse slightly lifted his head, but the horse continued to stand facing him without making a sound. The animal didn’t even seem to be looking right at him; his big brown eyes seemed as lazy as the rest of him.

“Did you see anything that time?” Alec asked.

“Just that he lifted his head a little,” Starsky answered, amused, knowing then that Alec was obviously making a fool of him, despite claiming that he wasn’t, “which tells me nothing.”

“Oh, he told you something all right,” Alec assured him.

“Yeah? What’d he say?”

“He said he doesn’t know you well enough to trust you.”

Starsky laughed, came back to the fence, and crawled through its slats to stand beside Alec again. “You’re as mean as Hutch can be sometimes,” he wryly noted, protectively crossing his arms over his chest to self-soothe and to dismiss his ignorance about animals. “You’re taking advantage of the things I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t being mean,” Alec defended himself. “Horses have monocular—as well as binocular—vision; their eyes are set on the sides of their heads, and each eye sees across an arc of about 200 degrees around the body at one time. In other words, it gives them fairly good peripheral vision, so much that they can see somewhat behind themselves, and—because they’re a prey species—their first instinct is to flee when threatened.”

“Okay, so he didn’t run away.”

“No, but he was preparing to run if you did something that posed a threat to him—perhaps as simple as getting close enough to him to do him harm—and, although he might not actually run away, he may have just moved away if you got closer.”

“How do you figure all this?”

“Because he lifted his head.”

“So?”

“He lifted his head in order to see over his shoulder and make sure that the path behind him was clear of obstacles in case he had to run. He was telling you he didn’t know you well enough to trust you and he was strategizing an escape route in case he needed one.”

Alec then climbed into the pen and approached the horse. “Notice how he doesn’t lift his head when I walk up to him—because he knows me. In fact, instead, he’ll check out my person to see if I’ve brought him a treat.”

Sure enough, Alec walked up to the horse, and the horse nuzzled Alec’s hands and torso as if searching for something sweet to eat; Alec gave him a good neck scratch and then came back to Starsky. “You go in again and walk up and watch what he does.”

The horse lifted his head when Starsky approached him for the fourth time. “Wow,” he said under his breath as he returned to Alec. “That’s amazing. I think he’s not saying anything, but he’s saying he’s gotta know his options when this stranger approaches.”

“That part in the song,” Alec reminded Starsky, “about whether animals can speak … ‘Who knows, perhaps they do … how do you know they don’t … just because they’ve never spoken to you?’”

“He was speaking to me,” Starsky realized, feeling awestruck and impressed, with a healthy degree of amazement and humility mixed in, “but I wasn’t hearing him because I wasn’t ‘listening.’”

“It’s that simple.”

“So, what you’re saying,” Starsky concluded, looking around the barn area as he surveyed all of the other cages and enclosures, “is that all of these animals are talking in ways like that.”

“They are.”

“And you hear them.”

“I do.”

“I can’t even imagine that.”

Starsky was so overwhelmed in that moment by the realization that Alec Henley lived in an entirely different world from the one Starsky had lived his entire life that he became emotional over the difference. His unspoken respect for Alec quadrupled. “You are amazing,” he said in a low voice, feeling at a loss for better words.

“Decades of practice,” Alec said, adding with a sad laugh, “and sometimes I learned those language lessons the hard way. I’d show you my battle scars, but we haven’t got all day.”

“So you must be good at reading people’s body language, too, hm? I mean, more than just the usual stuff?”

“I suppose so.”

“You’d make a good detective.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

If Alec knew he was in the company of two detectives that weekend, he’d know how deeply from the heart Starsky had believed what he said.

Hutch must have already known this about Alec—that Alec could ‘talk to the animals’ in those subtle, yet profound ways—because Hutch knew the words to that ‘Boy From the Country’ song long before he and his partner had arrived on the scene. It was in that moment, and not before, that Starsky suddenly felt as if he were the man in the middle. Alec had everything: health, looks, smarts, an affable personality, good and kind friends, an admirable job, and a fascinating life story.

Hutch could do so much better than David Starsky.

* * *

“How does he like his coffee?”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Sally wanted to know.

“Your boss.”

Starsky had seen glimpses of Alec through breaks in the crowd. Alec was never alone. There was always someone—or several someones—talking to him, and probably about animals. He was definitely a people-person, as much as he was one for ‘people’ who weren’t human. “Sugar?”

“No,” she said. “He likes it black.”

Starsky upturned two ceramic cups and poured coffee into each. He noticed the waxed box of almond milk, something he’d never heard of before, uncapped it, and sniffed the opening.

“It won’t kill you,” Sally insisted with a laugh. She’d followed him over to the coffee pot area, and apparently had questions of her own. “Where’s Hutch?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Starsky casually replied, bravely adding the almond milk to his coffee. “It’s not my day to watch him.”

“You guys seem joined at the hip.”

“Only because we arrived here together—into a wild beast farm—but he’s on his own now,” Starsky said with a snicker, as if he planned to leave Hutch to the predators. Hutch’s whereabouts wasn’t a lie; it just wasn’t the truth, either. “Why are you hoping to find him?”

Her stall in answering made Starsky look at her. He couldn’t help but notice her blue eyes and the coy expression on her pretty face. “He’s an old man, you know,” he playfully said. “He’d never be able to keep up with you.”

She giggled. “But he’s fun to talk to.”

“And fun to look at, too, I’ll bet.”

“He is beautiful.”

Didn’t Starsky know it. “But not as pretty as your boss.” He really didn’t mean to bait her, or even to make those comparisons, so he concentrated on dumping several heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup—and stirring.

“Alec and you are both older than Hutch,” Sally complained.

“How do you know that?”

“Because Hutch said he was the baby between you and him.”

Starsky laughed. “And how old did he tell you I am?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Yeah, well,” Starsky said in his own defense, “he’ll be my age at the end of this month, so don’t let him fool you.”

“Really? He has a birthday coming up in a week?”

“And then he’ll be as old as me,” Starsky said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Okay,” Sally surrendered, “but Alec isn’t as ‘pretty’ as Hutch.”

“He’s nicer, I’m guessing.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she quickly said, briefly touching Starsky’s arm as if to implore him. “I love Alec.”

“But?”

“But he doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

“How come?”

“He’s still getting over Emily.”

That’s what Tyler had told Starsky the night before, around the campfire, about why Alec was alone. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Starsky told Sally, genuinely concerned for the man, and not meaning to sound flippant when he added, “but time heals all wounds.”

“All the time in the world won’t change anything where I’m concerned,” she decided. She stood close to Starsky, as if she had been confiding in him all along, and didn’t seem fazed to realize Starsky had read her heart as well and as easily as he had. “He won’t mix business with pleasure.”

“Smart man,” Starsky commented. He set down the spoon and picked up both cups. “You’d be wise to listen,” he advised her. “In the meantime, when I see Hutch, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Don’t do that!” she giggled with embarrassment. “I don’t want him to think I’m a stalker.”

“Okay, then, if I see him, I’ll tell you where I saw him.”

She was happy with that plan, and they parted company.

When Starsky was finally able to approach Alec, he noticed that Alec was uncommonly on his own in that moment.

“I thought you left me,” Alec said when Starsky got close enough, and appearing pleased to lay eyes on him; at least that’s what his smile and warmth told Starsky.

Those were also the same words Hutch had used that morning when Starsky had returned to the bedroom after his shower.

‘I thought you left me.’

Alec and Hutch had the little things in common, too.

* * *

“I have to tell you, Starsk. You’ve been quite the champ on this trip. You can barely keep up with me on a city sidewalk and yet here you are on a hike in the Colorado wilderness.”

“Smart-ass,” Starsky mumbled under his breath. It was true; Starsky was usually the one to bring up the rear between them. “You have longer legs,” was his defense, “and you’re always in more of a hurry than I am.”

“So what are you telling me, buddy boy? That you’re lazy?”

“That you’re a smart-ass.”

In this case, they were ‘bringing up the rear’ on the hour-long hike from the Center to the field where the bald eagle would be released.

In moments of quiet, especially those occasional ones when Hutch immersed himself in the physical splendor of their surroundings, gazing up in awe at the trees and the blue sky and taking note of the meadow grasses and flowers they passed along the way, Starsky turned inward.

He kept his eyes on the worn dirt path along the scenic terrain. They’d left Hutch’s jacket and Starsky’s red sweatshirt behind, glad to be rid of the unnecessary weight, and felt the warm sunshine on their skin, their arms and their faces. It was a pleasant temperature. More than a hundred people had gathered for the hike to the release field, and Hutch had suggested—to keep a protective eye on everyone—that he and Starsky remain behind the group. It made for a more leisurely walk for them, but also lent itself to Starsky’s private musings.

He wanted to tell Hutch that he couldn’t shake being troubled by Hutch’s no-leash on him, that he was free to bed women if he wanted, and that he didn’t understand how Hutch couldn’t care if he did. But he also knew Hutch would never abandon him, even though he sometimes feared Hutch might, including that weekend, so why was Starsky feeling anxious about their stay among those people, especially one in particular?

At the same time, Starsky didn’t want to be anywhere else. He’d fallen in love with the casualness and the stress-free experience they were having. It was different from Yosemite, but no less spiritually healing. And he rather liked the way Hutch—despite their forever antagonistic banter—was enjoying himself, lost in the scenery, drinking in the aroma of wildflowers and fresh air, and having helped good people do better things.

Starsky slowed his step, and dropped slightly behind Hutch, to see how long it took his partner to notice he wasn’t beside him, but Hutch immediately—without missing a step—dropped back with him so they were shoulder-to-shoulder again.

“If we don’t end up living in a place like this,” Hutch said, sounding whimsical, and seeming not to notice that he’d just passed an unplanned test with flying colors, “we have to at least visit places like this a lot more often.”

Starsky was game. “So long as we don’t have to deal with bears, Hutch, I’ll gladly go anywhere.” They both knew he’d grown more fond of the wilderness since his visit to Yosemite. “I should have added Satanists to that list.”

“You have more to worry about from humans than from bears, Starsk.”

“Yeah? Suppose one showed up right now, hm? What would you do then, big man?”

Hutch laughed. “I’d let Alec Henley handle it.”

“Coward.”

“I’m the coward? You’re the one already worrying about bears. So, what would you do if one showed up right now, huh, smart guy?”

Starsky glanced around the forest as they walked, mentally measuring the height of trees he might climb if he was confronted by a bear, and then looked ahead along the line of people in front of them, finally spying their fearless leader. Hutch was right. Alec would be the one to handle the situation.

Hutch laughed, having read Starsky’s mind. “What’s that they say? We only have to run faster than the slowest person here?”

“That’s mean,” Starsky complained, “or did you not see that little old lady up there?”

“She’s not a little old lady; she can’t be more than fifty, fifty-five.”

Starsky liked how they’d separately sized up people; gathering data was simply in their blood, despite that they didn’t have much use for most of it. Always the detectives. That’s where he and Hutch were similar. Well, that way, and in so many other ways. They shared the same fears, losses, experiences, dreams, and convictions. Their lives were so intertwined, it wasn’t possible to separate them.

“Alec had a horse talk to me this morning,” he said, as if it had been a one-sided communication and not a conversation. “It was pretty awesome.”

“Yeah?”

“He said horses have macular vision—”

“Monocular.”

“Monocular.”

“Probably similar to moose elk,” Hutch imagined, but not with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Starsky realized, when he recalled that elk had eyes on the sides of their heads, too. “I wondered how he could know so much about horses given that he’s a wildlife biologist.”

“Are you feeling better about this guy?”

“I was never feeling bad about him,” Starsky defensively said. He didn’t say he felt threatened at times, or maybe just possessive, but his self-deprecating notions weren’t directed at Alec; Alec had done them no wrong. Starsky’s occasional negative feeling came from his personal fears, which he recognized as stupid in many ways, but he still didn’t fully understand why he had them.

“Besides,” he said, “it’s impossible to feel bad about a guy who’s one of the good guys, know what I mean?”

“You just don’t want a good guy to think you’re less-than-a good guy yourself.”

Hutch was right, again. “Yeah, I mean, we’re good cops, Hutch. We might stretch things sometimes, but overall, we’re good guys.”

“I think so,” Hutch agreed. “Our intentions are always good anyway.”

“Even between us,” Starsky added. He didn’t know why he expressed a sentiment that went without saying.

“I don’t know, Starsk,” Hutch warned him with a playful laugh, as he reached over and tousled Starsky’s hair before Starsky could pull away. “My intentions towards you are definitely salacious.”

* * *

“Checking out his ass, are ya, Hutch?”

Hutch had rolled onto his shoulder, off of Starsky’s knee, held his temple in his palm, and desirously watched Alec walk toward the area where he would eventually release a bald eagle into the wild—or so that was Starsky’s baseless interpretation of Hutch’s action.

Hutch didn’t say a word for half a minute, and then he turned back into Starsky when Alec finally disappeared into the crowd, rested his head in Starsky’s lap, and looked up at him. “Why would I want his ass when I have yours—a.k.a., the King of All Asses? Answer me that, genius.”

“Fresh meat,” Starsky said, noticing the deeper blue in Hutch’s eyes from all the clear sky above them. Hutch’s scruffy face was primal, manly, and male; everything about him was sexy beefiness. If only they could be alone in that meadow.

But wasn’t that every man’s dream? to penetrate as many orifices as one penis could manage in a lifetime? Starsky didn’t believe Hutch, especially knowing how similar Alec and Hutch were—on multiple levels. “Tell me again why you wouldn’t want that tight ass, Einstein?”

“I don’t fantasize about entering places I’m not welcome,” Hutch explained.

“You’re so full of shit,” Starsky laughed, pinching Hutch’s bicep to punish him for his dumb answer. Every man—straight or not—spent his lifetime scheming to find warm, wet, ‘tight places to bury his dick’—that’s what Starsky believed anyway. It didn’t mean he imagined ever topping a man—other than Hutch, and that was a whim he’d come by only recently—but Hutch’s reply wasn’t specific to men; he had generalized, and Starsky wouldn’t fall for it. Hutch had to be fantasizing about anal intercourse with Alec because Alec was a beautiful man—almost as beautiful as Hutch, and both men had just spent time in the grass together, sharing a banana.

“If he invited you into his ass,” Starsky argued, “you’d go for the gold, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re the one who says you’d fuck a snake if someone held its head, so if I agree to an invite from a member of my own species, male or female, don’t judge me for accepting it.”

Starsky reluctantly laughed and gave up on the needling. Hutch had won that round. “It sure is peaceful here,” he observed instead, exhaling a soft sigh of contentment, and surrendering to the unequivocal tranquility of the moment. The two of them were together in the grass in a Colorado wilderness meadow, enjoying fresh air, each other, and the timelessness of time.

“We should spend these moments reflecting on life’s big picture,” Hutch advised him, folding his hands over his belly, bending one leg, and propping his ankle on that knee. He seemed completely at peace in Starsky’s lap, lying on his back in the sunshine. “But it’s hard to think when all you can do in country like this is be in it.”

Starsky looked out to the pine and aspen trees that encircled their patch of ground. A layer of lavender blanketed the meadow, illuminating the presence of low-growing wildflowers where bees and butterflies most certainly fluttered about. Behind the canopy of trees lay the silhouettes of mountain peaks, inspiring Starsky’s lazy musings of ambitious pioneers and other past explorers.

“It does put life into perspective,” he eventually agreed, not to avoid argument, but to share his genuine view. “I mean, when all I can seem to think about are covered wagons and purple flowers, you know it’s having an affect on this city-biased brain.”

“We need more of this, Starsk.”

Starsky dropped his chin to look into Hutch’s eyes again. They gazed longingly at each other while Starsky considered Hutch’s wish; then he promised, “We will do more of this, partner.”

Hutch smiled at him, outwardly pleased. “Alec may not invite me into his ass,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, as if he was also disappointed, “but he may invite us into staying on as volunteers for a while—or into a job.”

“And you’d accept one?”

“I won’t do anything without you, but if he offered us work, we might at least consider it.”

“Whatever you want, Blondie”—and he meant it, sincerely.

“But if you’re asking me what I want right this minute,” Hutch added, sounding serious, “well, let’s just say that I’ve come to love sucking your dick.”

Starsky had been trying for sentimentality, but he would make Hutch’s desire a priority in a heartbeat if he could. He forced a grape into Hutch’s mouth and wished it were his penis instead. “Take that,” he said, enjoying the brief and sensual contact of his fingers with Hutch’s lips. “You can eat me later.”

Hutch rolled off of him, laughing, as if he planned to escape to someplace in the meadow where he wouldn’t be abused by his partner—all in lighthearted fun, of course. To keep him from going too far, Starsky crawled after him, catching Hutch a few feet from where they’d been lying, and coerced him into a playful wrestling match, using another force-fed grape as his reason for the pursuit.

But Hutch was stronger than Starsky—he always had been—and he was able to effectively keep Starsky at bay. After realizing he’d never get that juicy grape into Hutch’s mouth, Starsky straddled Hutch’s hips, leaned over him, and smiled into that beautiful blond’s perfect face. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said, eating the grape himself and enjoying the sweet taste, “but go ahead, guess what I’d rather shove in your mouth.”

“You wouldn’t have to shove it in,” Hutch said with a laugh as he held eye contact with Starsky—and allowing himself to be helpless beneath him. “You have the option of easing it in—like you did last night. I mean, you wouldn’t want me to accidentally bite it—thinking it was, you know, a grape.”

There was an unserious but veiled insult in Hutch’s witty retort. Without resistance, Starsky pinned Hutch’s arms to the ground at his wrists and leaned further over him so they were in each other’s face. He could feel Hutch’s bulge between his legs through their tight-fitting jeans, the reminder that Hutch’s penis was larger than his. The difference didn’t invoke feelings of inadequacy about his own, but he couldn’t let the wisecrack go without a reprimand. “Compare my dick to a grape one more time and I’ll never suck yours again.”

“Ooh,” Hutch said, as if he’d be dumb to choose the wrong side of Starsky’s ultimatum. “Then let me rephrase: I never did thank you last night for not choking me to death with that Big Boy.”

“That’s more like it.”

But Starsky didn’t want to be reminded of fellatio. Such further talk would only arouse him—and there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it with all the people around. Luckily, their dialogue had arrived at the perfect place to change the subject—and to one he’d been wanting to have. “Speaking of boners…”

Hutch licked his lips. “Go on.”

“I’ve a bone to pick with you.”

Hutch wiggled under him, mocking sexual excitement. “You’re going to strum my boner?”

“C’mon. Be serious with me.”

Hutch’s expression softened, became welcoming, despite that Starsky still straddled him and that Starsky had Hutch’s arms pinned to the ground. Both of them knew the position wasn’t necessary to pay attention to each other, but neither wanted to end the homoerotic connection, especially where their groins met.

“Go on,” Hutch said again, seriously that time. “I’m listening.”

“You said if I ever want pussy, I can have pussy.”

“I did say that,” Hutch admitted, waiting to learn more.

Starsky couldn’t tell if Hutch’s change in expression had simply been the seriousness of the comment he’d made, and one he wasn’t expecting, or that Hutch was about to take back what he’d earlier said. But Hutch cleared up that confusion when he added, “I meant it.”

“I thought you did.”

“So … is there some pussy … some babe here … you’d like to romance on this visit?” Hutch asked. “I can make myself scarce.”

Starsky frowned at him. “I don’t want pussy.”

“Okay.”

He could tell Hutch didn’t understand, so he tried to explain it. “Why would I want pussy when I have you?”

“Because I have a dick?”

“I mean, when we know we can have sex with each other any time we want it, why would I go looking for it someplace else?”

“Because we’re not gay, Starsk. It wouldn’t make sense that you would only want sex with a man for the rest of your life.”

“But that man is you.”

“A man, just the same.”

How could he make Hutch understand how frustrated and hurt he was increasingly feeling? “Let me put it to you this way, Hutch. You said you don’t want pussy because you’re in love with me.”

“That’s true, too,” Hutch agreed.

“So how come I can’t feel the same as you, hm?”

“I didn’t say you can’t feel the same; I’m saying if you don’t feel the same, you’re free to have your needs met, enjoy your life—so long as you’re in our bed every night.”

“And what does that look like, Casanova? I take some woman out to dinner, wine-and-dine her, go back to her place—or some motel or a rest stop on the side of the road—fuck her until I’m done, and then kiss her goodbye, come home to you?”

Hutch closed his mouth, so tightly that Starsky couldn’t read him. He loosened his grip on Hutch’s wrists as if that might help Hutch to say something, but Hutch didn’t. Starsky finally had to order an answer. “Talk to me.”

“If you want pussy, Starsk, you’ll find a way to get it.”

“But that’s not the issue.”

“Then tell me the issue because I’m apparently not getting your point.”

“Why would you let me fuck someone else?”

“If it made you happy …”

“Let’s turn the tables. It wouldn’t make me happy if you fucked somebody else.”

Hutch closed his mouth again.

“C’mon, man,” Starsky complained. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“What’s not to tell? Let’s turn the tables back and go with what I’m trying to get through your thick skull—and that’s this: I want you to be happy—whatever it takes.”

“Because?”

“Because I love you.”

“I love you, too, but I don’t want you fucking other people.”

“You do you, Starsk.”

Starsky sat back over Hutch’s hips, folded his arms across his chest, and stared down at him. There was definitely a missing piece. Why was Hutch as elusive as he was defensive? “Is it that you want one of those pretty blondes yourself tonight?”

“No,” Hutch said with a laugh, as if Starsky hadn’t heard him the first time. “I’m not looking for someone else to lay. I have you.”

“That’s how I feel about you.”

“Okay, so why are we having this conversation?”

“Because your overall position on this matter is …”

“ … is … what, Starsk?”

“ … confusing.”

“I don’t know how to say it any plainer.”

“It’s also …”

“What, exactly?”

“ … hurtful.”

Hutch sobered, cocked his head against the ground, as if he tried hard to understand Starsky better, or to protect himself from what he’d apparently—and unintentionally—done. “I never meant to hurt you by it.”

“But, I mean, how can you not care about me bedding some other babe?”

Hutch didn’t say anything, again.

“If we feel for each other what we say we do,” Starsky argued, trying a different approach, “then why wouldn’t it matter to you if I snagged pussy now and again? Make it make sense to me because it doesn’t.”

“If I tell you the part you’re missing, then you won’t feel free to live your life the way you would otherwise choose to live it.”

“Okay, well, now that you’ve said that, you know you have to tell me the rest of it, right?”

“It will mean that everything before this conversation will be dead in the water,” Hutch warned him.

“I’m not looking for pussy, pal, so just tell me what it is I need to know.”

Hutch seemed to brave what he next told Starsky; he had no choice. “I never said I’d be happy if you went outside of our bed for sex.”

Starsky thought he heard what Hutch had just told him, but he wanted confirmation. “You’re saying you would be upset if I played around?”

“A huge amount upset,” Hutch confessed. He, too, had crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect himself from a truth he could barely admit. “It’s important to me that you feel free to enjoy your life—however you want to live it. I can’t stress that enough.”

“You’re saying this because I nearly got killed three months ago.”

Hutch visibly choked back the emotion he apparently felt when he replied, “We were given another chance, Starsk. Things can turn on a dime; we can’t depend on the next minute to keep us safe.”

“And this is why you’re hoping Alec Henley will offer us a job, so we can get out of the city and away from the bullets.”

“I still love what we do, don’t get me wrong, and I’ll continue to do it if that’s what we both want.”

“We’ve had this talk before,” Starsky reminded him.

“We’re still having it because we’re in the middle of this beautiful country—and because you’ve been confused about why I’m willing to let you off the leash whenever you want to explore.”

Starsky enjoyed the feel of Hutch beneath him, the bulk and the weight of him, the man’s sexiness and his presence, snug between Starsky’s thighs and knees, right where he wanted Hutch to be. It hadn’t occurred to him that Hutch didn’t want him to bed women, just that Hutch was giving Starsky the gift of freedom if he wished to have it.

Starsky carefully eyed his partner as he gave the situation its due consideration. Would he do anything for Hutch’s happiness?

“What about this idea?” Hutch cautiously proposed, sensing Starsky’s rumination, dropping open his arms, caressing Starsky’s thighs, and not leaving eye contact; it seemed he wanted to soothe Starsky’s angst while he suggested a possible alternative to their predicament. “Suppose we decide together whether one of us gets to play with a woman he might have a craving for?”

“You mean we get the other guy’s permission first—or not at all.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think such a day might come along?”

“Because we can’t predict the future.”

“I can predict I’ll always love you.”

Hutch smiled, but continued the debate. “We are straight, lover boy—except when it comes to each other. Suppose we get cravings, needs, wants, desires we can’t satisfy with a dick in our mouths? What then?”

“So, in other words, if one of us sees a pretty girl and we want to have sex with her, we talk to the other of us and work out what to do?”

“We avoid another Kira situation that way.”

Starsky considered Hutch’s idea, still not certain he could reciprocate. “And if the other of us doesn’t want the needy one to have what he needs, the needy one has to abide by the other one’s feelings, right?”

“Or he finds a way—with his partner’s help—to get what he needs.”

“How would he do that?”

“Maybe he arranges for a chaperone—or a threesome.”

“I like that idea,” Starsky impulsively said, also realizing in that moment, sitting with Hutch in the meadow, feeling a sense of liberation already, that he was reacting to his deeper sexual urges, and not what his mind and heart would have told him in a saner moment.

But, in the end, isn’t that what Hutch had been saying all along? Those unexpected feelings would need to be addressed, just as they were being discussed right then.

“Let’s start now,” Hutch concluded, ending the conversation about third parties, and going for the present, not the future. “Be honest and tell me if there’s someone here who’s caught your eye?”

“Besides you?” Starsky asked with a wry smile and a wink. “No one. What about you?”

“Same. No one.”

Starsky smiled at him; his fears and his trouble had been laid to rest. He inevitably let Hutch go, swinging his leg over Hutch to dismount from him, and to lie on his back instead. They were side-by-side in the grass as they stared up at the sky together, little to no dialogue between them, except to discuss the pristine-ness of the blue dome overhead or the eagle who was about to be set free into it.

After several wordless minutes, Hutch rose to his elbow and rolled into Starsky. He was rather snug against him, the way two lovers would naturally be, amplifying Starsky’s enjoyment of the affectionate, full-length contact of their warm bodies beside each other’s.

“You know what I think, Starsk?”

Starsky shifted his eyes over and looked into those precious blue ones. He waited to hear what Hutch had been thinking during the peaceful moments they’d shared while staring at the sky, but he was also content just to gaze into Hutch’s beautiful face, too.

“I don’t think I could have found a better person to spend the rest of my life with,” Hutch said, gripping Starsky’s chin to keep eye contact with him, as if he could lose it, “even if I searched the world over a thousand lifetimes. You’re everything to me, buddy boy. All I want in life is for you to be happy.”

Starsky lifted his hand to caress Hutch’s cheek, to let him know he was genuinely moved, felt loved and likewise, was grateful for Hutch’s affection—but Hutch quickly thwarted him.

“I know what you’re wanting,” Hutch gently said, grabbing Starsky’s forearm and holding it to Starsky’s chest. He knew the touch would be way too intimate. “I want it, too—but we can’t.”

“I was only going to touch your face,” Starsky explained,

“You know you can’t—not like that.”

“I was sitting on you a minute ago.”

“We could call that wrestling. But this other thing …”

“It wasn’t like I was going to fuck you out here in the open,” Starsky argued defensively, feeling both disappointed and hurt.

“I know that.”

“I wasn’t even going to kiss you, for crissakes.”

“I know that, too. But given half a chance, I’d kiss you out here—for starters,” Hutch added with a wink, “if there weren’t all these people around.”

Starsky knew Hutch was right and he felt soothed by the notion that they would kiss each other if no one else was around; he could at least dream, so he did. “You’d kiss me, Hutch?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“You’d kiss me out in the open, right here, right now, if you could?”

“Right here and right now.”

Starsky played off the song. “In the grass, Hutch?”

Hutch smiled at him, realizing what Starsky intended, and echoed, “Right here, right now, in the grass.”

“And it won’t pay no mind?”

“No mind at all.”

Starsky’s dream lived on; it was only the crowd that stopped it in its tracks. “Maybe someday, Hutch.”

“Maybe someday I can kiss you in the grass?”

“Maybe someday you can kiss me right here and right now because people will be more like grass.”

* * *

When Starsky saw Alec holding a bald eagle in his arms—the nation’s most iconic symbol, alert and alive and about to be returned to the wild—the word ‘awesome’ impulsively passed through his mind—and not just because the rare bird, with her fierce yellow eyes and white-feathered head, was magnificent to behold, but because Alec was equally as awe-inspiring. Through his selfless compassion and his dedication to such painstaking work, he epitomized the principled essence of his own species, the one to which Starsky belonged; the cop in him should be so admirable.

“On the count of three,” Alec said as he carefully shifted the raptor away from his body, one hand clasping her legs, his other around the front of her neck and breast. He had left his jacket at the Center prior to the hike, as did everyone else, and Starsky could then see the man’s muscled arms, making him wonder how heavy the eagle was. She appeared weighty, given her enormous size, but Starsky knew enough about birds to know they had hollow bones, too. Despite his musings, would her flight be clumsy as she left Alec’s arms?

In the end, Starsky was empty of any real thought as the crowd counted down from three with Alec—and then watched as Liberty’s savior threw her upward into the air, her large wings effortlessly unfolding at the very moment she escaped his hands. She was finally airborne! Cheers and applause and laughter followed in the wake behind her as she headed undeterred for the sky, promising survival for an endangered species with every beat of her wings.

Starsky didn’t take his eyes off Liberty until she was high enough to coast on the air, gliding in a wide circle not far from where she’d been released—and was breathtaking to behold—leaving his study only because he’d been jarred out of it by what he heard. He was standing beside Hutch and near Alec, and quickly dropped his gaze from Liberty’s flight to Alec when Alec voiced a private sentiment to himself.

“This feeling never gets old.”

Starsky was certain Alec spoke those words to an audience of one because Alec said them in a breathless voice, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs, as if purely subconsciously, driven by his irrepressible excitement. He continued to watch Liberty, showing no signs that he even knew anyone else existed in those precious, long-awaited moments; he’d been that spellbound, that caught up in his own feelings of liberated joy.

Starsky was flooded by a mix of emotions, ones that liberated him from his own personal prison. Alec Henley’s life had just flashed before Starsky’s eyes: Alec’s years of schooling, the uncountable lectures and witness statements, the teachings—in and out of classrooms—the lobbying and the legislative writing, the enormous volume of reading and data-collecting, the healing and the losses of both man and beast, the life experiences that only one person could claim as his own, someone of his apparent dedication and passion, his lofty dreams and his secret hopes, all summed up in that single moment in time.

To choke back what he was feeling, Starsky glanced over at Hutch, feeling suddenly privileged all over again to be in the presence of a man who was equally as honorable: Hutch’s years of training, his dependability and his honesty, his implicit trust and unconditional love, his smarts and his universal knowledge, his kindness and his strength, his forgiveness and his devotion. More, that Starsky could call Hutch his friend, his partner, his hero, his lover. His soulmate.

Starsky was drawn to both men, attracted to only one, in love for the first time in his life in ways he never thought possible. The awakening of his senses and his sensibilities to the virtues of his most prized possession—Detective Ken Hutchinson—had been an epiphany set in motion by a lone, recovered bald eagle in glorious flight. Maybe Starsky wasn’t as disconnected from what it meant to be human, from all that was nature and natural, as he sometimes believed he was.

The crowd unexpectedly erupted in a wave of delighted surprise—a collective burst of ‘Oh!’ broke into Starsky’s thoughts and subsequently ended his emotional self-immersion; Alec had pointed to a different spot above the trees and Starsky immediately looked up: a large raptor had suddenly flapped into view, joining Liberty in her circle against the blue sky. There was no mistaking its white tail and head for anything other than a bald eagle’s.

“Do you see that?” Alec asked, triumphantly, and seemingly to no one in particular. “Do you see that?” he repeated, lowering his voice and controlling its direction as he dropped his chin, turned his head, and looked at Hutch. Alec’s eyes were ablaze with a thrill no man could put into words—except to silently convey them right into Hutch’s soul from his own.

Starsky would never forget how bonded the two men had just become—and he wasn’t, surprisingly, jealous anymore, nor did he feel threatened. He reveled in their communion, imagining how they each felt and why, and was glad they’d found each other in that unparalleled circumstance.

But Hutch’s and Alec’s eye contact didn’t last long because Alec was immediately surrounded by people asking him questions while the frenzied clicks of camera shutters continued to fill the air. Starsky had heard the unspoken conversation between Hutch and Alec—and he couldn’t help but notice how euphoric the wordless connection had made his partner.

“You okay?” he asked Hutch, having closed the narrow distance between them. He held Hutch’s arm to steady him. “Vertigo?”

“I was transported,” Hutch explained, appearing bewildered and overwhelmed at once. How could he not be? Hutch was a nature boy at heart and such moments—especially one as profound as that one—immeasurably affected him.

“But you’re okay, right?” Starsky asked, wanting confirmation for that bigger picture, and no longer concerned for himself and his place in it.

“Couldn’t be better, buddy,” Hutch said, affectionately squeezing Starsky’s neck. “We got more than we signed up for today.”

They had indeed.

Starsky looked up at the eagles in the near distance and realized he and Hutch had doubled the experience, having visited the sanctuary to see a single bird, and instead were privileged to have witnessed the flight of two. “That was really something, Hutch,” he agreed. “Makes you ashamed to be human and proud to be one at the same time.”

“You amaze me sometimes, Starsk,” Hutch said, breathlessly.

“I do?” Starsky asked, looking into Hutch’s eyes again. Between the two men—Alec and Hutch—Starsky was the city boy, the man in the middle. Although he didn’t feel ‘less than,’ the very last thing he felt was amazing. “Me?”

“You cut through the haze, see things so clearly,” Hutch explained. “I suppose that’s what makes you a good detective.”

“You’re not making fun of me, are you, Hutch?” He believed Hutch had been sincere, but he wanted to know it.

“I’d kiss you on the mouth if I could,” Hutch said with a wink, echoing his earlier sentiment, when he and Starsky lay in the meadow together and wished for such freedom. Hutch never appeared more exhilarated than he did that afternoon—his blue eyes and unshaven face, his heartfelt passion and his deep joy, his forever affection and his unbreakable loyalty, too. “I’m not making fun,” he promised. “I’m feeling grateful.”

“For bald eagles?” Starsky playfully wondered, not baiting him, but wordlessly recognizing Hutch’s illumination on their special relationship, a proven and durable bond no man could put asunder—not even the ever-beautiful Alec Henley.

“For you,” Hutch defined his gratitude. “Always for you.”

* * *

“So I guess this is where we rewrite the rules we made this afternoon, hm?”

Hutch smiled at him, obviously amused by the question. “At least revise them,” he agreed. “Maybe we just replace the word ‘woman’ with ‘person’?”

Starsky thought back over the conversation they’d had in the meadow prior to Liberty’s release, where he and Hutch discussed the guidelines should either of them develop ‘cravings’ for the kind of sex they could only have with women. He outlined them aloud as he recalled the stipulations.

“We talk about it first; the needy one can’t have his needs met if the other one doesn’t approve, but the other one has the option of being a chaperone or taking part in a threesome to satisfy the needy one. Did I remember that right?”

“That about sums it up.”

Hutch looked rather scrumptious to Starsky in the table’s soft candlelight. Theirs had been a satisfying dinner, complete with chocolate dessert and red wine, and Alec’s mostly fascinating company, and they were left to themselves to finish the debate about how to answer Alec’s invitation for sex. The ambiance in the restaurant was still romantic, as was its peaceful feel and warmth.

Added to the relaxation he felt were Hutch’s affirmations of his love and commitment to his partner; Starsky no longer feared he’d be abandoned for someone he believed was more worthy. Hutch loved Starsky that much.

Starsky also didn’t think he needed anyone else to keep sex exciting and fulfilling for him, but Hutch obviously wanted to play with the older boy. Maybe it would help if Hutch explained why.

“What about him makes you want to think about laying in bed with him, sucking his dick, hm?”

“Lying.”

“He’s lying?”

“Lying in bed with him, not laying.”

Starsky rolled his eyes, ignored Hutch, and dug deeper, but playfully. “Do you think he’s a better cock-sucker?”

“Than you? Not on your life.”

“Is it the anal attraction?”

“Being fucked and sucked at the same time sounds intriguing—once we got past the pain, that is.”

“If it’s done right, there won’t be pain.”

“Says you.”

They kept their voices low while their words aroused them; at least, Starsky was feeling somewhat stimulated.

“But we can get sucked and fucked at the same time with a girl,” Starsky reminded him, as if he had to, not sure in that moment if he cared who the other party was, but still wanting to know Hutch’s mind. “If we hire one, we won’t need to worry about attached strings.”

It was Hutch’s turn to roll his eyes. “Really, Starsk? Let’s do something illegal so we can do something … libidinous?”

“Whatever that means.”

“I think you got my point.”

“Yeah, okay. I was just thinking about the no-strings-attached part.”

Hutch leaned on the table, made closer eye contact, kept his voice to just above the noise of chatty patrons. He still hadn’t touched his coffee. “Rimming sounds … titillating.”

It certainly had its … charm, Starsky thought, but he wasn’t sure he could provide that specific pleasure, not even for Hutch. Maybe sex with Alec would give Hutch his fantasy without Starsky having to furnish it; he didn’t even want to picture it in his mind, lest it inspire feelings he couldn’t deal with that minute.

Regardless, the reasons for obliging Alec’s and Hutch’s desires were winning.

“Do you need me to define titillating?” Hutch sarcastically asked when it seemed he’d waited long enough for a reaction from Starsky.

Starsky laughed. “No,” he emphatically said, adding a smirk. “I’m just keeping score.”

“Two to zero?” Hutch calculated. He’d apparently been keeping track of the tally, too. “Alec might teach us something we don’t know,” he added, sounding as if he didn’t mean to offend Starsky’s knowledge or experience. “We’ve been at this man-on-man thing, what, a couple of days all told? It sounds like he’s been at it for years.”

“A couple of days of well-practiced sucking,” Starsky said with pride and a lick of his lips. “I don’t know if we need any more instruction on that.”

“But we can’t know what we don’t know,” Hutch argued. “Maybe we learn something.”

“Three to zero,” Starsky admitted.

“Four to zero if you add the no-strings element,” Hutch said.

Starsky needed something to squash his hardening penis, something to take the dialogue down a notch. “Suppose he’s an axe murderer and we’re his next victims?”

Hutch laughed, shook his head to scold Starsky’s absurd question, both of them knowing it hadn’t been serious.

“Okay, but suppose he isn’t any good in bed, hm? What then, Hutchy Hutch Hutch?” His nonsensical distractions were helping him keep his sexual urges under control, despite how dumb they were—or maybe because of them.

“Then we get him—and us—off and call it a night.”

Everything was sound—except the elephant in the room. “Playing with each other is one thing,” Starsky said, sobering in his assessment, not wanting to dilute his concerns, and more than happy to leave the restaurant for the two-bed hotel room Alec had bought them just to enjoy themselves. “But playing with another guy … that’s …”

“Gay?”

“How do we get around that one? I mean, if we’re doing this because he’s got the same parts, isn’t that what it makes us—gay?”

“So what if it does?”

“C’mon, Hutch. We can’t have both been born this way.”

“It might explain the draw we had to each other.”

Starsky didn’t like where the conversation had just taken him. The idea that they were gay was a foreign concept he couldn’t quite assimilate; it would change everything about how he’d viewed himself and the world he’d grown up in; he would be pressed to reevaluate every relationship he’d had—and religion itself.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” he decided, certain of his propensities, biology, sexuality, “but—speaking only for myself here—I know I moved on you last week for the first time because I love the goddamn shit out of you, and not because all along I’ve had these urges for you—or any other guy, for that matter.”

“You can speak for me in that regard, too,” Hutch said with a gentle smile, as if he strove to ease Starsky’s concerns and hadn’t meant to trigger him. “So maybe our romp with another man just makes us male—and sexual—and human. Maybe, like Alec says, we don’t have to put a label on it. We just enjoy it for what it is.”

Hutch obviously wanted to lay/lie with Alec; Starsky couldn’t even fault him for his reasons, not the least of which was for sex and sex alone. The score was five to zero.

The only decision Starsky had left to make was whether he would give Hutch permission to have sex with Alec by himself, chaperone the two of them as they sexually engaged each other—as a kind of babysitter, or voyeur—or participate in an all-male threesome. The one thing Starsky knew for certain was that Hutch and Alec would be given their chance to enjoy sexual pleasure together.

Starsky loved Hutch that much.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: THE MEN IN THE MIDDLE

Scene One: David Starsky

“Would you like to do the honors or shall I?” Hutch asked, the two of them pausing outside Room 312.

“What’s the matter with you?” Starsky joked, choosing to be the braver one to knock. “Nervous?”

“A little,” Hutch admitted, despite that he looked cool, calm, and collected—and sexy beautiful. He hadn’t shaved, nor had Starsky, even though they’d taken the time to clean up after dinner.

Hutch was so desirable, Starsky could eat him right there in the hallway: Hutch’s scruffy face, his washed blond hair, those damn blue eyes. The dim light and the muted wallpaper and the paisley carpet also lent themselves to romance and anything goes. But he didn’t expect to learn that Hutch felt anxious; Hutch was usually the calmer one between them—more cerebral, not so viscerally impulsive. “How come you’re nervous?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Starsk. Maybe because I’ve never done anything like this before?”

“Do you want to change your mind?”

“And let you go in there by yourself?”

“You can come in and watch,” Starsky suggested; he wasn’t serious.

“You’re not doing this without me,” Hutch warned him, poking Starsky in the belly, “and I’m not doing it without you.”

Starsky figured as much, despite that he wasn’t sure about his own feelings, especially when the door opened just then and took their attention off themselves. Reality had arrived.

Alec expectedly stood in the doorway, appearing the epitome of relaxation, dressed in sweat pants and a partially unbuttoned flannel shirt, revealing the patch of hair on his chest that Starsky had imagined was there. A silver chain graced his neck, dangling a small medallion that momentarily caught the glint of light from the hallway.

“Good evening, boys,” he said in a warm and welcoming voice, opening the door wider so Starsky and Hutch could pass, and not hiding the deeply pleased smile on his handsome face.

Starsky led the way into the room, immediately discovering how much bigger it was than the one he and Hutch had just spent time in—grooming themselves, redressing. They didn’t have Alec’s luxury of a wardrobe to choose from, having only brought a clean button-down shirt each to wear for that romantic night in Denver they had planned—but they were overall washed and smelled good.

Starsky also noticed the canopy bed right away, itself a sight to behold with its deep mahogany wooden frame, numerous inviting pillows, hand-carved headboard, and plush gold comforter; two matching nightstands flanked each side of the bed with old-fashioned, stained-glass lamps on them. Along with the candles Alec had obviously placed around the room, the lamps were the only other light to welcome them, and served their purpose to set a sultry mood.

“Nicely done,” Hutch said, looking about, hands in his back jeans pockets, appearing as awkward as he implied he was prior to entering the room. “Quite the place, this hotel.”

“Great view, too!” Starsky commented, bee-lining for the window. He couldn’t help but admire the ambiance in and outside the room; he and Hutch had spent post-dinner time in the two-bed suite—one floor below and an entire wing over—hurrying to clean up before their date, so quickly that they didn’t spend a single moment enjoying the hotel’s quaint features until they’d arrived in Alec’s room.

Beyond the open-draped window, the parking lot lampposts shined their own version of romance into the equation, and the silhouetted mountains—along with the starry night sky that was illuminated by its nearly full moon—served to remind Starsky that the humbling magnificence of nature was ever-present. There was something comforting in its spatial view, a reminder that they were all animals, driven by forces much greater than themselves.

“You have no idea how excited I am to see you both,” Alec said, closing the door, and drawing his guests’ attention. “I was just about to take care of myself when you knocked.”

“Happy to interrupt,” Hutch said, sounding relieved by their timing.

“We had to shower first,” Starsky explained, almost embarrassed to admit it, adding with a laugh, “and we couldn’t do it together or we’d have no reason to be here right now.” Starsky had made a point to stay out of the bathroom while Hutch showered first; one look at his naked man and he would have foregone Alec’s invitation, but he really didn’t want to deprive Hutch of the threesome experience. “We might be late,” Starsky added, “but we’re not derelicts.”

“I should have factored that in,” Alec confessed with a light laugh of his own, “but my excitement got ahead of me—because I am a derelict.” He winked at the men and then seriously added, “For the record, I also had a shower. Brushed my teeth and everything.”

“So did we,” Starsky said, noting again how relaxed and gentle Alec appeared, especially in the room’s ambient glow. “When you get close enough, you’ll be glad we did.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Alec promised, masculine voice. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Male. “Meanwhile,” he said, releasing an audible exhale, and not seeming to notice Starsky’s close study, “let’s assume we’re all nervous about tonight—but in an excited kind of way?”

Starsky exchanged knowing eye contact with Hutch, recognizing his own trepidation, and not realizing he’d harbored any until that moment. Hutch finally seemed more relaxed, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. There was no wondering why anyone wouldn’t find Hutch attractive—male or female, gay or straight. The same went for Alec Henley. But the last person Starsky thought would be anxious was Alec; the threesome had been Alec’s proposition, after all. Alec’s nervousness and excitement helped to ease Starsky’s, too; they weren’t alone in how they felt—none of them.

Starsky then spied the wine bottle. “Oh, hey!”

“Ah, yes, a much better way to break the ice,” Alec agreed as he walked over to the dresser. “I even brought two glasses in my duffel bag—and, surprisingly, they didn’t break.” He poured wine into an empty glass; the other was already half-full. “I figured you won’t mind sharing?” He held a single glass out for Starsky to take, making both police officers chuckle when Alec’s observation about their personal behavior with each other sank in a moment later.

“Don’t mind if we do,” Starsky said, joining Alec at the dresser as Hutch neared him, and taking the first sip. He enjoyed its flavor as much as its immediate and calming effect on him. “It looks like we have the same taste in wine, too.” He turned the bottle toward Alec to show off its label, having recognized it. “That’s the same kind we brought you yesterday.”

“Because it’s one of the bottles you gave us,” Alec explained. “Kee and I and some other team members finished off the first bottle last night—and then I had this need to share the other one with you guys, so I hid it until I could sneak it off the property.”

“Clever move,” Hutch noted, drinking from the glass Starsky handed him. “I’m glad to know it’s good, too. We wouldn’t have wanted to bring you anything but the best.”

“Thank you for thinking of me that way,” Alec politely said, raising his glass in their direction. “So here’s to whatever wonderful things happen in this room tonight.” He spoke for all three men in hoping it would go well. “Another way to break what remains of the ice,” he added after the toast, “is to take an ice pick to it.”

“Did you happen to bring one of those in your duffel bag?” Hutch jokingly asked. His soft smile and eager posture conveyed his subtle desire to begin what they’d all come for. He softly smiled at Starsky when he apparently read Starsky’s similar mind.

Starsky didn’t feel sexually aroused, but studying Hutch made him long for physical contact—and sooner rather than later. Why delay the inevitable?

“Let’s begin by choosing our safe words,” Alec suggested. “Mine is coyote; my favorite animal.”

“Oh, yeah?” Starsky asked, recalling the unprecedented experience he’d had that morning feeding an actual coyote. “How come it’s your favorite?”

“Coyotes are super smart,” Alec explained, “and they’re the most persecuted wild animal in America. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say I have this thing for underdogs—pun intended.”

“We hear ya,” Starsky replied; he and Hutch were champions of underdogs in human form. “Okay … so … my safe word is … spaghetti. My favorite food.”

Alec smiled, charmed, as if Starsky was sweetly sentimental, and obviously recalling Starsky’s meal choice at their shared dinner that night. He then waited for Hutch’s answer.

“Grass,” Hutch said with a wry smile as he made eye contact with Starsky. “My favorite thing to lie in.”

Starsky kissed the air at him—remembering their intimacy in the meadow earlier that afternoon—while Neil Diamond song lyrics played in his head. Hutch sure knew how to wordlessly romance him.

After a short conversation about how easy it had been for Starsky and Hutch to find the Stanley Hotel—and how utterly gorgeous it was—Alec walked to the far side of the bed, glass in hand. “What do you think about this idea?” he proposed. “Since you’re already familiar with each other—making me the odd-man-out—what if you two start things off, and I’ll watch? When it seems like a good time to join the fun, I’ll wiggle my way … in.”

Only then did Starsky hear the radio’s classical music playing at a low volume. Before leaving Los Angeles, he and Hutch had planned a romantic night such as the one they were having; its only difference was the involvement of a third-party—but that would only enhance their experience, not detract from it. He was finally certain of that notion when he remembered that Alec Henley was an honorable man, and not someone he and Hutch had solicited off the street. That, and there wasn’t anything Starsky wouldn’t do for his beloved Hutch.

Alec sat in the armchair near the bed, on the opposite side of the room from the window, leaned back into it, as if he planned to be there a while, and looked rather comfortable, even inviting, in his loose-fitting clothes and warm socks. Harmless, but undeniably and assertively male.

Hutch meanwhile sat on the bed, near Alec’s chair, and at the edge of the mattress, with his feet on the floor and his hands in his lap, holding the wine glass. After a wordless moment, he looked up at Starsky and handed him the empty stemware. “A little more of that, partner?” he wishfully said.

“Top you off?” Starsky asked Alec after he walked to the dresser and poured wine into his and Hutch’s shared glass.

“I’m good,” Alec decided, showing he had what must have been enough for him. “Since we’re about to enter a sure thing, I think it’s safe for me to confess that I’m already getting hard. The booze took the edge off, but you boys are already a thrill just to lay eyes on.”

“Imagine that,” Starsky said as he returned to Hutch. He drank from the glass and then handed it to his man. “Let’s hope his head doesn’t explode when I take my shirt off.”

“At least not that head,” Alec quipped, reluctantly laughing at their follow-up eye rolls. “Speaking of heads … I should tell you guys now that I have an above-average-sized dick; maybe not all that special to look at, but I’ll do my best to help you enjoy it.”

“Same here,” Starsky admitted, not bragging; no point in waiting to prove or deny it. “But Blondie will make up any difference in size for us—and he’s all natural, too, if you know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean,” Alec said under his breath as if that bit of knowledge heightened his already growing erection. “Lucky boy.”

Hutch raised the glass to own the facts. “All the more to share, I guess,” he shyly said. He then scowled at Starsky for embarrassing him. “Before you say another word and get me in deeper, Starsk, why don’t you come down here and give this old man a kiss?”

“He insults us,” Starsky said to Alec as he set the wine glass on the nearby nightstand and used it for balance while he unlaced and removed his shoes, followed by his wristwatch. “He’s the youngest one in the room.”

“Ouch,” Alec empathized. “So, in other words, if he’s old, what does that make us? But I get the feeling you’re both around the same age and you’re going to make this much older man feel years younger.”

“Is that how it works?” Hutch pretended to wonder. He handed Starsky the wine glass. “Then we’ll do our best not to wear you out,” he promised Alec. He stood and pulled the comforter and blanket to the foot of the mattress, leaving the top sheet in place.

“Here’s hoping you do wear me out,” Alec begged them. “Over and over again.”

“What’s this stuff?” Starsky asked when he saw the small plastic bottle beside the table lamp. He picked up the bottle to examine it more closely and noticed that it didn’t have a label.

“Lubricant,” Alec said. “It’s edible and organic and relatively tasteless. Made from almonds. If you’ve never used it before, you’re going to leave here tomorrow and immediately buy stock in it. Mark my words.”

Starsky put the bottle back on the table. “See, Hutch?” he noted. “We’ve learned something already.”

“I doubt I have anything to teach you,” Alec said, making brief eye contact with Starsky when Starsky looked over at him to silently disagree. Alec acquiesced. “Okay, so maybe this will turn out to be a mutually educational experience.”

“I like that idea,” Starsky said, but still not knowing what he could possibly teach a man who remembered to bring lubricant to a sex party, and who’d also been the one to make sure they knew each other’s safe words going in. “I hate to think we came empty-handed.”

“We brought the wine,” Hutch reminded Starsky with a playful raise of his eyebrow. “In a roundabout way.” He returned to his original seat on the mattress, leaving Starsky to wonder which one of them was going to make the initial move.

“I’m already getting a lot out of this get-together just being in your presence,” Alec assured them. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex with men—and I’m savoring every second of the buildup.”

“On that note,” Starsky concluded when he realized he was going to have to be the one to take the first ‘intimate’ step, “let’s start this party rocking.” He knelt on the area rug at Hutch’s feet and sat back on his heels. “Once we get this beautiful blond’s clothes off of him,” he told Alec, “we’ll realize we’ve passed the point of no return, and there’s nothing left to feel nervous about.” The wine enabled Starsky to help Hutch untie and remove his shoes—while another man watched them.

“I love how you guys are so comfortable with each other,” Alec observed, as if on cue. “It was something I noticed about you the minute you arrived yesterday morning; it’s what drew me to you both.”

Although Alec couldn’t see him do it, seated as Alec was off Starsky’s right shoulder, Starsky looked up into Hutch’s blue and gentle eyes twinkling from the amber light of the table lamp and surrounding candles, and melted into the moment. It wasn’t just sex they’d come for: there was ambiance, affection, playfulness, romance, excitement, sensuality, tenderness—and, of course, that very familiar love they passionately safeguarded for themselves—all wrapped up in the mix.

Starsky could no longer wait another second to lay his hands on Hutch. He rose to his knees inside Hutch’s legs, rested his arms on Hutch’s thighs, and tenderly kissed Hutch’s receptive lips. All of their talk in the meadow earlier, especially about kissing, made this new kiss so very special; it felt long overdue and was highly anticipated.

Hutch was generous in kind, sucking Starsky’s tongue as their wet lips ratcheted up Starsky’s desire for something elusively deeper. He soon felt Hutch’s hands loosen the buttons on his shirt as they noisily smacked lips together—quiet, gentle, loving sounds that seemed to dance with the soothing music and at nearly the same volume. There was also a shared and labored breath between them, coupled by a swelling warmth within both men—Starsky could feel Hutch’s mounting heat as keenly as he was consumed by his own.

The beauty of having sex with a man also lay in the conscious awareness that neither of them had to wait for some magical moment to engage their penises. Foreplay was fun, but actual contact with their hardening shafts wasn’t something they needed to tease.

Starsky stood, breaking contact with Hutch’s sensual mouth, but he wanted to undress, which he did, stripping out of his shirt and tossing it to the foot of the bed—all while keeping eye contact with Hutch’s beautiful eyes and expectant expression. He watched Hutch watch him unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and lower them to the floor, feeling the night’s cool air tickle his skin—and Hutch’s attention stimulate his flesh. Starsky’s penis had already risen to half-mast when it was freed from its confines; it further swelled just from Hutch laying eyes on it.

Behind Starsky, Alec audibly exhaled. “Damn,” he whispered, drawing Hutch’s attention. “That ass,” he further commented, as if he’d never seen anything sexier in his life and he was sure Hutch hadn’t, either. “I couldn’t even picture it in my mind looking that gorgeous—and believe me: I did a lot of picturing.”

Starsky saw Hutch give Alec a warm smile and a knowing wink, telling their new friend that Starsky’s sexy ass would be their secret—and obviously pretending that Starsky wasn’t in the room to witness their wordless exchange.

“You guys know I’m standing right here in front of you, right?” Starsky playfully complained. “Stark naked, no less.” He rotated his hips and bounced his penis to draw Hutch’s attention back to himself. “I can hear everything you say—and even what you don’t say.”

“I’m not trying to hide it,” Alec promised. “Your ass is—”

“—perfect,” Hutch remarked, laying eyes on Starsky’s stiffened penis again, and finishing the sentence for Alec as he apparently recalled his own mental picture of Starsky’s bared buttocks from memory.

“Hutch has the frontal view right now,” Alec continued, “and I get the backside view. I’m honestly not sure which of us is the luckier man. Show me your dick, Starsky. Allow me to decide.”

They flattered Starsky, but he couldn’t say so; he was distracted by his arousal, his desire, Hutch’s appearance, the familiar bulge in Hutch’s crotch, behind that zipper, what lay ahead. Fueled by those things and the wine he’d consumed, he unabashedly turned toward Alec and rotated his hips again to flaunt his erection. The remaining ice had finally been broken.

“Ah, yes, a delicious cock to go with that ass,” Alec noted, licking his lips as he closely studied it from his seat in the chair. “Just what I expected to see: a sexy body, too.” He leaned over to set his wine glass on the nightstand, and then sat back to rub himself through his sweat clothes. “Carry on, boys.”

Starsky chuckled and then knelt again on the carpeted floor between Hutch’s legs. He unbuttoned Hutch’s waistband—endeavoring to open the zipper as well—while Hutch did likewise with the buttons on his own shirt, but Starsky’s excitement interfered in his de-robing skills; he fumbled with the zipper.

That was when it sounded to Starsky that Alec stood and undressed there behind him. “I can’t hold out any longer,” Alec explained, shortly thereafter kneeling beside Starsky on the area rug, and sounding as if he needed forgiveness for his urgent actions. “Besides, you boys look like you can use some help,” he joked.

Starsky stole kisses from Hutch’s lips in between Hutch and Alec removing Hutch’s shirt and Starsky finally unzipping Hutch’s jeans. Hutch deliberately obliged every lip contact despite the awkward unveiling; they were all determined and extremely motivated.

But Alec seemed more interested in Starsky’s body; perhaps because Starsky was the only one of his two guests who was completely nude. Alec’s breath was accelerated, audible at a higher pitch when he caressed Starsky’s chest and occasionally squeezed the closest of Starsky’s nipples. “I just knew you were hairy,” Alec whispered with a distinct hint of delight in his voice. “Primal man.”

“Wait until you see Hutch naked,” Starsky replied, sitting back so Hutch could stand to take off his jeans. “Not that I’m comparing, but his body is … you know … beautiful.” Starsky did steal a glance—dropped his chin, turned his head—to examine Alec’s handsome erection, and noticing only that it had a slightly narrower girth than his own.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Starsky,” Alec advised him. “You ooze sex out of every pore—and that’s beautiful on a whole other level.”

How could Starsky not be fond of Alec? The man made him feel good just from his words alone. They left Starsky speechless.

And whether Alec could be stiffer, larger, meatier, was still an unknown, but Starsky did like the overall picture of him, not as hairy chested as Starsky, not bare like Hutch, definitely aroused and hungry and, of course, obviously able to deliver on his promises of engagement; determination shined in his friendly blue eyes.

“Oh, yes,” Alec agreed when Hutch rose to remove his jeans and could no longer conceal his engorged phallus; it had emerged from its foreskin, but wasn’t fully erect—perhaps Hutch was still a bit shy. “That’s one beautiful cock.”

“It tastes good, too,” Starsky said, pushing Hutch back to his butt on the mattress while Alec moved Hutch’s jeans out of their way on the floor.

Hutch had been relatively quiet during that engagement; his breathing had evolved into panting—and he drew a deeper breath when Starsky’s mouth made contact with his enlivened skin. Starsky began with dry kisses over Hutch’s tumescent shaft, holding it at the perfect angle to indulge him. In hindsight, Starsky would realize he’d never fellated Hutch while kneeling in front of him. Another first.

Alec approvingly moaned, combing Starsky’s hair as he stroked his head in earnest reply to each of Starsky’s touches, undoubtedly enjoying the look of Hutch’s pleasure-seeking erection being tantalized by the warmth and tenderness of Starsky’s soft lips. Starsky could picture the picture in his own mind—enhanced by his occasional glance up at Hutch, noticing Hutch’s closed eyes, the underside of his chin, and that pant of pure bliss escaping with his every breath.

It must have been an even different image to have been an onlooker: two men kneeling on the floor beside a bed while another sat on its mattress, all three nude and visibly sexually aroused, one giving oral pleasure, the other watching. That visual alone was arousing for Starsky—in ways he hadn’t imagined a threesome could be. Hutch was right: they might just learn something from the experience after all—and it had only just begun.

He pulled Hutch’s rigid penis away from his bared belly for a more direct approach and swallowed its head into the whole of his mouth, tickling its frenulum with his tongue on the entry. He knew where to find the most sensitive area of a penis, and knew Hutch knew it, too; did Alec know? Alec might appreciate receiving that pleasure, but did he have the mindfulness to bestow it? and which of the two cops would get to find out?

Starsky heard a faint snap beside him; Alec opened a condom? a beer? Starsky couldn’t tell, but he was soon caught up again in delivering the perfect thrusting stroke to Hutch’s quivering organ, tasting its pre-cum in that moment and using its lubricious texture to give Hutch an even deeper pleasure. Hutch’s more audible moan in that moment told him he had succeeded.

Only when he felt Alec beside him again and Alec’s hand finally take a hold of Starsky’s wanting penis did Starsky realize what he’d heard: the opening of the lubricant bottle. Alec’s fingers were slick with its evidence, immediately coating Starsky’s head and shaft in a perfectly tight grip of absolute ecstasy. Without losing momentum in pleasuring Hutch, Starsky arched his back to give Alec more room to stroke him.

“You’re so hard,” Alec whispered, kissing Starsky’s shoulder, pumping Starsky’s penis with long strokes from its base to just that point of leaving its tip, and then swallowing it in his hand again. He had the perfect slide; not too tight, not too loose. “You’re so hard because you love your man’s cock, don’t you, boy?”

Starsky moaned in affirmation, feeling dazzled by the feel of Hutch’s stiffened shaft in his mouth, wet with saliva and pre-cum, while Alec’s hand firmly and generously stroked him. Shouldn’t Starsky return the pleasure? But he couldn’t seem to let go of Hutch to do so.

“If you could see how absolutely beautiful you look sucking his cock,” Alec continued, his voice breathless and warm where it sometimes touched Starsky’s skin, “and how much he’s at your mercy—because he feels so goddamn good—you’d know why I can’t engage right now. I’d come in a second.” Alec had read Starsky’s mind, forgiving Starsky for not reciprocating.

For a similar moment, Starsky thought he might come, too, if Alec hadn’t stalled the last stroke when he did—as if he knew Starsky’s mind even more. The visual Alec had painted for Starsky—of himself kneeling between Hutch’s legs, devouring his stiff erection, his skin glistening in candlelight, pleasuring Hutch; of Hutch lying back on the bed, feet on the floor, hands on Starsky’s hands, arms, face, head, immensely enjoying the bliss; and another man, a beautiful one, naked himself, watching them—just about put Starsky over the edge right then.

Something in the oil Alec used—much like the slippery feel of a well-aroused vagina—brought Starsky closer to orgasm than he anticipated he’d be. Or maybe a male-only threesome did have its benefits. There was no guessing that they all felt the arousal and desire equally.

“Let me taste his cock on your mouth,” Alec said, sounding hopeful, not demanding, and slowing his stroke of Starsky’s penis, lightening its firmness, so Starsky could comply if he wished.

The erotic interruption would do them all good—give Hutch time to lengthen his enjoyment, Starsky time to control his ending, and Alec his first true intimacy of the sex they were having. Starsky slid Hutch from his mouth on the upstroke and turned his head toward Alec, their lips finding each other’s almost immediately. Alec’s eyes were closed, his moans were expressive of his gratifying kisses, his tongue probing and licking Starsky’s mouth as if he really did want to taste Hutch’s skin, his scent, his heat, but he wanted to taste Starsky, too.

Hutch had been abandoned and only his giggle brought the other two men back to his attention. Starsky had truly invested in the sucking kisses he shared with Alec, smelling a new scent, one fresh and different from Hutch, a mix of cologne and saliva, a gentler tongue, somewhat sweeter lips, seemingly sensitive to every nuance of their sucks, licks, kisses, nibbles. Starsky was surprised by how much he liked kissing Alec, not to compare to Hutch, by any means, but that he would find pleasure in enjoying another man’s mouth on his was surprising.

Alec ended the contact, opened his eyes, continued to slowly pump Starsky’s penis in his well-lubricated hand, keeping it hard and in heightened arousal. “How about he fucks you?” Alec said about Hutch copulating Starsky. He tried a shy smile as if he thought he was asking for a lot, and added, “I’ll suck your cock while he does.”

“I’m game,” Hutch said with a light laugh.

His voice brought Starsky out of his delirium enough to realize he’d completely abandoned his partner. Hutch had been left to fondle himself, had turned his head, met Starsky’s eyes with his own beautiful blue ones, and raised his eyebrow as if to ask, “Would you mind so much if I did?”

For a man not certain earlier whether he would or could allow Hutch to anally enter him, Starsky was suddenly quite willing. Arousal perhaps had given him the courage or the desire or whatever it was that moved him out of both his kneeling position and Alec’s accommodating, pleasure-giving hand. But when he crawled onto the mattress beside Hutch, he felt Alec clasp his ankle.

“Wait,” Alec said, as if on second thought. “Not so fast.” Alec had presumably seen Starsky’s backside in full view—on his hands-and-knees at the edge of the mattress—and had a sudden change in plans. His oiled fingers slid up Starsky’s legs and over his buttocks. “I want to suck your cock first,” he explained, “and we’re in no real hurry, are we?”

Hutch lay on his back beside Starsky, golden in the amber light of candles and table lamps, naked and relaxed, open to the experience, watching Starsky’s face, gently smiling at him, as if he would wait forever to be included in the sex-making. But Starsky’s attention was slowly leaving Hutch; he was distracted by the feel of Alec’s wet mouth on his penis, Alec’s oiled hand, his sucking and his kisses, the warmth of his skin, and the pleasure Alec slowly built for him between his legs and throughout his body.

Starsky was on his hands and knees still, having been stalled in that position when Alec had grabbed his ankle; the touch alone had promised erotic pleasure and was soon followed by the sexy touches of his suitor. Starsky was unable to move; he didn’t want to, and so he couldn’t. He dropped his head, closed his eyes, allowed himself the freedom to be pleasured from behind, a fellatio position he’d never experienced before. It had its own unique sensations, subjecting him to a kind of helplessness he rather enjoyed.

“Is he being good to you?” Hutch gently asked, slipping his hand under Starsky and caressing Starsky’s haired belly and his thighs, perhaps knowingly heightening Starsky’s bliss. “Is he sucking you good, Starsk?”

Starsky could only answer with a heavier breath. Alec’s hand and mouth, working together, stroked his shaft, caressed its crown, tantalized its frenulum, leaving Starsky incapable of speech.

“Kiss me,” Hutch said, tugging at Starsky’s arm. “Let me feel what you’re feeling.” He still had to encourage Starsky to indulge him by leaning into him and forcing Starsky to open his eyes.

Hutch’s blue ones sparkled; that man was so beautiful. Starsky would always know it. He didn’t leave Hutch wanting. They kissed, sucked each other’s tongues, smelt each other’s familiar breath, licked lips. But it was as if Alec knew how to enhance their kissing; he slowed the pace of his pumps, lightened his touch, delivered softer kisses to the insides of Starsky’s legs, teasing his penis.

“He smells good, too,” Alec said in between devouring Starsky with his mouth and then with his hand. “He tastes and smells so good. You lucky dog, Hutch.”

Starsky had never experienced what he was privileged to be feeling: kissing Hutch while someone else provided him with the promise of an orgasm. He broke a light sweat. But for the life of him, he couldn’t hold on: the building ecstasy in his penis pressured him into abandoning Hutch, to catch his breath long enough to tell Alec, “I think I’m gonna come.”

Alec wouldn’t let him. He broke all contact, save the tender kisses he trailed over the backs of Starsky’s thighs, and the softer licks over his scrotum. “We’re in no hurry,” he reminded Starsky in a whisper.

Starsky crossed his arms on the mattress and set his forehead into them, still up on his knees, still very exposed to Alec’s sensual caresses—Alec’s hands and his lips, his warm breath and gentle nibbles. Starsky was also aware of Hutch’s shift on the bed, but he himself was too selfishly needy to investigate. He’d come so close to orgasm, and then it eluded him again, leaving him with no recourse but to hide behind his eyes and silently pray for mercy.

It was Alec’s unexpected licking of Starsky’s anus that Starsky wasn’t prepared for; it internally startled him, yet he didn’t pull away from it. Not in his entire lifetime had he such an experience; it made him lightheaded. “Oh,” was all he could manage to say. The touch was slick—almond oil mixed with saliva, no doubt—and deliberate as Alec’s fingers spread Starsky’s buttocks to deeply probe his indentation with his tongue.

“Oh, Jesus,” Starsky said, his eyes closed more tightly as he concentrated on the feel; it was taboo, but not in a shameful way; it was unique, in a thrilling kind of way; it was immensely personal and primal. And when Alec traded off-and-on between licking Starsky’s anus with sucking and stroking his penis, Starsky almost reached that compelling crest again. There were hands and mouth and tongue and oil and hot blood and quivering skin and heavy breath and perspiration and warmth and tenderness—coming at him all at once.

But Alec abruptly paused the action—as if, again, he knew right when to do so. “I’ll suck his dick from the front,” he told Hutch, “while you fuck him. But I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

Luckily, one man still had his wits about him. “Use some of this,” Alec said, presumably handing Hutch the small bottle of oil, “and keep in mind that a little goes a long way.”

Starsky opened his eyes and climbed back to all-fours, dropping his head to see his own penis pointing directly at him. He couldn’t remember a time he was that hard, leaving him hoping he wouldn’t ejaculate just from the idea of what was about to happen to him, especially because he didn’t want to disappoint Hutch.

“Move further onto the bed,” Hutch instructed him, lightly tapping Starsky’s inner thigh to explain which direction, and all three men made the reposition in unison. They were finally lengthwise on the mattress with enough room for the triple joining; Starsky on his hands and knees, Hutch behind him on his, and Alec lying beside Starsky at the edge of the mattress, but more toward the foot of the bed so he could pleasure Starsky while Hutch penetrated him.

Hutch drizzled oil over Starsky’s bared buttocks—close to their division—and then spread them with his fingers or his fingers and thumb; Starsky couldn’t tell which and didn’t have the mental capacity to guess, either—to lubricate the opening with a generous amount of the emollient. He heard Hutch snap the bottle closed and toss it nearby.

Beautiful music played and the anticipation was electrifying.

While Hutch must have coated his own penis with oil—its hardened shaft, fleshy crown, heated skin—Starsky felt Hutch’s meat slide against and up his oiled perineum while Alec resumed the slow and sensual manual pumping of Starsky’s erection—that time from the front, his head under Starsky while Starsky remained positioned on his hands and knees.

All three men panted heavily, gratifyingly moaned, deeply sighed, grunted; Starsky occasionally watched Alec stroke himself as Alec’s gaze drank in the visual eroticism between them, and was stimulated by the pleasure he knew Alec had to be experiencing—though it couldn’t hold a candle to the ecstasy Starsky felt.

“Come on back,” Hutch told him, pulling Starsky’s hips against his own for a better angle.

Starsky didn’t need Hutch to tell him to relax—and Hutch didn’t ask him to—because Starsky by then so wanted to feel Hutch inside him, he all but verbally begged for it. Alec’s oiled hand and soon his lubricious mouth sensually pleasuring Starsky’s swelled penis was all the relaxation Starsky needed to release the muscles in his pelvis, all the way into his legs and feet, and allow Hutch that glorious and initial push into him.

The entry was so well-lubricated with an amazing viscousness that, despite Hutch’s notable size, or maybe because of it, he slowly slid into Starsky, as if he’d made such an entry before, as if he appreciated the delicacy of the joining, and knowing that it was to be special, not just easy. It was their first time, after all.

Never in his entire life’s story, not even during the past week when their relationship crossed its line into something extremely intimate, did Starsky imagine he’d be as connected to Hutch as he was right at that moment. It was one thing to be of the same mind, to be of similar beliefs and convictions, to have shared life experiences, to be mutually respected and trustworthy—yet another to be in each other’s arms—but it was an altogether different and extraordinary thing to feel Hutch inside him.

There was simply nothing else like it on earth.

Starsky had also become so delirious by the joining that he couldn’t know or assimilate what it said about him and how he felt about Hutch to have allowed Hutch such an intimate entry.

“Oh, Starsk,” Hutch whispered as he penetrated deeper, pushing all the way in, as far as he could physically go, and then holding them for a minute in that suspended connection, as if, perhaps, he’d just become aware of the exceptional circumstance himself.

Starsky could only get enough oxygen by breathing through his mouth; he tightly closed his eyes and focused his senses at the intersection of their union: Hutch’s fully erect penis deep inside him, dilating him more than he would have thought possible, and seeming to throb, at least to be filled with a pulsing aliveness. Hutch filled him with warmth, with wet, with blood and skin, with hardness, and that ever-present promise of monumental pleasure.

Starsky had waited a lifetime for something he never knew he wanted.

“This feels so good,” Hutch swore, lightly laughing, as he bent over Starsky and whispered in his ear, but obviously trading in his own experience for his partner’s. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” Starsky whispered on an exhale. He closed his eyes, allowed the rising wave of pleasure to build from the unexpected inclusion of Alec’s lips and skilled hand as it massaged and stroked Starsky’s shaft, head, edge of crown, frenulum—with the whole of Alec’s palm, his fingers, his thumb. The crest of orgasm washed over Starsky as Hutch slowly withdrew, a slide that seemed to last forever, and the returning sensation of thrust inside him, long and deliberate, and Starsky couldn’t help but warn both men of his impending surrender. “I’m going to come,” he said between heavy breaths.

Alec’s hand immediately came off of him—ending the stroke—and the stall succeeded. The man was so good at timing; maybe too good.

Starsky whimpered when he realized he wouldn’t get to have his ejaculation just then. “Please,” was all he could think to say, as if that word alone would deliver it for him. But it didn’t.

Hutch eased out of Starsky to the very tip of his penis, and then drove back into him, forcing Starsky to rebuild his momentum, but from a higher plateau that time. Alec also shifted on the bed, slightly changing his position to gently fondle Starsky’s sac; he carefully massaged each testicle, alternating between pleasuring Starsky’s scrotum and stroking his perineum with fresh lube. Starsky imagined, during brief pauses, that Alec also pleasured Hutch’s sac and Hutch’s penis when it made its appearances during his increasingly paced thrusts in and out of Starsky from tip to base and back again.

Starsky could barely catch his breath as the dual sensations tantalized him and spun his head in circles. Hutch’s penis in, Alec’s downstroke on Starsky’s shaft at the same time; Hutch’s penis out, Alec’s upstroke—over and again in tandem, repeatedly and without hesitation, deeply and without resistance, slick overall with a viscous wetness, and extremely skilled, as if both of Starsky’s partners on that bed had practiced their technique on him numerous times and had it down to a science.

Starsky occasionally opened his eyes and looked under himself to watch Alec pump him, to see the tangle of feet, legs, hands, arms—Hutch’s bulging sac, Alec’s hardened erection aimed at him—and Hutch’s deliberations: his thighs slapping Starsky’s with every penetration. Starsky even noticed the length of time the light entered the space between them on each of Hutch’s near-withdrawals, and how closer in duration they became as Hutch’s thrusts grew faster, became forceful and more desperate.

“Suck him,” Hutch said to Alec, his tone almost demanding, and giving away his own need to ejaculate. The wet tightness of Starsky’s relaxed and inviting anus, and Starsky’s pushback into Hutch’s hips to encourage stronger and more aggressive thrusts were about to do in his partner.

In the end, it was Starsky who was first brought to that apex—especially when Alec’s mouth obediently devoured his crown and sucked Starsky’s shaft into the back of his throat—and out again, repeatedly, matching the accelerating pace of Hutch’s deep and rhythmic penetrations—spurring Starsky’s increasing whimpers and “Oh!”s. “Oh, yes, fuck … suck me,” he finally cried out, as both men delivered on their promises.

The perfect strokes of Hutch’s near-bursting shaft, coupled with its fleshy hardness on each slick withdrawal to its tip, and the inevitable deep entry on its return, were amplified by the repeated sound of Hutch’s thighs slapping Starsky’s buttocks on his determined plunges into him. He tightly gripped Starsky’s hips and let go of a final moan of pleasure. “I’m coming,” Hutch blurted. “I’m coming hard.”

Hutch’s orgasmic pleasure pushed Starsky’s ejaculation into its long-awaited existence; he didn’t have time to warn Alec. The wave of ecstasy overtook him in a second and, as Hutch emptied his sac into Starsky, holding tight against him as he surrendered the deposit, Starsky did likewise into Alec’s throat. He cried out when the initial pulse of pleasure overtook and overwhelmed him, and then whimpered with each of its diminishing, but still pleasurable, spasms of spurts.

Alec seemed to have no trouble swallowing it as he pumped himself with presumably an oiled hand and continued to suck Starsky’s still-swelled penis while he did so.

Starsky felt numb and weak all at once, but was unable to move until Hutch slowly withdrew from him—another long and glorious slide, this one relieving in its departure. Starsky’s legs trembled, but he had to wait for Alec to release him, too. When both men finally pulled away—Hutch to the middle of the mattress at Starsky’s left, Alec to the narrow space he’d been granted to Starsky’s right—Starsky finally collapsed onto his belly, gulping for air, and feeling his heart pound so hard he thought it might explode out of his chest.

One man still sought a climax. Alec gripped the back of Starsky’s knee with one hand while he pumped himself with the other, his heavy breathing becoming deeper and more labored as he approached his own inevitable. Starsky almost felt sorry for him—that Alec had to pleasure himself, especially after having been the one to create such a magical night, but Starsky was in no position to oblige him; he was exhausted, still recovering from an unprecedented experience that had drained him, both physically and emotionally.

Alec bringing himself to orgasm wasn’t how Hutch apparently wanted the threesome to end, either. After a minute of listening to Alec pleasure himself, Hutch rose to his elbow, leaned over Starsky, and grabbed Alec’s hand, succeeding in stopping his masturbation.

“Come over here,” Hutch breathlessly told him. “I’ll finish you.”

* * *

Starsky thought he may have blacked out for a time. He was drugged by the euphoria he’d experienced and only realized it when he slowly came to his senses. Above the soothing classical music still playing, he heard deep breathing and quiet moans, the sound of moist skin rubbing against itself, and the sometimes rapid rhythm of … masturbation? Didn’t Hutch stop Alec from continuing in that vein?

Starsky opened his eyes. The lamps were on and the candles still burned; the amber glow in the room was comforting; the night air had cooled his earlier perspiration.

He couldn’t remember hearing or seeing it, but Alec had obviously joined Hutch, laid down on Hutch’s offside, and Hutch had rolled away from Starsky to position himself for pleasing his still-needy lover.

An expression of irrepressible bliss dressed Alec’s whiskered face; the boy was in heaven as he watched Hutch provide him with unexpected fellatio. Hutch had straddled Alec’s calves, was bent over him, propped on one hand, and devoured Alec’s erection, pumping Alec with his free hand and his mouth while Alec’s fingers entangled Hutch’s blond hair. Both men had apparently broken a light sweat and their skin glistened in the candlelight.

Starsky closed his eyes and listened for several minutes to the noises both men made—to their soft grunts, Alec’s approving whispers, the heavy breath amplified between them. The rhythm Starsky had heard was the penis-pumping; the wet skin was oil, saliva, and pre-cum, mixed into the friction. Hutch had been generous to fellate Alec after having spent himself inside Starsky; Starsky could never have summoned the energy.

He opened his eyes again and noticed more closely that that was Alec’s hardened penis in Hutch’s mouth; those were Hutch’s closed eyes, seeming to enjoy the giving, that was Hutch swallowing another man’s meat, licking its swelled shaft, tantalizing its sweet spot, sucking the sensitive edge of its crown, building its ecstasy in his perfect grip and timing. What a thing to see: Hutch giving another man head—and enjoying the task.

“I’m coming,” Alec eventually said, each word uttered between his deepening breaths, as if he would never be able to finish the two-word sentence. He loosened his grip on Hutch’s hair so he could free his giver into obliging him, and the inevitable spill soon arrived. Alec’s grunt was deep, long-lasting, and proof enough of his orgasm.

Hutch didn’t let him go; he’d taken Alec’s phallus as far into his mouth as he could, no doubt eating the delivery of semen as its ecstasy-filled spasms deposited the creamy load into the back of his throat.

Or so that’s how it appeared to Starsky. It wouldn’t have been the first time Hutch ate semen. Nor would it be his last, Starsky mused, though this was another man’s cum. Hutch didn’t open his eyes while Alec writhed and ejaculated into his tight mouth, but Starsky closed his.

He’d seen enough.

* * *

Scene Two: Ken Hutchinson

* * *

There was no man more beautiful to Ken Hutchinson than David Starsky—and he was reminded of that fact when he gazed on Starsky lying on the bed beside him in the warmth of candlelight and total abandon. There were no criminal elements lurking in a shady background, no abandoned children to rescue, no violence against women to intercept, no crimes to solve, reports to file, cars to chase. There was purely time stand-still, contented exhaustion, and the stillness of night.

Starsky was asleep on his back, one arm snug between himself and Hutch, his other hand resting on his belly—which slowly rose and fell with every deep and lengthy breath he took. His skin had cooled, no longer glistened with perspiration, and his closed-eyes expression was relaxed, satisfied, oblivious.

Everything about Starsky was familiar to Hutch—even what he couldn’t see in that moment: Starsky’s bedroom blue eyes; even what he couldn’t hear: Starsky’s deep and masculine voice. But Hutch relished what he could see and hear: Starsky’s very male, very handsome and whiskered face, his muscular, hairy chest and body, his darker skin and nipples, and his precious breath.

After orally bringing Alec to his long-anticipated orgasm, Hutch had rolled off of his grateful lover and away from Starsky, to Alec’s right—not out of conscious want or intention, but simply because he collapsed in that direction. The three men then dozed for a couple of hours, their collective, soft breathing the only sound in the room besides the still-playing classical music on an all-night radio station.

No man touched the other; each was lost in his own experience and slumber. But as time slowly passed, the cool night air dropped enough in temperature to wake Hutch from his dreams. He got off the bed to close the window, after first taking a deep breath of the nighttime freshness, and then went into the bathroom to relieve his bladder, closing the door behind him to keep from waking the others.

Despite that it was past midnight—or maybe because the night was still young—he brushed his teeth and quickly showered, specifically to wash his well-used penis and sac. Afterward, he splashed some of Alec’s cologne on his face and towel-dried his hair until it was acceptably damp before he returned to the bedroom, arriving as naked as when he’d left.

Alec was sprawled on his back, fully nude and deep in sleep, and Starsky had since rolled onto his shoulder and faced the opposite wall.

As Hutch walked past the foot of the bed to Starsky’s side, he glanced at Alec’s flaccid, circumcised penis, sizing it up even then, and fondly remembering its taste, the feel of its heated skin, and the undeniable enjoyment he provided Alec with his wet mouth. Hutch’s gaze then lingered on his partner’s hairless sexy buttocks and back and his hairy, muscled legs—while the reminder of his copulation with Starsky further stimulated him.

He then turned off the lamp on Starsky’s nightstand, figuring Starsky would appreciate not having the glare in his face, even with his eyes closed, and also turned off the lamp on Alec’s side of the bed. The room dimmed, but was still lit by candlelight, easing darkness and softening the ambiance into something even more perfect.

Hutch then lay down on the king-sized bed between Alec and Starsky and rolled to his shoulder to continue studying Starsky’s bared back and his naked buttocks, the shape of his muscled bicep, his head and his thick, dark hair, noticing how it came to a near-perfect point at the nape of Starsky’s strong neck.

Neither of Hutch’s lovers snored; Alec’s breathing was noticeably quieter than Starsky’s, but Starsky wasn’t noisy, either; he had obviously rolled onto his side when Hutch disappeared into the bathroom. Perhaps the noise from the shower had disturbed his sleep. Or maybe he was actually awake, drifting in a kind of conscious oblivion.

“Starsk?” Hutch whispered, hoping to make contact, but Starsky didn’t respond. Hutch simply wanted an inventory, to get a read, a kind of assessment of his partner’s mental and emotional state.

Who knew Starsky would have been the first to be mounted by the other? Hutch couldn’t remember the details of their conversations two days earlier when Starsky attempted to penetrate him in the shower and Hutch had resisted so curtly, but he knew they would deflower Hutch while they were in Denver. Was the plan to do likewise to Starsky? The answer no longer mattered; Hutch had since taken him. Maybe the unplanned, unexpected, impulsive coupling made it all the sexier, too. After all, Starsky sure seemed non-resistant—in fact, quite enthusiastic—to Hutch’s entry that night.

The intercourse memory stirred a new arousal in Hutch. He’d never experienced a joining as deeply pleasurable as the one he’d felt sharing an orgasm in that manner with Starsky. Only great love and trust made it possible.

Never in his entire life’s story, not even when their relationship crossed its line into something extremely intimate, did Hutch imagine he’d be as connected to Starsky as he was when he entered his partner’s body with his own. It was one thing to be of the same mind, to be of similar beliefs and convictions, to have shared life experiences, to be mutually respected and trustworthy—yet another to be in each other’s arms—but it was an altogether different and extraordinary event to be inside Starsky in the way that he had been. There was simply nothing else like it on earth. Hutch had waited a lifetime for something he never knew he wanted.

“Hey,” he whispered, tempted to touch Starsky, but rethinking it first. Starsky should sleep if sleep was what he needed.

Starsky rolled to his back, as if he’d been subconsciously disturbed, and was then snug against Hutch, his free hand resting on his belly, his closed eyes and rhythmic breathing proof of sound sleep.

Disappointed, Hutch studied Starsky’s profile instead, revisiting the length of his nose, the familiar birthmark under his eye, his thin, kissable lips, those bushy eyebrows. Both men on either side of Hutch were hairy men, one more than the other, and both had dark hair and blue eyes and were roughly the same height and build. One had a classic look to him—the epitome of a male model, the kind found in rich men’s clothing catalogs—the other much more rugged and primal. Starsky could drop Hutch to his knees with just a seductive glance.

“Starsk?” Hutch asked again, feeling impatient, not just brave.

Neither sleeping man stirred, but music continued to play—soothing music. Romantic.

With his eyes, Hutch followed the outline of Starsky’s profile, over his chin, down his neck, along his hairy chest—until they came to rest on Starsky’s flaccid penis, lying to its left, pointing away from Hutch, rooted in curly, black hair. Starsky’s sac was a deeper brown, more tanned in appearance than Hutch’s, but textured and seamed like his own. He reached over and cupped it, figuring it might be a playful way to bring Starsky back to his senses.

But Starsky didn’t move, didn’t budge, didn’t flinch; his breath was consistent: a deep inhale, a long exhale, followed by an extended pause—and then repeating.

Determined, Hutch carefully lifted Starsky’s penis off his hip and straightened it onto his belly so it lay against him and aimed at his navel. When that didn’t seem to provoke Starsky into opening his eyes, Hutch stroked its shaft from base to tip, using just one finger. He then pretended to jump from its crown to Starsky’s stomach, as if his hand had leapt from some kind of diving board.

Starsky didn’t react, but Alec shifted; his forearm fell against Hutch’s hip, and his rhythmic breathing was temporarily interrupted. Hutch was definitely snug between both men: he faced Starsky while Alec lay behind him. A man sandwich, he joked to himself.

He proceeded to draw a line up Starsky’s chest, slowly and with intention, and then paused at Starsky’s Adam’s apple as if his finger couldn’t get past the bump in the road. He bounced over it and continued with a jaunt over Starsky’s chin, past his lips and philtrum—pausing to poke one of his nostrils—before proceeding upward along his nose to its bridge. After another pretend jump to Starsky’s forehead, Hutch pressed the tip of his finger into Starsky’s skin as if he’d found the wake-up button.

Starsky didn’t change his breathing or twitch an eye—but that time, Hutch didn’t believe him. “Are you awake, Starsk?”

“Maybe,” Starsky said, finally speaking, and in a quiet voice.

Hutch had been played. “How long were you going to keep that up?”

“Indefinitely.”

Hutch didn’t laugh; he didn’t want Starsky to have completely gotten the better of him. It was best to stick to his original pursuit, but boy did Starsky look edible: uncombed hair, dark brows, those sexy lips, the candlelight deepening the color of his skin. “Are you okay?”

Not opening his eyes, Starsky replied, “Fine.”

“Was I too hard on you?”

“Nope.”

“Did I hurt you in any way?”

“Nien.”

Silly man—speaking German, no less.

“Did it feel good at all?” Hutch further wondered.

“Yep.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Twelve.”

“Would you do it again?”

“Aye.”

Played again. “Are you going to answer all of my questions with one-syllable words?”

Starsky opened one eye and looked at Hutch. “‘Maybe’ was two syllables and ‘indefinitely’ was six.”

“More like five.”

Starsky opened his other eye and smirked. “I beg to differ—which is also six syllables.”

Hutch wasn’t going to argue with him; just to see those blue eyes looking fondly back at him was worth the trouble Starsky put him through.

“What time is it?” Starsky sleepily asked.

“A quarter past midnight.”

“And you want to talk?”

“Just checking in.”

“Like I said: I’m okay.”

Hutch gently smiled at him. That’s all he wanted to know, but while he had Starsky’s attention, he delved deeper. “No regrets?”

“Not a one.”

“You enjoyed yourself?”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

It had been obvious, so maybe it was a stupid question deserving of a smart-ass answer. “Was it more fun than you thought it would be?”

“For sure,” Starsky promised.

“Care to elaborate?”

“If you want midnight conversation, you should talk to Alec; he’s the talker.”

Before Hutch could comment, he heard Alec’s voice.

“Am I?” Alec asked. There was no telling how long he’d been listening to the dialogue between Starsky and Hutch, but he was brought into it when he heard his name. “Did I talk too much?”

Hutch succeeded again in not letting his amusement show. “You’ll have to ask Starsky. I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, either,” Starsky insisted, holding eye contact with Hutch. “It was actually sexy, you know?”

“Due to its context and timing?” Hutch wondered.

“That, and he loves to say ‘cock,’” Starsky noted, trying not to smile, as if he and Hutch understood each other, even if Alec didn’t. “‘Cock’ is a turn-on word, know what I mean?”

Alec wasn’t fazed. He got up on one elbow and peered over Hutch’s shoulder at Starsky. “Read the room, boys,” he dryly said. “On this bed alone, I count—not one, not two, but—three bare-naked cocks.”

Hutch didn’t leave eye contact with Starsky. “So what did you think?”

“About his dick?” Starsky asked, seeming to catch on to Hutch’s intent to razz Alec; there was a twinkle in his eye.

“About his cock,” Hutch clarified, knowing then that Starsky was on board with the play.

“Oh, his cock,” Starsky said, repressing a smile. He combed Hutch’s stray hairs in place. “It was better than he described it.”

“How so?” Alec wondered.

“How so?” Hutch asked, pressing Starsky’s hand to his lips and kissing the inside of his palm before looking into his blue eyes again.

“He made it seem like it was just above average and no big thing,” Starsky explained. “But he’s got more there than ‘above average’; it is a big thing. Narrower than mine, but definitely sizable.”

“So … a lot like yours then?”

“A little longer than mine.”

“But not by much,” Hutch assumed.

“Not by much, but enough to notice. Nowhere near close to yours, though.”

“Who’s is?” Hutch joked; he was usually more humble, but he played along.

“Can’t think of anyone”—as if Starsky had seen more than the other two penises on the bed that night. “Your turn: how’d he taste?”

“I get it,” Alec said with a light laugh. “I’m not here.”

On cue and still not leaving eye contact, Hutch answered Starsky. “He actually tasted really good.”

“Must be my diet,” Alec chimed in.

“Must be his diet,” Starsky echoed, not looking at Alec.

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, playfully adding, “It’s from all the flowers and apples he eats.”

Alec laughed. “Dandelions,” he said to clarify.

“So, sweet cum,” Starsky concluded. “Fruity?”

Hutch couldn’t keep his laugh down that time when he heard Starsky’s innuendo. “Real fruity,” he emphasized. “Don’t you think so?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Starsky reminded him. “Maybe I’ll get a chance before the night is over to do a taste comparison.”

“I’m banking on it,” Alec said, reaching over to ruffle Starsky’s hair, but Starsky didn’t break eye contact with Hutch; he couldn’t be shaken out of character.

“He came hard,” Starsky noted. “That must have been some load, hm?”

“He did and it was,” Hutch agreed. His own erection emerged just from the conversation, but he only became aware of it when he recalled performing fellatio on the man who was then pressed along his length behind him. And then there was that unprecedented coupling he’d enjoyed with Starsky. “I came hard, too.”

“Maybe we all did,” Starsky said with a raise of an eyebrow. He quickly pressed a finger to Hutch’s lips as if to stop him from saying more or they would be helplessly aroused again.

But Hutch didn’t see the problem in enjoying another round of sex so soon; he didn’t understand Starsky’s stall, until…

“I have to brush my teeth,” Starsky explained. “I know where my mouth has been.”

Hutch didn’t care. To prove it, he leaned into Starsky and planted a kiss on his mouth, deeply inhaling—a mixed aroma of saliva and penis—then pushed his tongue past Starsky’s lips to engage him in a sensual wet one. When he broke away and leaned back, Starsky frowned at him.

“Well, there went that idea,” Starsky said in a low voice. “I was planning to be minty fresh first.”

“Instead, you’re sexy hot.”

“While you boys contemplate our next move,” Alec said, pulling away from Hutch, “I have to see a man about a horse.” He left the bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“Did we scare him off?” Hutch jokingly wondered. He reached between himself and Starsky to take his own hardening penis in hand, squeezing it to heighten his arousal and further enjoyment. “I was hoping to start something.”

“I think you already did,” Starsky replied, rising to his shoulder and pushing Hutch back on the mattress to resume their kissing. He pressed his swollen shaft against Hutch’s erection. But before their lips touched, Starsky abruptly paused, leaned away to make eye contact with Hutch, and quickly said, “Maybe we should wait.”

They’d just heard the toilet flush and then the shower turn on. Starsky apparently didn’t want to leave Alec out of the fun.

* * *

“Do either of you boys want another drink?” Alec asked. He had emerged from the bathroom, having politely turned off its light before he opened the door, and then waited near the dresser—and the unfinished wine bottle—for an answer.

“I think we busted that ice long ago,” Hutch said, looking over at him, and finding Alec’s nudity attractive from a new perspective, especially in the candlelight, sans the table lamps. Alec was proportionately built—unlike Hutch with his long legs and Starsky with his long torso. Alec had the right amount of hair on his body, too—and it was the perfect balance for his closely trimmed beard. His flaccid penis hung against his scrotum where an isolated patch of dark hair haloed it. “I think you followed the wrong career path,” Hutch mindlessly commented, giving Alec’s naked body another once-over.

“Yeah?” Alec wondered, closing the space between them and then crawling onto the bed to lie beside Hutch. “And which career should I have followed instead, Officer?”

“Acting,” Starsky quickly said before Hutch could tell him ‘modeling.’ He’d rolled to his side to look at Alec and was snug against Hutch. “You could have been a movie star,” Starsky swore. “You have that ‘lead man’ look about you.”

“You guys flatter me,” Alec replied. He lay on his belly, up on his elbows, and made relaxed eye contact with both of them, seeming to be visibly glad they were acknowledging his presence again. “But I might be missing—”

“—an ego,” Starsky finished for him. “To be an actor, you have to have a huge admiration for yourself—and you don’t strike me as the self-centered type.”

Alec appreciatively smiled. “I was going to say I might be missing acting skills.”

“That, too,” Hutch said with a laugh, enjoying the warmth of Starsky’s body alongside his own. “But you could have made it as a fashion model. Still can, in fact.”

Alec’s eyes briefly wandered as he seemed to consider it. “My mother always said I could have been a poster boy for something,” he fondly recalled, looking back at them, “but I’d rather mend broken wings.”

“He did it again, Hutch,” Starsky said, pretending to complain.

“He sure damn did,” Hutch agreed. He stroked Alec’s hair, gazed into his blue eyes, and appreciated the man’s compassion.

“I’ll bite,” Alec said, cocking his head and leaning into Hutch’s affection. “What is it that I did?”

“Made us like you more than we already do,” Hutch answered him. It didn’t escape Hutch that Alec visibly enjoyed his caresses.

“I’m charmed,” Alec shyly admitted; they had apparently put him on the spot, having found his weakness.

Hutch swept his gaze past Alec’s striking blue eyes to momentarily study the sexy curve of his buttocks. He hadn’t yet seen Alec from behind, but he imagined the man was attractive at any angle. When he shifted his eyes to Alec’s again, Hutch was drawn into his own sudden compulsion; Alec seemed to be admiring him in return. Was it a look of lust or was it one of respect and love—or both? Could Alec have such emotional feelings for Hutch so early on? Sex and desire were one thing; affection and love a completely different thing.

“Don’t start something I can’t help finish,” Starsky interrupted them, rolling away to get off the bed. “Hold those thoughts while I go off to buy a horse.”

* * *

“You love that man,” Alec noted. “I mean, a lot, you love him.”

Hutch smiled. He knew Alec’s observation was rhetorical, but Hutch had been given the opportunity to express his deeper feelings for Starsky, and he took it. “More than life itself,” he quietly said, continuing to pet Alec’s hair and admire his friendly blue eyes; they always appeared so invitingly safe, as if there wasn’t a hostile bone in the man’s body. “I would die without him.”

“He feels the same,” Alec knowingly said. He nuzzled Hutch’s hand and looked at him again. “I imagine you’ve been through so much together, given what you do for work. It’s not surprising that you lean on each other in ways most people don’t or ever have to.”

“True—and it’s more than ‘I’d take a bullet for him,’” Hutch explained. He was aware of Alec’s warmth, his closeness, the aliveness of his skin, the silver chain and medallion around his neck; a jeweled man whose gems went beyond what he wore. “It’s that I have taken a bullet for him.” It hadn’t been a literal bullet, but he’d certainly put his life on the line for Starsky.

“And he for you,” Alec surmised.

“And he for me.”

“No greater love.”

“None,” Hutch agreed after brief consideration; maybe a parent for a child, but perhaps his love with Starsky was far greater because they’d lay down their lives for each other—and weren’t related.

“So, knowing that,” Alec said, “how is it that you…”

“—are here with you–like this?”

“Yeah.”

“What you said … for the sex of it.”

“There’s more than sex here.”

Hutch was momentarily taken aback, not sure how Alec had misread him, but then he thought he knew what Alec meant, despite wanting confirmation. “What else is here?”

Alec leaned into Hutch’s hand again, the one still combing his hair, and stated the obvious. “Affection.”

Hutch couldn’t deny it. “I’m fond of you.” It wasn’t an admittance, but pure fact. “Kindness is a rare thing in my line of work and I’ve never met a person more loyal to his heart-of-hearts than you are.”

“You don’t know me,” Alec gently said, repressing a smile, as if he was about to say something mischievous, and then did. “I can be an asshole sometimes.”

“But it’s not who you are,” Hutch said. He could smell the alluring aroma of Alec’s cologne exuding from his warm skin. The wildlife rescuer was definitely an attractive man—from the depth of his generous soul to the gentleness of his friendly smile. “We all behave in ways that are unbecoming.”

“Nah,” Alex playfully said, pretending he could never believe such a thing about Hutch. When a muffled, harmless clatter emerged from the bathroom, it apparently reminded Alec of Starsky, and he raised an eyebrow at Hutch, changed the subject, and asked, “Did Starsky say he had to go ‘buy a horse’?”

Hutch laughed. “He’s an idiot—proving yet again that I’m the better detective between us. My job also requires the additional skill of deciphering Starsky Speak.”

Alec leaned into Hutch, along his length, rested his forearm on Hutch’s belly and chest, and gently kneaded Hutch’s closest nipple. “I think he butchers language on purpose—to rattle your cage.”

Hutch was about to laugh again when it suddenly occurred to him that Alec had acquired perspectives on physical behavior that Hutch may have never considered. “What makes you think so?”

“He’s a smart guy,” Alec said—in a tone of voice that solicited agreement.

“Very smart,” Hutch confirmed, enjoying the subtle stimulation of his nipple, “but he’s differently educated.”

“Maybe,” Alec playfully argued, sounding as if he might reconsider his position, but wasn’t sure. He gave Hutch’s nipple a light pinch and then abandoned it. “Just from the few things I’ve seen, he seems to relish getting under your skin.”

“He probably does.”

“And you fall for it every time.”

Hutch tilted his head, squinted into Alec’s blue eyes, and realized something else. “You know something I don’t.”

Alec barely smiled. “Let’s just say … I think he knows more than he lets on.”

“Give me an example.”

“Moose elk.”

Hutch laughed. “He’s been pulling my leg all these years, huh?”

“Why stop doing the thing that works?”

“You might have a point there.”

Alec winked at him. “He’s definitely a lot smarter than he pretends not to be—in my humble opinion.”

“Your opinion isn’t so humble and is worth more than you know.”

“That’s a kind thing to say. Tell me how you get under his skin.”

Hutch had to think about it for a minute. “I have a mean streak,” he decided, “and I use it against him the most.”

“Why do you think?”

Hutch shrugged, searched the air for a moment, and then made eye contact with Alec when the epiphany hit him. “To keep him from knowing…”

“How smart he is?”

“…how much smarter he is than me and in ways that I’m not.”

“Nice,” Alec said in a low voice, as if he was pleased with Hutch’s self-analysis. “You’re definitely the more sensitive one. Rather, I should say, you’re not as steeled.”

“We’ve been through a lot of the same stuff,” Hutch explained, “but Starsky had the added tragedy of losing his father at an early age.”

“That would do it.”

“We also enjoy a healthy competition; between his ‘idiot’ behavior and my mean streak, I guess it evens out.”

“I haven’t seen either of you angry,” Alec observed, briefly looking away to reflect over the past two days, “but I’d be most afraid of him.”

“Does he intimidate you?”

“Not at all, but I think he’s tougher in that regard—visceral and impulsive—and that’s not to say you aren’t; he’s just alpha to a further degree.”

Alec may have been right about that, too.

They heard the sink faucet momentarily turn on and, in the context of Alec’s comment, Hutch was mildly amused to picture in his mind the formidable male in the bathroom, stark naked, sexy butt cheeks and all, brushing his teeth.

“He smells good, too,” Alec recalled, pausing with Hutch to listen to the noise in the other room. “He even out-aromas me—and that’s saying something.” He winked at Hutch to let him know he knew Hutch had already inhaled the pleasant scent of his cologne.

Hutch also enjoyed hearing about Starsky—and himself—through the eyes of someone who studied physical mannerisms and who barely knew them, too; Alec was right on most of his observations and didn’t seem to play favorites, either. But maybe there was something else beneath the surface that Hutch hadn’t considered until then.

“Are you saying I’d be the one you’d fall in love with?”

“I could fall in love with both of you,” Alec admitted, leaning over and affectionately kissing Hutch’s lips. “Together—and separately.”

Hutch enjoyed the feel of Alec’s mouth on his, its genuineness and validation, and its taste, too. “But that’s not what you’re looking for, is it, Alec? You’re not looking for love here.”

Alec snuggled into Hutch. “I don’t even fantasize about it. I pride myself for not wanting what I’ll never have. But I sure am enjoying the view in the meantime.”

“Likewise,” Hutch said. He was about to say more when the bathroom door opened and Starsky came boisterously into the room. Hutch shifted his eyes to his partner’s and held them as Starsky walked around the foot of the bed to the available side of the mattress. He couldn’t help but think there was something profound on Starsky’s mind.

Or maybe it was something stupid.

“Am I the only one with a hard-on around here after listening to that conversation?” Starsky sarcastically asked, handling his penis as he climbed onto the bed beside Hutch and lying against him.

“You didn’t hear a thing we said,” Hutch argued. He was prepared to wage battle on that front, especially in light of all the noise Starsky had made in the bathroom, but Starsky covered Hutch’s mouth in earnest kisses and Hutch wasn’t able to speak another word.

* * *

In fact, Hutch couldn’t use words at all for quite some time. After Starsky abandoned lip kisses for a meatier experience, Alec kissed Hutch’s neck and shoulders, his lips and his face, and Hutch could no longer concentrate on his thoughts.

Starsky didn’t tease; he devoured Hutch’s rigid penis in a sensual rhythm of viscous strokes—while Alec’s warm and affectionate kisses over Hutch’s lightly perspiring skin deepened Hutch’s enjoyment of the building pleasure in his phallus.

“Let’s turn this way on the bed,” Alec suggested, breaking contact to nudge Hutch’s knee in a particular direction—implying that they should lie across the sheeted mattress, their heads and feet to each side so they could avoid bumping into the head and foot boards. “This way, your boyfriend and I can dine at our leisure.”

It turned out to be an easy move—a repositioning they accomplished in unison, too—but Hutch wasn’t one to only indulge himself; much of his more meaningful arousal was driven by his desire to please. “Let me suck you,” he told Starsky in a pleading voice. He lay on his back and reached for his partner’s erection—but never got the chance to make contact.

Before Hutch knew it, Starsky pivoted and mounted him, each of his knees on either side of Hutch’s shoulders as he bent over Hutch to resume the fellatio he’d been giving him. Starsky’s penis, already stiff and warm with blood and want, dangled over Hutch’s face.

“I was hoping to see you boys in a sixty-nine,” Alec commented, apparently feasting his eyes on the erotic unfolding as he lay beside Hutch against the pillows along the headboard side of the bed. “I could watch him suck your dick until the cows come home,” he added in a heated whisper. It wasn’t clear to which man he spoke; it could have been either or both. “He takes that hard cock all the way in.”

Hutch was aware of that truth as he felt Starsky swallow him from tip to base, and then slowly slide him nearly out before taking him in again. The pleasure was already so intense that Hutch had a difficult time keeping pace with Starsky as he licked and gently nibbled Starsky in reply.

Still, there was noisy breathing, the sound of commingled sucking, stimulating perspiration from a keen awareness of heated skin, the combined fragrance of musk and cologne, and the irrefutable feel of Alec’s swollen penis pressed to Hutch’s thigh.

“Try this,” Alec advised them. He popped the lid on the almond oil bottle he had since found—or never lost sight of—and nudged Hutch’s arm. “This will give you guys what you might be missing.” Alec poured a small amount of the lubricant into Hutch’s palm. “Smother his cock with that and he’ll sing like a freed bird.”

Hutch obediently coated Starsky’s erection—its tumescent shaft and engorged head—in the lubricious oil and heard the resulting moans of approval and gulping breath erupt from his partner. Alec had been right: what Hutch lacked in seamless delivery, he made up for in titillating sensation.

Alec had already coated his own penis in the oil; it was slippery and determined against Hutch’s leg—as were Alec’s resumed kisses over Hutch’s arm. “Let go of him so you can take what he’s giving you to the max,” he whispered in Hutch’s ear. “I never met a man who loves sucking cock more than Starsky does.”

Hutch followed Alec’s lead and released Starsky—in time to see Alec squeeze the oil bottle over Starsky’s hand as he pumped Hutch’s shaft. Starsky didn’t break stride, but he did allow the oil to seep through his fingers and find its way onto Hutch’s penis, immediately heightening Hutch’s pleasure with each new stroke.

“That feels so good,” Hutch swore, closing his eyes as he dropped his weight into the mattress and immersed himself in the eroticism Starsky gifted him. Starsky’s lips, his tongue and his wet sucks, his lubricated hand and perfect pressure, all brought Hutch to a higher plane of blissful indulgence.

“Let me lick him, too,” Alec told Starsky; it wasn’t an order, more of a plea. When Starsky’s mouth came off Hutch, but not his hand, Alec quickly explained his want in more specific terms. “While you take the front, Starsky, I’ll take the back.” He gently pushed Hutch’s hip.

It was Alec’s unexpected licking of his anus after he rolled to his side that Hutch wasn’t prepared for; it internally startled him, but he didn’t pull away from it. Not in his entire lifetime had he such an experience; it made him lightheaded. “Oh,” he impulsively said. The touch was slick—almond oil mixed with saliva—and deliberate. Alec’s hands—or his fingers—spread Hutch’s buttocks as he deeply lavished Hutch’s indentation with his tongue.

“Oh my,” Hutch said, his eyes closed more tightly as he allowed himself to concentrate on the feel; it was taboo, but not in a shameful way; it was unique, in a thrilling kind of way; it was immensely personal and primal. The combination of Alec licking his anus while Starsky sucked and stroked his penis, brought Hutch nearly to his crest. There were hands and mouths and tongues and oil and hot blood and quivering skin and heavy breaths and perspiration and warmth and tenderness—coming at him all at once.

As if Alec knew how close Hutch had been brought to orgasm, he abruptly ended the rimming and instead trailed soft kisses over Hutch’s back to his shoulder, melting Hutch further. He was being warmed and pleasured by two men in their different ways, each tender touch taking him deeper into his oblivion. But when Alec pressed along Hutch’s length and Hutch felt Alec’s swollen penis push into the division between his buttocks, Hutch emerged into a delicate consciousness.

The round head was larger than Hutch remembered it—or his anus was simply that much smaller. He felt pressure long before he felt pain, but pain was definitely in the mix. Or maybe it was discomfort bordering on pain. It was difficult to decipher his body’s cues when Starsky so expertly created such opposing feelings in him at the same time.

“Relax,” Alec whispered, obviously sensing Hutch’s resistance. He firmly gripped Hutch’s arm above his elbow to hold them both in that side position, and slid his calf over Hutch’s legs to draw him in closer. “I won’t hurt you.”

Hutch believed him; Hutch also didn’t want Alec to think he wasn’t willing. “It’s okay,” he said in soft reply, letting Alec know he was agreeable. There would probably be pain, Hutch realized, but it wasn’t in Alec’s nature to intentionally cause it, and Hutch simply wanted his earnest lover to know he didn’t hold him responsible for any first-time uneasiness. Besides, Alec was experienced in anal sex.

So Alec tried again, sliding his erection between Hutch’s buttocks, against his slippery skin, in tender strokes, as if he didn’t have any intentions of entering Hutch, but purely enjoyed the pleasure he got from each slide along his sensitive shaft.

Starsky distracted Hutch—and not on purpose. It was nearly impossible for Hutch to ignore the orgasmic pleasure in his own penis, engorged and acutely responsive as it was to every erotic touch Starsky gave it—from his sucking lips, rhythmic swallowing, alternating pressures in his oiled hand and fingers, but also from Starsky’s heavy breathing and his soft moans, his apparent determination and enthusiasm, as he, too, enjoyed Hutch’s pleasure with him.

Hutch didn’t intend to grunt when Alec repeated the effort to enter him; his reaction was impulsive and without merit. Alec had since further oiled himself and the sensation was definitely pressure that time, not pain. But it was too late to call back his thoughtless reflex.

“Hey, buddy,” Alec whispered in his ear, again withdrawing the attempt he’d made, but still pressed between Hutch’s buttocks, and along his legs and back. “Do you want to use your safe word?”

“No,” Hutch emphatically said. He was ready. He simply had to get past the notion that a man he’d met only the day before was about to enter his body with a rather hard appendage. He pulled on Alec’s thigh to prove his willingness. “I just needed a minute.”

Starsky let go of Hutch and rolled onto his back. He clasped his own penis in his oiled hand as he let out a deep sigh. Apparently the idea of man-on-man intercourse was more than he could endure in that moment and he had to take care of himself. But Alec saw Starsky’s action differently.

“Good idea,” he said to Starsky while he pushed into Hutch. “Let him focus on this. I’m still a stranger to him. He needs time to relax.”

‘Focus’ was all Hutch could do when the head of Alec’s hardened penis eventually penetrated his anus, that time with measurable ease, but not without an initial discomforting pressure. The dizzying fullness of its swollen shaft as it drove deeper into Hutch made Hutch’s head spin.

“Starsky,” Alec said—when it seemed he’d pushed in as far as he could go. “Do you hear me, buddy?”

“I’m Hutch,” Hutch said in a breathless whisper. He held Alec’s thigh against his own to wordlessly ask for a momentary pause during which he might catch his breath.

Alec laughed. “I was calling for your partner,” he explained, telling Hutch again to relax and that he was aware of Hutch’s need to take things slow. “But now would be a good time for Starsky to come back in. Together, we’ll take you for a wild and gentle ride over the hill.”

Alec’s promises relaxed Hutch in both mind and body—and Starsky’s roll back onto his side, his retaking of Hutch’s penis into his lubricated hand and wet, warm mouth, and Hutch melted further into his evolving contentment.

It was when both Alec and Starsky, perhaps sensing each other’s actions through the quivering vibrations in Hutch’s skin and the cadence of his heavy breaths, began to work in tandem with each other—Alec pulling out to his penis’ tip, Starsky swallowing Hutch’s penis, and then together reversing their strokes—that Hutch felt he just might fall off the bed.

Were it not for the fact that he was the man in the middle—Alec along the headboard, Starsky along the foot, and Hutch between them—Hutch might have accidentally writhed himself in spasms of pleasure right over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.

* * *

Scene Three: Alec Henley

* * *

“Hey, pal, would you mind finishing me?”

No sooner had Alec returned to the bed, lying back along the headboard and closing his eyes after cleaning up from his sex with Hutch, than he heard Starsky’s unexpected question.

Alec was initially prepared to explain that he couldn’t get a new erection so quickly after an ejaculation—assuming Starsky was hoping for a full-on sex experience to enable his climax—but when Alec looked up at Starsky and saw the pleading expression on the man’s handsome face, especially amplified in the soft glow of candlelight, he rethought his abilities. Already he felt arousing urges to top the dark-haired cop.

Alec had shared beds with many men in his adult lifetime. None were as sexy as David Starsky. Starsky’s inherent sensuality and primalness were at play in his every move—and all without pretense. The sometimes foreboding look in his blue eyes, that ever-present hint of formidable maleness in his inherent movement—subtle nuance and otherwise—were attractive on a level of sexiness Alec had never had the privilege to engage before.

Even Starsky’s masculine voice was infatuating in its tonal uniqueness. He spoke with a kind of belying passivity. But unleashed, Starsky might very well be intimidating, aggressive, perhaps almost dangerous, and there was something extra exciting about flirting with such a risk.

“Move over, partner,” Starsky told Hutch, gently slapping Hutch’s bared butt and then pushing Hutch’s hip when he didn’t immediately respond. “C’mon, Blondie. Make room.”

Hutch rolled to his belly and left space for Starsky to wedge himself between Hutch and Alec, but Alec still had to scoot closer to the headboard to give Starsky more real estate on the mattress.

Despite the vacancy, Starsky instead crawled to Alec’s head. “Suck my dick?” he quietly asked, sounding hopeful yet prepared for rejection. He seemed to understand that Alec had just spent himself and perhaps there wasn’t anything left for him to give. But candlelight reflected in Starsky’s eyes and his want was sexy beautiful.

“Yeah, hey, of course,” Alec obligingly replied. Before Starsky could get comfortable, Alec reached over and snatched the almond oil bottle from its last place on the small nightstand. “I thought you’d taken care of it.”

Alec had been so consumed by his dream-come-true sex with the beautiful Ken Hutchinson that he obviously had misread the signs. All he could remember about those minutes was how utterly glorious it felt to be inside Hutch, especially after the difficulty they’d experienced on the initial entry. After his third try, Alec was finally able to slip in.

“Oh, Hutch,” he whispered as he penetrated deeper, pushing all the way to the end, as far as he could physically go, and then holding them for half a minute in that suspended connection; he’d just become aware of the exceptional circumstance in which he’d found himself and was briefly distracted by his gratitude. But he was still mindful. “Are you okay?”

“That feels so good,” Hutch answered him, lightly laughing. “I had no idea it would feel like … this …”

Alec was relieved to know he’d helped to give Hutch an unprecedented experience: the pleasure of two lovers at once—dual sensations, both equally erotic, head-spinning, and thrilling in ways no single lover could match—which was saying something because he knew these men loved each other dearly. It had to be as exciting for Starsky just to know Hutch felt pleasure to the max; they were that bonded.

Alec eased out of Hutch to the very tip of his penis, immensely enjoying the erotic pleasure it gave his entire shaft, and then drove back into him, forcing Hutch to build orgasmic momentum with him. To further stimulate his own senses, Alec peered over Hutch’s hip to watch Starsky caress Hutch’s sac with oiled fingers, gently massage his testicles, and then pump Hutch’s hardened penis in rhythmic, obviously pleasing, strokes. Both men heavily panted.

In fact, Hutch could barely catch his breath as the intensifying sensations tantalized him and no doubt made him dizzy: Alec’s penis in, Starsky’s downstroke on Hutch’s shaft at the same time; Alec’s penis nearly out, Starsky’s upstroke—over and again in tandem, repeatedly and without hesitation, deeply and without resistance, slick overall with a viscous wetness, and extremely skilled, as if both of Hutch’s partners on that bed had practiced their technique on him numerous times together and had it down to perfection.

“Suck him,” Alec eventually told Starsky, not demanding it, but giving away his own need for heightened stimulation. The excitement had become more than he could endure, and the wet tightness of Hutch’s relaxed and inviting anus, his pushback into Alec’s hips to encourage stronger and more aggressive thrusts, were finally about to overtake him.

In the end, it was Hutch who was first brought to that crest—especially when Starsky’s mouth noisily devoured his crown and sucked his shaft into the back of his throat—and then out again, and then in again, repeatedly, matching the accelerating pace of Alec’s deep and rhythmic penetrations—spurring Hutch’s increasing expressions of, “Oh!”s.

“Oh, god, fuck … suck me, Starsk!” he finally cried out, as both men delivered on their skilled techniques.

The perfect strokes of Alec’s near-bursting erection, coupled with its fleshy hardness on each slick withdrawal to its tip, and the inevitable deep entry on its return, were deepened by the repeated sound of his thighs rapidly slapping Hutch’s buttocks on his determined plunges into him. Music to Alec’s ears. He tightly gripped Hutch’s hips and let go of a final moan of ecstasy as the wave of orgasmic intoxication annihilated him. “Come with me,” he desperately blurted.

Alec’s spill seemed to do the triggering trick and pushed Hutch’s ejaculation into its long-awaited existence; he didn’t have time to warn Starsky of his impending release. The crescendo of pulsing ecstasy overtook him in a second and, as Alec emptied his sac as far into Hutch as he could manage, holding tightly against him as he surrendered the creamy spurts, Hutch did likewise into Starsky’s mouth.

“Oh, god!” Hutch loudly howled when the initial pulse of pleasure overtook him. He moaned so emphatically that Alec had to interrupt the last few moments of his own enjoyment to urgently cup Hutch’s mouth and quickly silence him.

“Shh,” he said more than once, laughing with Hutch as Hutch’s pleasure cries turned to muffled laughter and he finally seemed to take heed and repress the noise. “These are old walls around here,” Alec explained before he let Hutch go and carefully pulled out of his body at the same time. “You almost woke up the dead.” They giggled at the notion that the historic Stanley Hotel probably wasn’t well insulated and everyone in the massive building—past and present—had been awakened by Hutch’s outburst in the middle of the night.

Somewhere during the orgasms and the moans and the heavy breathing and the laughter, Alec assumed Starsky had satisfied himself. Looking back, Alec couldn’t find any evidence to support that belief—except that Starsky didn’t seek an ending from either of his lovers until that very moment when he wedged himself between Hutch and Alec and asked Alec to fellate him.

“Are you sure you don’t want Hutch to finish you?”

“He’s a goner,” Starsky explained, eyeing the squeeze bottle in Alec’s hand with eager anticipation. “I won’t take long,” he promised, making eye contact with Alec and pursing his lips for added persuasion. “Plus it will be different—having you do it, I mean.”

A well-lubricated fellatio may have been the more pressing motivation for Starsky’s obvious erection, but he did arrive on scene in full arousal, so maybe Alec shouldn’t judge himself so harshly. He didn’t think he could orally bring Starsky to orgasm as well as his long-time lover could, but Starsky was right that it would at least be ‘different,’ and that, by itself, might be satisfying enough.

“Come closer,” Alec coaxed him, opening the bottle and pouring a tiny dollop into his palm. “But don’t feel you have to come fast,” he added, playing on words as he smeared the lubricant over his hands. He could smell semen and sweat on Starsky and it fueled his excitement. “Take your time. I’ve got all night.”

“You always know what to say,” Starsky said with a light laugh. He laid down on the mattress, closer to its side edge so his hips were aligned with Alec’s head. “I don’t think I’ll last long, though.” He gripped his shaft and aimed his engorged penis toward Alec’s face. “You see how hard I am.” Even Starsky seemed to admire how swelled he’d become. “Just don’t kiss me; I ate cum a minute ago. You only have to finish me.”

“Okay,” Alec agreed, and not because it offended him to kiss Starsky with Hutch’s semen on his lips, but because Starsky seemed determined to ‘get the job done.’ “However long it takes—or doesn’t,” Alec swore, “I’ll give you my best.”

“Your worst will be damn good,” Starsky said with certainty, gasping a second later when Alec coated his penis—its crown and head, and its thick shaft—with his slicked-up hands, and immediately letting go of himself to allow Alec to blanket his sac with them, too. “See what I mean?” Starsky asked between halting breaths, momentarily closing his eyes. “It feels great already.”

Starsky’s dark-haired skin glistened in the amber light of the still-burning candles. And because the room was cool, Alec realized Starsky’s heat came from within him. Knowing that made Alec’s heart noticeably pound.

He couldn’t remember a past lover having as much hair on his chest as Starsky obviously did, or on his arms and belly. Alec thought he might not find those features attractive, that perhaps they would have been ‘too male’ for his tastes, and despite that he himself was hairy, but they definitely turned him on as he studied Starsky’s overall shape, darker coloring, and charismatic masculinity.

It helped that Starsky’s penis was larger than average and even proportionately for his body, that it was rigidly upright and filled with blood and desire, and warm to the touch, and that a shining bead of pre-cum oozed from its narrow slit.

Starsky was already heavily breathing, too. His belly heaved with deep and rapid breaths as he sucked in oxygen through his mouth. He was a man in full sexual arousal, as if he might go off at any second; the overall look of him in that instance was extremely tantalizing.

Alec would have given anything to be able to share an orgasm with him in those moments, but Starsky would be too early and Alec would be too late. Alec didn’t blame him; Starsky had been aroused from the moment his two lovers had been, but he didn’t get the payoff when they did. No one’s fault, perhaps, and Alec was privileged to be the one to take Starsky to his natural conclusion.

He quickly licked the cum off the tip of Starsky’s erection and then swallowed the crown into his mouth, tasting its almond-flavored muskiness with his probing tongue. In defiance of Starsky’s urgency, he took his time to pleasure each of Starsky’s known sweet spots—the cock’s cap and crown, its highly sensitive frenulum on the underside just beneath it, the thick, vein-engorged and blood-filled heated shaft—and sometimes pleasing them all at once by using his oiled hand in tandem with his wet, pressure-pleasing lips.

But true to his prediction, Starsky couldn’t avoid the inevitable for long, despite that Alec did his best to lengthen the enjoyment for him, using only his lips at times to keep from inadvertently applying too much pressure, and slowing the strokes in and out of his mouth to likewise abate Starsky’s overwhelming desperation. But Starsky was resolute in his decision. He gripped both sides of Alec’s head and held him to the task, aggressively thrusting his hips forward-and-back to create his own fevered pace.

Alec could tell by feel alone—the near-bursting rigidness of Starsky’s erection, in particular—that his lover was unable to endure another minute of friction; not even a lighter stroke would save him. Starsky’s phallus was slippery, boiling with blood, and had been spilling pre-cum from the moment it had entered Alec’s mouth; he could still taste the warm, natural lubricant on his tongue, sweetly pure in texture, too.

When Starsky finally climaxed, he was quieter than Alec thought any man could be in the still of night and during such a monumental eruption; instead, Starsky expressed his grateful and apparent satisfaction with low whimpers and soft moans. Alec could also feel Starsky’s heart beating powerfully in the cup of his hand—straight through from his lover’s ejaculating sac. Starsky’s fulfillment was a silent and subdued reaction; no wonder it didn’t wake Hutch, let alone anyone else in the hotel.

But the end had indeed arrived. Impulsively and with relish, Alec swallowed the warm mound of semen Starsky had delivered, holding fast to Starsky’s hard-on so he could devour it in its entirety, tightly clasping Starsky’s left butt cheek to keep him from pulling away too soon while his other hand continued to grip Starsky’s still-stiff erection.

For a man who’d already orgasmed once that night, Starsky’s refuel had been noticeable—or he’d been that consumed by excitement. They remained locked in an unmoving embrace for several minutes afterward, until Starsky was able to catch his breath, his heavy heartbeat slowed and quieted, and he eventually pulled out of Alec—with Alec’s relinquishing permission.

After momentarily studying him, Alec inwardly smiled to see Starsky’s head was thrown back and his lips were still parted as he continued to recover from the apparent intensity of his experience. An expression of deep contentment had passed over Starsky’s face, closed eyes and all.

It was only then that Alec realized he himself was more noticeably aroused, though not enough to make anything of it—just that he was fully aware of how thoroughly he had enjoyed the giving. His penis had swelled to more than half-mast, the first in so short a time from a recent climax. He too had to catch his breath and his heart also had to return to a normal rhythm.

In a completely different way, Alec had been satisfied, too. He rolled to his side, faced the headboard, melted into the mattress and the pillow at his head, and closed his eyes. Like Starsky, he also needed to recover, listening while he did to the resting breaths of the two men on the bed with him. The reciprocation of mutually unadulterated sex had been beyond anything he could have ever hoped for that night—or any night, for that matter.

Yet the rewards seemed never-ending. Starsky rolled over behind him, snuggled close, pressed to his length, wrapped Alec in his arm, and gently kissed the back of Alec’s neck. Starsky was so snug against him that Alec could feel Starsky’s now-flaccid penis, patch of pubic hair, and warm hairy belly against his own butt and back. Starsky audibly exhaled, as if he too appreciated the well-earned relaxation and rest and not just the affectionate cuddling afterward—and then he seemed to drift into sleep.

Alec didn’t have any illusions about enduring love and romance; he was well aware that these men had simply joined him for a romp into sex-land, but in the end they were all the recipients of intimacy beyond the orgasmic; they had, together, been gifted an unplanned affection born from mutual respect and admiration, coupled with a trusted companionship—fellow earthlings sharing each other in a time-driven journey around the sun. Alec wasn’t alone.

And it hadn’t been purely an endeavor to scratch an itch for his compatriots, either. The warmth of an alpha male enveloped him right there in the amber light of soft-burning candles and the afterglow of a deeply gratifying night of sex.

Starsky didn’t have to hold him in his arms; no man was obliged to be grateful to the other. Their needs had been identically met, but more than that: for Alec, to physically love a man like Starsky, to be accepted as an equal by a man like him on just about every level, and to be appreciated in return—by both Starsky and Hutch, especially in light of what they did for work—was a privilege Alec felt undeserving of in those highly-coveted, sentimentally sweet, monumentally special moments, ones he wouldn’t have traded for anything else in the entire world.

* * *

When Alec woke from a deep sleep a few hours later, he discovered that one of the men had pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed—or perhaps it had been retrieved from the floor—and draped it over the three of them, up to their waists, sans the sheet.

Whoever it was had also moved most of the candles from the dresser to the side table closest to the bathroom. Realizing that he was still wrapped inside Starsky’s arm—and continued to be spooned by him—and then eventually climbing up on his elbow, Alec concluded the man in question had to have been Hutch; he was the only one who’d changed position: asleep on his back, eyes closed, his head turned into the room.

Alec carefully rolled likewise onto his back and covered his eyes in the bend of his arm. Starsky stayed with him, barely stirring, softly breathing. His warmth continued to make Alec feel close beyond the physical, especially in the room’s cool night air, and the weight of Starsky’s arm across Alec’s chest made him feel safe, too. He contemplated slipping out from under Starsky to attend to his toileting needs, but he didn’t want to leave the intimacy with the dark-haired boy any sooner than he had to.

It turned out to be a wise decision.

Starsky squeezed him closer. “Did I wake you up?” he sleepily asked, as if disappointed in himself for disturbing Alec. But before Alec could answer, Starsky gently kissed his shoulder. “Or maybe you want a little of this before breakfast, hm?”

Alec smiled, even though Starsky couldn’t see his face. “A little of ‘this’ would be nice.”

Starsky obliged him with a few more tender kisses. He softly caressed Alec’s chest and playfully scratched his patch of hair with his fingertips. “Maybe a little of that, too, hm?”

“A little of ‘that,’ too, is also nice.”

Starsky rose to his elbow to place kisses along Alec’s arm, over his belly, adding licks to his kisses at Alec’s hip. “Maybe you’d like me to lick your dick,” he suggested, sounding more serious. “Would you like that before breakfast, Alec, hm? Would you like me to lick your dick for a while?”

“I’d like that very much,” Alec replied, feeling the tug of his want deep within his groin as his penis immediately began to swell. He audibly inhaled as Starsky’s mouth drew closer to his phallus and he realized Starsky wasn’t kidding around.

“I’m gonna suck your cock for a while,” Starsky promised, pushing back the blanket to expose Alec, and speaking between breaths. “But don’t come, okay? Hutch is still asleep and we want him to join the fun.” He kissed Alec’s navel. “Work with me. I’ll make sure you don’t lose it … and you can enjoy yourself at the same time.”

Alec was about to respond to Starsky, but he felt Starsky’s wet lips encircle the crown of his engorging penis and he instantly forgot how to use verbal words. Instead, he sucked in an audible breath. “Jesus,” he whispered, startled and thrilled at once. Starsky must have planned his approach; almond oil was already in the mix—and it felt supremely good.

There was also something very unique in the delivery: Alec decided to take Starsky at his word, that he wouldn’t let him ejaculate until their other participant was awake and involved, but he’d still make sure Alec enjoyed himself. He was at Starsky’s mercy in that respect and the willing helplessness it evoked in him deepened his primal desire.

Starsky got busy while Alec treated himself to every subtle—and not so subtle—touch from his giver’s earnest lips and tongue, his lubricated hand and his warm breath. Cool air tickled Alec’s skin, but he was heated from within, quickly breaking a sweat, soon needing to take deeper breaths, but not able. On occasion, he opened his eyes to watch Starsky, aglow in the candlelight, his skin glistening from perspiration, aware of Starsky’s heavy breathing and his moans and his grunts, as if Starsky was also aroused by the pleasure he gave.

At times, Alec couldn’t watch; the orgasmic sensations were so intense, he could only feel them. He lightly held Starsky’s head in his hands, caressed Starsky’s cheek, cradled his own penis in his fingers to know just how deeply Starsky devoured him, gulped for air. Moaned. Whispered. But no real words emerged, just guttural sounds.

He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t climax, but he didn’t care. Starsky was meticulous, generous, noisy, ratcheting Alec’s arousal to greater heights. So what if he came? Why even bother letting Starsky know he might? Another minute and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

But that’s when Starsky proved just how tuned into Alec he had been. He abruptly abandoned Alec with his hands and mouth, kissed the inside of Alec’s thigh, and hurriedly got off the bed. “I forgot I had to pee,” he said with a snicker, as if he didn’t mean it, but heading off to the bathroom anyway. “Hold that thought, buddy. I’ll be back in no time.”

Alec covered his face in his hands and laughed. He should have known better than to think Starsky would have been the one to be without his wits. Alec had been teased—on purpose—and he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. He should have expected it. But maybe he could turn the tables: invite Hutch to finish him before Starsky returned to the room.

A cursory glance told Alec that Hutch was fast asleep. They would never make it in time. Instead, Alec rubbed himself; it wasn’t the same feeling, but at least he would keep his erection. The almond oil Starsky had smeared over him was still slippery and tantalizing to the touch. After a minute, during which he listened to water run and a toilet eventually flush, he gave up masturbating; his self-service wasn’t anywhere near as pleasurable as Starsky’s wet mouth and warm kisses, his licks and his sucks, the strokes and Starsky’s hot breath over his skin. Alec should endeavor to be more patient.

When Starsky opened the bathroom door, the shattering light seemed to make Hutch roll onto his side away from it, his back to the two men on the bed. When Starsky turned it off, the room returned to its romantic ambiance of nearly a dozen candle lights. The sun was still a good hour from rising.

“Scoot on down here,” Starsky instructed, standing with his hands on his naked hips and making determined eye contact with Alec. “I think this bed might be the right height for my short legs.”

Alec started to sit up to make the turn onto his hands and knees so he could return the fellatio favor, but Starsky quickly pushed him back against the mattress.

“No, no, not like that,” Starsky complained. “Come on down here … your butt, I mean, scoot it to the edge.”

Because he believed he understood then what was to transpire, Alec excitedly wriggled his way toward Starsky, positioning his hips and buttocks at the mattress’ edge while he lay on his back and kept his eyes on Starsky’s face. As Alec opened his legs, cupping them at the knees in each of his hands, he saw Starsky’s eyes widen with a similar excitement—and Alec knew he’d been right about his buddy’s intentions.

Starsky stepped up to the bed and bent over Alec, pressing his pelvis into Alec’s scrotum where their groins met and burying Alec’s still-erect penis against his warm, hairy belly—and then he kissed Alec’s lips. “I’m minty fresh,” he said with a breathless laugh. “And I don’t think we’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think we’ve done any of this before,” Alec said in playful reply, despite that Starsky seemed surprisingly familiar. “I assume we’re about to do something … unprecedented with each other.”

“You assume right,” Starsky replied, snatching the almond oil bottle from the mattress beside Alec’s head. “But first I came for this.” He straightened to pour oil into his hand, then recapped the bottle and tossed it on the bed. “I hear this is the required ingredient.”

Alec laughed; he enjoyed Starsky’s playfulness, but he was also keenly aware of the man’s seriousness, too. They were about to engage in very adult behavior. “Make me feel wanted, not just wanting.”

Starsky stepped back, breaking physical contact, to coat his own apparently swollen penis with the almond oil, watching himself as he did so. “Oh, boy, you’re wanted all right,” he agreeably said, lifting his eyes and looking at Alec. “That sweet face?” he affectionately said. “Those beautiful blue eyes?” He dropped his focus to Alec’s hardening shaft, tumescent crown, and flashed an eyebrow. “Your sexy boner.” He smiled at Alec. “How can you be anything but wanted, hm?”

Alec was tickled by Starsky’s play-along. He was also turned on by the man’s appearance, too: Starsky’s dark, mussed hair, his manly muscles, his attractive face, those foreboding eyes, the arousal and desire for sex in his eager expression. Alec couldn’t wait to feel the man inside him. It had been years.

“Years, you say?” Starsky asked, as if he’d just read Alec’s mind. “Shall I go easy?”

“Take it any way you want it. Fuck the cum out of me.”

Starsky raised an eyebrow again and shyly smiled, seeming to say he might just do as Alec suggested. “We’ll take it out of each other,” he promised, stepping back to the bed, penis in hand, and guiding it between Alec’s legs. But he didn’t enter Alec, not until he’d slavered Alec’s anus in oil with the lubricated tip of his penis to make sure the entry would be smooth.

Alec so wanted to savor the look on Starsky’s face when he pushed into him—it was an expression of pure joy and amazement unlike any he’d ever seen before—but he was so overcome by the sensation of Starsky’s rigid erection entering him that he had to close his eyes and devote himself solely to it. “Oh, god,” he whispered, loving every inch of the slide into him. He was completely relaxed; there was no pain, no discomfort, only pure pleasure—coupled with an unexpected appreciation for Starsky’s girth and length as the man dilated him and filled him with his hard flesh.

“That feels so good,” he said in a low voice. His heart pounded and he broke a sweat early on. “It’s been years,” he reiterated, more as a lament than a fact, “and I forgot how good this is.”

“It’s amazing,” Starsky said, sounding thrilled and elated himself by the sensation of deep entry. If Alec didn’t know better, he would have thought it was Starsky’s first time having anal intercourse.

“Your cock is so hard,” Alec noted, briefly opening his eyes, hoping to make contact with Starsky’s, but finding them closed and a look of pure orgasmic pleasure lining the grateful expression on his whiskered face. “You can fuck me—any which way you want, Starsky—but I might come soon.”

Starsky withdrew so slowly that Alec was sure he would climax on Starsky’s re-entry, but the return slide was as slow and mesmerizing as the withdrawal, so much that Alec couldn’t get the crest he expected. He was glad for it; he needed to get his wits about him. Nothing would be more embarrassing and disappointing as orgasming off of two strokes.

“I’ll tell you when you can come,” Starsky said, not unkindly. He slightly bent over Alec, pinned both of Alec’s wrists to the mattress, and began to thrust into and out of him, each stroke a tender, careful one, each pump seeming measured and timed.

The grip Starsky had on his arms made Alec feel helpless again, despite that he could have easily escaped it; his was a weakness he gladly surrendered into, one that enabled him to give into Starsky’s demands and not into the ones his own body insisted he pursue.

His penis swelled, his heart forcibly beat, his breathing was labored. He wanted to smile, to laugh, maybe even to cry—the good was just that … good—but none of those materialized. All he could do was feel it physically, sexually, emotionally. Starsky was in control and knowing that somehow made Alec adhere to the rules. The boy sure did know how to draw out their pleasure.

Even when Starsky quickened the pace of his strokes—into long, aggressive, seemingly uncontrollable ones—Alec couldn’t quite push himself over the edge, as much as he really wanted to. Starsky steadfastly held him in his grip, deeply penetrated him in a rhythmic cadence of entries and withdrawals, grunted and moaned and breathed heavily along with him, but Alec remained helpless and gloriously so.

It had been years since he’d last experienced anal sex; it wouldn’t have been surprising to him if he’d ejaculated without a single touch to his penis. In some ways, it was being stroked from inside him. A few more minutes of Starsky’s pleasing friction and the inevitable might finally arrive.

“Don’t come,” Starsky ordered him, tapping Alec’s frenulum with a finger—and pulling all the way out on the withdrawal. “We have to wait for Hutch,” he explained, breathlessly, and laughing. “He’ll kill us if we forget him.”

“Then wake him up,” Alec implored Starsky, feeling a wave of unexpected disappointment wash over him—or maybe it was the blood flow backing up when all of the physical sensations came to an abrupt stop. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead. “If you let me go, I’ll shake him awake myself.”

Starsky laughed, let go of Alec, and crawled onto the bed between him and Hutch. He dropped to his back, panting and rubbing his face. “Nah,” he said after he caught his breath. “He needs his beauty sleep.”

That’s when Alec realized he’d been taken to the edge for the second time—and left hanging. “You’re killing me,” he observed.

“That’s the plan,” Starsky admitted with a laugh. “I’m going to kill us both. That’s some awesome fucking, know what I mean?”

“I do know what you mean.”

“That’s some deep-diving.”

“More fun than pussy.”

“And tighter, too,” Starsky agreed.

“I want to come.”

“Me, too.”

“So wake your partner up and let’s get on with it.”

“Calm yourself, buddy. We’re just getting started.”

Alec didn’t know if he could handle the wait. He decided to go around Starsky and wake up the blond himself. “Hutch?”

“Yeah?” was Hutch’s immediate and unexpected reply, soft voice.

“How long have you been awake?” Alec asked.

“He’s been awake all along,” Starsky answered him.

Alec made eye contact with Starsky. “How do you know?”

“You don’t think I’d do this without him aware of it, do you?”

Alec should have known better. These men were loyal to each other beyond the call of duty.

“Carry on, boys,” Hutch said. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to join the fun.”

* * *

“I like your truck.”

Alec had Starsky figured by then, but he played along; he wouldn’t be the only man having to wait. “I like it, too.” The sun would soon rise, breakfast would need to be eaten—perhaps they could stop by a small café—and then they would go their separate ways. This round of sex would be their last one, so Alec appreciated that Starsky was extending it for them. “A manly man should have a manly vehicle,” Alec added. “Am I right?”

“All it needs is a racing stripe.”

Alec laughed. He’d never enjoyed the intimate pleasure of a man as deviously playful as Starsky was, stringing them along the way he did that early morning. He ruffled Starsky’s hair. “What kind of muscle car do you drive?”

“A 1975—”

“—striped tomato,” Hutch chimed in. “He thinks no one will suspect it’s an undercover car.”

“It’s candy apple red,” Starsky argued, “and nobody thinks a coupla undercover cops are driving it for that reason alone.”

“So it’s a striped apple,” Hutch decided.

Alec got to his elbow. Starsky was against him, Hutch on Starsky’s off side, both on their backs. Hutch was covered by the blanket up to his waist—and damn was he still a beautiful man to behold. Starsky was naked on the bed beside him, flaccid penis, but as sexy visually as he was in action. “Candy apple red with a racing stripe,” Alec mulled. He could string them along as well as they could him. “What’s its make and model?”

“A Ford Gran Torino.”

“Nice. And you? what do you drive, Hutch?”

“He drives a piece of shit,” Starsky said, making eye contact with Alec, as if to convince Alec of that truth without having to use more words, but he closed with an addendum. “Don’t bother asking Hutch about cars. He’s clueless.”

“A Ford Galaxie 500,” Hutch said with a sigh, dismissing Starsky’s declarations with pretend annoyance, “and which, by the way, has survived more than any car should. While it was being repaired from a bomb designed to kill me, I drove Belle, my little Nash Metropolitan.”

“Whatever that is,” Alec mumbled. He was concerned about the ‘bomb’ comment more than anything else.

“Another piece of shit,” Starsky said about Hutch’s Belle. “Hutch wouldn’t know a decent car if it drove over him—and then backed up and drove over him again.”

“Well, anyway,” Hutch said, attempting to put closure on their nonsensical conversation as far as he was concerned, “whatever I drive, it beats a candy apple red striped tomato. Starsky says he loves that car, but I can’t count how many times he’s wrecked it.”

“Not on purpose,” Starsky defensively complained. “But you’re right, Hutch: enough of this. I have to pick up where I left off.” He rolled over onto Alec, pushing him back against the mattress. “Where was I?” he playfully asked, as if he couldn’t remember. He straddled Alec, hovering over him on his hands and knees, to gaze down at him. His handsome expression softened—giving away his immediate change in thought and direction. “Were we wrestling?”

“Something like that,” Alec replied, unable to repress his smile. He could feel himself hardening just from the idea of what they’d been doing minutes earlier—and hoping he would get to experience more of it. The glint in Starsky’s eye promised him such.

Starsky bent down, closed his eyes, and they kissed, locked lips, encouraged each other’s arousal in earnest, breathed in each other’s hot breath, sucked each other’s tongues, shared wetness and warmth. Nearby, Alec could hear Hutch heavily breathing, as if he enjoyed watching his partner engage another man in such intimate ways—perhaps he even stimulated himself for added pleasure. Who was the ‘voyager’ after all?

After several minutes of passionate kissing, Starsky abruptly broke away, slid off the bed between Alec’s legs, and tugged on Alec’s hips. “Come back down here again,” he eagerly said, eyeing Alec’s swollen penis with apparent delight. He too was in full-mast erection—a handsome appendage if ever there was one. “Picking up where I left off,” Starsky explained, “means I get to do more of this.”

“You’ll get no complaints from me,” Alec swore as he repositioned his buttocks at the edge of the mattress and receptively opened his legs. He rose back onto his elbow so he could look at and fondle Starsky’s penis and sac before Starsky made entry—and not to make sure Starsky was lubricated enough, though he was—but because Alec truly enjoyed the appearance and feel of the man’s hard flesh in his hand as he anticipated it thrusting inside him. Knowing Starsky was excited to have intercourse filled Alec’s veins with hot blood and he broke a sweat when his heart began to race.

Starsky soon penetrated him—slowly, carefully, and with much appreciated mindfulness. He eased himself in, watching his own penis disappear into Alec as far as it could go, his eyes wide with amazement or anticipation or absolute thrill—perhaps all of those things—like a little boy in a candy store, having just learned that everything sweet in the building was all for him.

“That feels so good,” Starsky said, lifting his eyes to look into Alec’s. His skin shined from his perspiration; warm blood obviously pumped through his veins, too. “Does it feel good to you?”

“As good—in a different way,” Alec said, briefly closing his eyes. He didn’t want to lose the contact with those sexy blue ones any sooner than he had to so he quickly opened them again. “Makes my cock swell.”

Starsky dropped his gaze to study Alec’s erection—and slowly eased himself out of him, but only to his own tip. “I can tell,” he said under his breath, licking his lips as he examined Alec’s penis with his eyes. Then he drove in again, more determinedly than the first time. “My whole dick is swallowed all the way,” he noted—again, as if he’d never had the experience of anal intercourse until that moment. “Every part of it feels so good—right down into my…”

“Balls?”

“…toes,” Starsky said with a laugh, as if he experienced another first. “Balls, too, but also my toes.”

Alec was unable to respond by then; Starsky had begun thrusting into him, making Alec delirious and exhilarated with a pleasurable weakness that was further heightened by each repeated stroke. He closed his eyes, moaned and grunted, audibly panted, and immersed himself in blissful ecstasy while he listened to Starsky’s moans and Starsky’s deep breaths, and realized he held his legs wide open for Starsky to plunge deeper into him with faster, stronger thrusts—and Starsky obliged him.

Alec heard the almond oil bottle snap open and then felt it land on the bed near his head. He soon felt Starsky’s hand grip his erection; Starsky stroked him in a lubricious grip while he pumped Alec with his meaty, blood-filled penis—in and out and in again as he applied friction and pressure to Alec’s hard shaft.

“Don’t let him come,” they heard Hutch say. He sounded breathless, too. “I need to catch up.”

Alec was aware that the mattress moved, not just because Starsky was copulating him, but because Hutch was apparently pumping himself as he watched the two men fornicate. Somewhere in his debilitation, Alec was able to open his eyes, turn his head, and confirm his expectations: the beautiful blond was also in full arousal, on his side, facing the lovers on the bed, watching them, his expression one of pure ecstasy while he masturbated with an oiled hand; his stiffened erection glistened in the candlelight.

“Will you suck me off?” Alec managed to ask, pleased when Hutch opened his eyes at the sound of the question and smiled with parted lips at him. “Come suck my cock, Hutch.”

Starsky withdrew completely on the withdrawal at that moment. He didn’t need to explain his intentions. Alec was already aware of Starsky’s purpose. He quickly looked back into those blue eyes as he felt the blood immediately drain from his phallus again, but that time he cussed out loud. “I thought Hutch was the one with the mean streak,” he snarled—but not with anger, simply with a justifiable degree of disappointment.

“He’s bad cop,” Starsky explained, leaning over Alec as he pressed his penis alongside Alec’s and did his best to catch his breath so he could speak the words coherently. “But I’m badder cop.”

Hutch laughed at him. “Dream on, partner.” He ended his self-pleasure and fell to his back, his belly heaving, his skin wet with perspiration. “I didn’t jump in because I needed you guys to slow down so I could catch up.”

“Yeah, but it took real strength to stop,” Starsky replied, defending his self-imposed title as the meaner one between them. “Don’t think for a second that Alec is the only one having fun here.”

Alec was glad to hear it, and not that he really needed to; Starsky’s penile fullness, his labored breath, his sweating skin, the feel of Starsky’s tumescent sac against his buttocks, and his follow-up kisses spoke the truth behind Starsky’s near-bursting precipice without words.

Starsky then bent over and lay against Alec, his feet still on the floor, his face beside Alec’s head, his heartbeat reverberating through Alec’s chest, and slowed his own anticipation and desire with deeper breaths. “Yeah,” he whispered in Alec’s ear, “don’t think for a second you’re the only one enjoying this.”

Alec closed his eyes, burying all of his senses in the dark so he could focus purely on listening to Starsky’s breath and to feeling Starsky’s welcomed weight and apparent want against him.

After several minutes, Starsky broke the affectionate contact, lifted back to his hands, and looked Alec in the eye. “You don’t want this to be over too soon, do you, sweetheart?”

“No,” Alec admitted, sensing Starsky’s mutual wish. He sure did love Starsky’s primal appearance: his hairy chest, erect nipples, muscled arms, unkempt hair, fiery look in his eyes.

“Right,” Starsky agreed. “Let’s not finish this too soon.” His tone of voice changed then, became quite serious, more direct, firm. He leveled the eye contact between them. “Because … when this night is over,” he explained, “it’s over.”

Alec was jarred right out of his ache for that elusive orgasm and was immediately embedded in the suspended moment with Starsky—driven unexpectedly into a completely different realm of contact. Maybe what he’d heard was purely a fact. Or maybe it was a warning. Either way, he understood the man. “I hear you,” he sincerely said, repeating it so Starsky would believe him. “When this night is over … it’s over.”

* * *

“What’s your favorite color?”

Alec laughed at the question. Starsky had slid off the bed to the bathroom for another one of his ‘minty fresh’ cleanups, and left behind what Alec thought might be an awkward silence in his wake. But Hutch broke it with his silly question, all the more comical because they had been quite intimate with each other up until then and long past the point of mere acquaintances.

“Green,” Alec replied, not lying. “The color of most life on earth,” he explained. “Trees, you know. And grass. Yours?”

“Same—and for the same reason.”

“I assume Starsky’s must be red.”

“I think so,” Hutch said, having to think for a moment. “He looks especially good in red; have you noticed?” He then scooted closer on the mattress, the entire length of him—allowing the blanket to slip off his hip and expose his patch of blond pubic hair and a glimpse of his sheathed and flaccid penis. “What’s your favorite sound?”

Alec didn’t play coy; his close study of Hutch’s body, from head to foot, would have been obvious to a blind man. He didn’t care; he’d rather be honest and upfront. “You’re one helluva beautiful man,” he noted, rolling to his side for a better view, and appreciating all over again just how perfect-looking Hutch was: and not just in physical appearance, but in formidableness, too. Smooth skin. Strong muscles. Confident presence.

“Thank you,” Hutch said in that buttery voice of his. “It takes one to know one, but that didn’t answer my question.”

Alec had been distracted. “Which was?”

“Your favorite sound.”

Alec knew that answer right away. “The breeze or the wind as it passes through leafed trees—and it doesn’t have to be fall. It’s also a precious sound in summer. Hearing the rustle is quite enlivening. Think about it sometime. And you? Your favorite sound?”

They heard a light but startling clatter in the bathroom just then and Starsky cussed at something. Hutch didn’t seem to have to think for long, either. “Any noise he makes—even the ones that annoy me.”

“You’re that in love.”

“I’m that grateful he’s alive.”

“But you’re that grateful because you’re in love.”

“Okay,” Hutch concluded, accepting Alec’s assessment. He scooted closer to Alec and that time the blanket fell away from his hip and exposed him completely.

Alec couldn’t not notice. “I’ve only been with one other man who wasn’t circumcised,” he recalled, studying the shape of Hutch’s large penis, observing that its crown and head, and even its slit, were tucked inside its foreskin, still hidden from view. “But his dick wasn’t attached to such a gorgeous face.”

He envied Hutch when he remembered that circumcision robbed men of a certain degree of sensitivity. Sex was good enough already; how could it be any better? and yet it was notably heightened for those who’d never been cut. “Starsky must be envious of what you have, too,” he figured.

“He’s never said,” Hutch replied. “What’s your favorite feeling?”

When Hutch moved closer to Alec on the mattress, to within a foot of him, Alec realized Hutch had been playing with him in his own clever way, drawing nearer to be more intimate—just like his questions.

It was possible Hutch asked that particular question because Alec had made a comment about Starsky’s possible envy, but then he realized Hutch was searching for something much deeper than that; he wanted to know about Alec’s feelings. “It would be hard to top the one I had yesterday afternoon,” Alec recalled, feeling choked up even then.

He could tell Hutch knew what he meant: releasing Liberty into the wild, watching her fly free into the blue sky, and being joined by—quite possibly—a male bird, signaling a brighter future for an extremely endangered species. The height of Alec’s rapture—one he’d shared with Hutch—wasn’t anything he’d ever felt to that degree before. “You?”

“Tough one to beat, for sure,” Hutch said, reflecting. “But I’d have to say that my favorite feeling was what I felt a few months ago when Starsky came out of his coma.”

“Ah, another Starsky-related favorite,” Alec noted. “You guys are like peas in a pod. But you wouldn’t want to be too similar,” he quickly surmised.

“Yeah. Boring.”

“You’re the right balance for each other: from opposite ways in appearance to the beliefs you have in common.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Alec was distracted again by the crystal blue color of Hutch’s eyes and how they shined in the candlelight. The sun would soon rise and he would never again get to see such beauty in a man—they were as rare as bald eagles—so he savored every second of the experience.

“Hey,” Hutch said in a whispery voice. “Would you mind if I treat myself?” Before Alec could ask him what he meant, Hutch leaned in and gently kissed Alec’s lips, a tender kiss, warm and affectionate. “You were looking at me so kindly,” Hutch explained afterward, “I wanted to feel it.”

Hutch was the ‘feeler’; Starsky more guarded, yet playful and engaging. ‘Adventurous’ may have been a better word. ‘Extroverted’—whereas Hutch seemed introspective, sometimes even socially awkward. Those were Alec’s cursory assessments.

“That was a nice kiss,” he said, licking his lips to further taste Hutch. “You can have those any time you want them.”

The bathroom door opened and Starsky emerged, still naked; his hair wasn’t wet, so he must have cleaned up without a shower. He came to the side of the bed and studied Alec and Hutch, hands on his hips. “I leave you guys alone for ten minutes and you use the time to have a conversation?” he berated them.

“We’re getting to know each other better,” Hutch said with a sly smile.

“Yeah?” Starsky sarcastically asked. “Well, for the record, if you want to know me better, my favorite color is red.”

“These walls are thinner than I thought they were,” Alec laughed, devouring Starsky’s nudity with his eyes, and loving the look of his hairy maleness, and especially his penis. “So here’s hoping we lucked out and no one is in the room next to ours.”

“Maybe it’s just the bathroom door,” Starsky suggested, himself sounding hopeful. He pushed Alec’s hip to direct him onto his back. “Open your legs. I want more of that meat I had a minute ago.” He wasted no time getting on the bed, bending over, and gently sucking Alec’s flaccid penis into his mouth.

Before Alec knew it, Starsky was devouring his quickly hardening erection while Hutch engaged him again in soft, tender, wet and warm lip kisses. The dual sensations hypnotized Alec as a measurable warmth swept through him and heated blood pulsed in his veins. Hutch’s mouth tasted as sweet as his kisses; they nursed each other’s tongues, kissed lips, breathed in each other’s now familiar breaths.

Starsky paused only long enough to retrieve the oil bottle from somewhere on the bed and to drizzle its cool contents over Alec’s hyper-charged skin—his belly and his sac included. He moved further onto the mattress and was at the perfect position on it to be at the right angle for Starsky’s lubricated hand and salivating mouth.

When Hutch broke from kissing Alec, he nudged Starsky away from Alec’s groin. “Can I get a little of that, too?” In the maneuver, Alec could see Hutch’s large crown and noticed that it had since emerged from its safe cocoon and that his pink nipples were erect. He loved men for their immediate excitement for sex—and their unmatched desire and enthusiasm.

“You can have a little of that, Big Blond Boy,” Starsky bargained, “if I can get a little of this.” He pushed Hutch’s shoulder so Hutch would rotate his hips and offer up his unsheathing penis to Starsky’s apparently unfulfilled urge to feel hard flesh in his mouth.

Alec had to close his eyes when he saw Starsky swallow Hutch and Hutch favored Alec. The exquisite pleasure was heightened by the knowing—even without looking again—that he’d just been taken in by the most beautiful man he’d ever met.

After several minutes of noisy sucking—filled in by their grunts and soft moans and heavy breaths—Starsky abandoned Hutch with a pretend complaint. “My dick needs a home, too,” he said, faking a whine as he straddled Alec’s legs. “Let me have him, Hutch, while he sucks you.”

Alec felt the tip of Starsky’s penis make itself known at his anus. Despite Starsky’s eagerness, he was again careful on entry, having oiled his shaft to make the slide in easy, but still taking his time to fully dilate Alec before beginning his pleasure-giving strokes. Opening his eyes, Alec first caught a glimpse of Starsky’s expression: there was no doubt in Alec’s mind that Starsky enjoyed the eroticism as much as he did himself. No woman could match it.

But to see Hutch swallow his penis, and to know it was real that Ken Hutchinson provided him with as determined fellatio as Starsky did the intercourse, was about to do Alec in sooner than he hoped. What more could Alec Henley ask for than to have Starsky and Hutch sexually pleasure him—and to watch them both do it? His fantasy had materialized.

Hutch’s eyes were closed—blond eyelashes, tousled blond hair—his face one of contentment and purpose, enjoying what he did. He held Alec’s engorged penis in his strong hand—clean nails, oiled fingers—and sucked Alec’s erection past his full lips, into and out of his mouth, wrapped around its girth, salivating, kissing, and gently nibbling it—and Alec still couldn’t believe it.

“C’mon, Hutch,” Starsky said after a minute, “let me see Alec suck your dick while I fuck him. You suck his, he sucks yours, I fuck him … we’re all going to die tonight.”

Hutch pivoted on the mattress and swung his leg over Alec’s shoulders so his knees were on either side of Alec’s head, and his hard, fully erect penis and bulging sac hung over Alec’s face. He didn’t miss a beat in licking Alec’s crown, teasing his frenulum, kissing along his cap, then swallowing the penis into his mouth as far as he was able to take it—making Alec believe Alec would be the first to die.

In grateful return, he sucked the rigidness of Hutch’s shaft, feeling its heated skin at his tongue, using his wet lips to give enormous pleasure back to the man who indulged him in those minutes. Hutch smelled of muskiness and a hint of cologne; his skin shined with his perspiration, adding a palpable taste of salt to the mix.

Alec sucked and licked Hutch’s penis when it was maneuvered over his mouth, licked and sucked his warm sac when Hutch shifted position to fulfill a different kind of urge, and then repeated those actions in rhythm with his appreciative lover.

All three of their penises were engaged in sexual enjoyment; the men moaned with deep satisfaction, communicating with primal sounds to express their desires, not using words; not even Starsky could speak for a while. He was so engrossed in thrusting inside Alec that he could only breathe hard and moan—long, soulful, liberated utterances.

Sound, touch, smell, sight—all of Alec’s senses were saturated. If he could form words in that moment, he’d tell the boys he was about to ejaculate, that he would unfortunately be the first to end the engagement—but Starsky, ever-so-tuned into Alec’s expressive body, abruptly intercepted him … again.

He pulled out—without announcement or ceremony. “I need something else,” Starsky said, laughing, knowing he’d just put the brakes on their close-to-orgasm needs, but seeming to appreciate that his lovers were on board for further play; neither was ready to stop any time soon, despite their bodies wanting the inevitable end.

Hutch released Alec from his mouth as Alec did likewise of Hutch, but Hutch didn’t change position. Instead, he looked up at Starsky. “What do you need, pal?” he asked, purposefully sounding—it seemed—as if he was nonchalant about the entire engagement they shared on the bed early that morning in the light of numerous candles. “Can’t you see we’re busy here? What can we do for you, huh?”

“You fuck him,” Starsky proposed, laughing at Hutch’s sarcastic rhetoric. “Treat him to that big dick in his ass, hm?”

“Oh, god, yes,” Alec blurted, not realizing until he said it that it may have offended Starsky. He could easily climax just watching Starsky climax, but to have Hutch mount him, enter him, thrust inside him—and with so large an appendage as Hutch’s penis undeniably was—was a gift Alec didn’t even expect to have, let alone get, and he was outwardly eager for it.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hutch said, dismounting Alec and rolling away to take Starsky’s place on the mattress between Alec’s legs.

Starsky sat over Alec’s hips, bare buttocks to bare groin, and handed Alec the bottle of oil. “Lube that pretty boy cock of yours,” he said, “and then fuck me with it. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I think I can,” Alec said with a laugh, trying to sound as unimpressed by the excitement as Starsky pretended to be. He was thrilled to be lying beneath Starsky, looking up into his anticipating expression, seeing his masculine body aglow in the candlelight, and making affectionate eye contact with him all at once.

“Yeah, but will you?” Starsky teased.

“I can and I will.”

“Atta boy,” Starsky praised him.

Hutch asked to have pillows placed beneath Alec’s butt for a better angle. Perhaps the larger penis size—or his longer legs—required a different approach; regardless, the three of them worked together to bunch pillows under Alec, raising his hips and genital up for the taking, while Starsky mumbled, “Teamwork,” on an exhale.

No man lasted long. Hutch penetrating and thrusting inside Alec, filling him with a fullness and an ache for resolution he’d never experienced before, purely from Hutch’s size, while Starsky did the pumping honors—on his feet, squatting over Alec, propped forward on his hands for balance, and bouncing Alec in and out of his body, in and out of a very tight, albeit well-lubricated opening, and watching Starsky throw back his head and moan with pleasure—and Alec was indeed the first to ejaculate.

His cries of impending bliss, somehow repressed to keep from waking the neighbors, seemed to bring Starsky around to watching him.

The ecstasy had been that great—interrupted on occasion by Starsky’s minty-fresh breaks—and coupled with the inescapable reality that two absolutely gorgeous men had agreed to bed him at the same time, and Alec was done for.

“Are you gonna come?” Starsky asked, his voice masculine and not judgmental, firmly sitting on Alec’s hips so Alec was deep inside him, and looking him similarly in the eye. “Can you push it one more minute?”

Alec couldn’t wait, despite his wish to the contrary. He was overwhelmed, desperately gripping Starsky’s arms above his elbows to hold him in place, needing him to freeze, and not breaking eye contact as he implored Starsky with a wordless plea to not leave him in that critical moment: his irrepressible orgasm had arrived. “Oh,” he helplessly blurted, grunting when it spilled into existence. “I’m sorry…”

Starsky smiled, as if he was pleased for Alec; he didn’t move a muscle, but he did tighten his body’s grip around Alec’s penis, amplifying Alec’s physical rapture—because, how could it not? Hutch, meanwhile, paced his thrusts: slow withdrawals from Alec, strong re-entries, each pause ratcheting Alec’s sexual intoxication higher.

Hutch was in tune with both men and his timing was impeccable; he reached around Starsky’s hip and pumped his partner’s penis in an oiled hand, apparently sensing that Starsky was at the edge, too.

The visuals were the kicker for Alec. While he emptied himself deep inside Starsky, Starsky lost the tug-of-war with his own effort to delay the inevitable, given Hutch’s firm strokes, and both men let out a joyful cry as their ejaculations erupted.

Hutch leaned over his partner to watch the milking, pulling at Starsky’s penis to squeeze every creamy spurt of semen out of him and onto Alec’s chest and belly.

And then Hutch came right behind him, penetrating Alec with such mindless excitement that he could only thrust into him a final time before his climax overtook him. Hutch began with a howl, but soon must have realized his mistake, and quickly subdued it for mournful whimpers instead, noises that seemed to diminish with each fading wave of his orgasm.

All three men were drenched in sweat. They all endeavored to regain their breaths. They all laughed around the same time as the collective notion that they’d accomplished the near-impossible struck them. And then, as if they still shared the same mind and body, Starsky clumsily dismounted Alec, easing himself off of Alec’s spent erection while Hutch slowly withdrew his softening shaft from inside him.

Both sensations in the leaving were pleasant and appreciated, and Alec let them know he respected them for their mindfulness. “It was nice doing business with you boys,” he said lightly, making them laugh.

Hutch was the first to fall onto the mattress—beside Alec—and Starsky to Hutch’s off side along the foot of the bed. Minutes of labored, commingled breathing passed.

“How we didn’t bring the roof down, I’ll never know,” Alec said as their bodies returned to some semblance of normal, and making his friends further laugh with the idea.

“Hutch’s dick over-excites us,” Starsky assumed. He was the first to catch his breath and to finish a sentence without needing to gulp for air. “It’s kind of like a ‘come hard or be torn apart from the inside out’ experience—in a good way—don’t you think, Alec?”

“I do,” Alec replied, recalling it. But the rupture was also the dizzying result of a two-pronged approach: Hutch penetrating him, in and out and back in again, full and hard and forceful, deep and deliberate; Alec tightly inside Starsky, being ridden with abandon, repeatedly up and down on Alec’s hard-on, coupled with the visual of the boy in his own delirium, an expression of pure elation on Starsky’s whiskered face, his very male body, his hairiness and heaving belly, glistening sweat.

The room finally quieted and light breathing became the only sound, sans the soft music, which none of them heard during their sex-making. The night had come to a close and, though it would be missed, it would be forever memorable.

Eventually, Hutch handed them each their pillows and then rolled to his side to pull the blanket over them. He faced Starsky, whom Alec couldn’t see because Hutch blocked his view, but he could hear Starsky’s softer breathing.

After a minute of contented silence, Hutch nudged his partner. “Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?” Starsky lazily replied.

Hutch didn’t say anything. At first, Alec thought Hutch had fallen asleep, but then he heard Starsky’s one-word reply.

“Ditto.”

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE: THE MORNING AFTER

“Is Starsky normally the one to take-charge in your police work, too?”

“Not really,” Hutch replied, but not sounding sure of it. “I think we’re both take-charge guys, depending on the circumstances.”

“‘Assume the position’ and all that?”

Hutch laughed. “He’s more of a ‘sit down and shut the fuck up’ kind of guy.”

“Just in bed then?” Alec quipped with a chuckle.

“I guess so.”

“He’s quite raw. Do you enjoy his sexy talk as much as I do?”

“Usually he has his mouth full and I don’t hear it.”

Alec laughed. “Yum.”

That was the part of the conversation Starsky heard when the male voices woke him from sleep right after sunrise and he realized that Alec and Hutch were wide awake—and apparently had been for some time.

When Starsky glanced over his shoulder at the men, he discovered that Hutch lay on his back behind him. Alec faced Hutch while lying on his side, his temple propped in his hand, snug against Hutch, his other arm resting on Hutch’s chest while he stroked Hutch’s smooth skin with his fingers.

The blanket still covered Starsky’s hips, but it wasn’t to be found on either Hutch or Alec. Starsky also noticed that Alec draped his calf over Hutch’s bared legs. They were definitely cozy—so immersed in each other that they didn’t notice Starsky was awake.

Candlelight continued to brighten the room, but so did the rising sun; the all-night tiny flames had lost their luster because of it. Daybreak had broken.

“Dog tag?” Hutch asked as he picked up the medallion from around Alec’s neck to closely examine it.

“Nah,” Alec replied, slipping the silver chain out of Hutch’s grasp before Hutch could get a read on it, and then tucking the medallion between their bodies for safekeeping. “Nothing as noble as that,” Alec said disparagingly. “But it brings up an interesting question: Were you guys ever in the military?”

Starsky closed his eyes, choosing to listen instead; the topic didn’t really interest him.

“Starsky was drafted into the Army,” Hutch said. “I was married at the time, so I lucked out.”

“How long did he serve?”

“Two years.”

“I wish I’d known that sooner.”

“How would it have changed anything?”

“I’d have honored his service with better service—somehow. I mean that boy is one hot motherfucker and requires extra-special handling, especially knowing how honorable he is.”

That’s when Starsky couldn’t resist joining their conversation. “The ‘hot motherfucker’ is awake in case you hadn’t noticed,” he told them as he rolled completely over to face his compatriots, sandwiching Hutch between himself and Alec.

In that same moment, Alec quickly shifted his eyes from Hutch’s face to Starsky’s, as did Hutch; both men appeared startled to learn he wasn’t sleeping. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Alec said, genuinely apologetic for using colorful language to describe Starsky.

“I know you didn’t,” Starsky replied, not insincerely. “I took it the right way.” He was definitely flattered. Alec had shared a private sentiment with Hutch that proved his respect and admiration for Starsky, and not just because Starsky had been in the Army.

“Are we going again?” Starsky wondered, but he was more interested in knowing if Alec and Hutch had indulged in the flesh without him.

“I know I can’t,” Alec said with a laugh of disappointment. “I can’t believe I did it as often as I just did in a 10-hour stretch—at my age, no less. Besides—”

“You’ve got to get back to work,” Hutch presumed, “and we have a plane to catch.”

“But breakfast first, right?” Starsky asked, sounding as hopeful as he felt hungry. He had worked up an appetite overnight and assumed the others had, too.

“My treat,” Alec said, rolling away and leaving the bed. “That’s one way I can honor your military service, Starsky. Plus I know a great place.” He gathered his clothes. “I’ll clean up and check out of the room. The front desk will give you the cafe’s address—tell them it’s the one down by the river—and I’ll meet you guys there whenever you’re ready.”

Starsky stole a lingering glance at Alec’s attractive butt just before Alec closed the bathroom door. He wouldn’t have minded taking Alec from behind, given the chance. But the point was moot.

“So?” he asked, looking Hutch in his blue eyes when he realized he was alone with his partner—and the sound of the shower prevented Alec from hearing him. Hutch was still gorgeous in low light, and appeared all the sexier after a night of sexual romping; his hair was mussed and his face was filled with contented exhaustion. “Did you guys go again?”

“Go again?” Hutch sleepily asked, cocking his head against his pillow to get a better angle on his partner as if it would help him understand what Starsky was asking.

“You know. Did you do anything with him this morning? Suck his cock? Fuck him? Vice versa?”

“You mean … all that … without you?”

“Or any of that without me. Did ya?”

Hutch squinted at him. “I thought you knew me better.”

“Did you want to fuck him?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Did he want to?”

“You heard him. We annihilated him last night.”

“So … I take ‘all that’ as a ‘no’?”

“Resounding.”

“Whatever that means.”

“First, it means you’re an idiot,” Hutch said. “Second, it means ‘no’ to the Nth degree; we didn’t fool around and we didn’t even think about it. He wanted to know more about our police work and I filled him in—in that way only.”

Starsky felt embarrassed for asking and covered for it by making it seem as if Hutch had been the one to say stupid things. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to get snappy.”

Hutch forgivingly winked at him and then lightly hit the tip of Starsky’s nose with his finger. “Let’s get a move on, buddy. My little dark-haired moron obviously needs to be fed.”

* * *

The café was beside a large creek lined in old-growth trees that were alive with the songs of early morning birds, and the weather was perfect. In a secluded turnout, a small patio table and three chairs had been arranged. Alec had probably pulled the third chair over from a neighboring table because the area seemed more fitting for a couple. It was quaint, romantic, and a peaceful spot to end their stay in the mountains.

When Starsky and Hutch arrived, they parked near Alec’s truck in the nearby lot, and meandered along the gravel pathway to where they’d seen Alec seated and waiting. He had a pot of coffee on the table with three mugs and was already drinking from the one he’d filled.

“I told you it would be easy to find,” he said as they greeted him and took their respective seats. He drew their attention to the horizon behind him where the sky was a nearly translucent blue against the dark silhouette of eons-old rock. “If you look off that way,” he added, “you’ll see the mountains.” He’d obviously given the men the chairs with the view; the scenery was everyday for him.

“I say again,” Hutch commented, surveying the landscape, “not a bad backyard you have here, Henley.”

“Stunning,” Starsky said under his breath as he gazed on it, too. He’d never been much of an outdoorsman, but he’d come to appreciate why Alec and Hutch loved it so much. Maybe he just needed that trip to Yosemite with Hutch to finally show him a beauty they had always seen, but had taken Starsky years to appreciate; it was then hard to miss. “You can’t possibly ever be anxious about anything living here.”

“Only the fate of the world,” Alec said, not cynically, as he looked over his menu. “But you’re right, Starsky: peacefulness begets peacefulness.”

“Everything in perspective, right?”

Alec looked up at Starsky and winked. “All the more reason I’m glad you guys chose to share a human experience with me last night. Time is but a blink of an eye for us in the scheme of things.”

“And it was fun, too,” Starsky admitted, not breaking eye contact with Alec. He did want Alec to know he’d enjoyed himself, even though they were relative strangers, and even though Starsky had been privately wounded by some of it. “I think I can speak for Hutch when I say we wouldn’t have done and said those things with just anybody.”

“I’m flattered.”

“It’s true,” Hutch agreed. He sipped black coffee after Alec poured some into his cup. “It’s not us to go to some bar, for example, and hit on anyone just for the ‘sex of it.’ You’re a good soul—and you made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

“I know I won’t forget it,” Starsky added, surveying the menu and deciding right away on the French toast. Lots of syrup, he concluded. “Now we get to go home and sit in traffic.”

Hutch rolled his eyes at him, but Alec didn’t validate it. He obviously refused to take sides, at least publicly.

“Hutch showed me the scar on his shoulder where he was shot some time ago,” he told Starsky, “and the one where he was stabbed by a crazy woman.” He set his menu aside and leaned back in his chair, appearing relaxed, but serious. “I saw the three scars on your back, too. Maybe you boys should consider a different line of work.”

“We hope to change it anyway,” Starsky informed him. “Use our detective minds to solve crimes rather than our bodies to stop bullets. Those days are over.”

“Well, if you ever find yourselves eventually interested in wildlife defense—and all it entails—you know where to find me.”

“Up the road and around the bend?” Hutch lightly joked, adding seriously, “I’ll always see you there in my mind, doing what you do—alongside the people you do it with.”

“You won’t mind if I’m less romantic about you two, will you?” Alec asked, seeming a bit embarrassed to admit it, “but I’m going to remember the salacious things about you: like Hutch fucking me while Starsky rode my hard-on. That was some serious threesome-ness, know what I mean?”

“Don’t get me started,” Starsky mumbled. It had been quite momentous for him, too, and recalling it was sure to stimulate him as he sat there. “Like I said: I’ll never forget last night.”

“It made me want to get back into my sex life,” Alec said.

A waitress interrupted them, gave them utensils and napkins, took their orders, and left.

“Why did you abandon your sex life in the first place?” Hutch asked when she disappeared into the building and no one was within earshot again. “I mean, I know you lost Emily a year-and-a-half ago, but why so long to enjoy men for the sake of sex, the way you did with us?”

“Gun shy,” Alec said.

“But why?”

“Gun shy, as in literally.”

“Are we talking actual firearms here?” Starsky wondered.

Alec seemed to stall then, as if he’d said more than he wanted to say, or he didn’t know how to explain it.

“C’mon,” Hutch encouraged him. “You’ve had my balls in your mouth. You can’t deliver a cryptic comment like that and then leave it there. You can tell us anything.”

Alec looked at each man and finally said, “Before I came to Colorado, I spent time in a California prison.”

“Oh,” Starsky commented in a low voice, surprised, and immediately wondering what the connection was to guns. Alec had struck him as an overall pacifist.

Hutch didn’t show any reaction.

“A male partner and I were set up and arrested for ‘crimes against nature,’” Alec explained. He sat forward and leaned on the table to keep anyone else from hearing him or because he was sharing highly personal information and wanted the intimacy. “It was a sting operation.”

“You’re saying cops set you up?”

“Yeah,” Alec said, as if telling two police officers might get him in trouble even then. “Undercover cops.”

“I see,” Hutch said, dismayed. “I did read about those busts. In the Bay Area, I believe.”

“They were doing it all over the state and probably the country as well.”

“Setting guys up so they could arrest them for consensual sex?” Starsky asked, disgusted and dismayed. He wondered why Hutch never told him about those entrapments. There was so much his partner knew that he didn’t.

“Spent over a year in jail,” Alec said.

“And your boyfriend?”

“Before trial, he hung himself in his cell.”

It was Starsky and Hutch’s turn to sit back in their chairs; they were understandably shocked. “I’m sorry,” Hutch said. “What was done to you and your lover was a crime unto itself.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

“Soliciting us had to be an even higher calculated risk than I previously thought.”

“It was, but once I decided you weren’t baiting me, that you guys were authentic, I figured the risk was worth it.”

Starsky exchanged a glance with Hutch. Except for the careers they had taken in their lives as undercover cops, they could easily have been victims of the morality police.

“When I got out of the slammer, I moved to Colorado,” Alec furthered, “but despite it being a ‘free state,’ I talked myself out of that kind of playing around. I decided I’d had enough sex with men—because I truly did—so I got married instead, settled down, eventually divorced, then met Emily, but swore off relationships after she died. And then you two walked onto my property.”

“That’s a sad story,” Starsky observed, staring out to the creek and allowing the flow of water to take his remorse with it. He looked back at Alec. “I mean, that’s a sad story before the part where we arrived. Are you really bisexual then?”

“Human. I’ll leave it there. But spending last night with you guys—and watching you with each other this past weekend—I think I might just open myself up again to man-on-man possibilities—and not just for the sex of it.”

“Reminds me of a chapter in my life,” Hutch told Alec, sitting forward again to share a private story. “A few years ago, I got taken by persons seeking intel. They hooked me on heroin to force me to talk—which I did.” With a sad and knowing glance at Starsky, Hutch continued. “We didn’t tell the Department about the heroin—and still haven’t. With a mutual friend of ours, Starsky pulled me through the grueling detox, and I’ve never looked at drug addicts the same since.”

“Likewise,” Starsky echoed.

“I was never judgmental about gay men, either,” Hutch said, “but I’m even more accepting of their behavior since I’ve been in this relationship with Starsky.”

“Same,” Starsky injected, “except I was judgmental there for a while—until I realized how much I loved this Big Lug. I mean, I don’t have those negative opinions anymore, either.”

“But you didn’t know that about us when you made the pass,” Hutch said to Alec. “You waged a bet.”

“And won the prize,” Alec concluded, flashing a proud and grateful smile.

Starsky couldn’t help himself. He didn’t think he couldn’t ask—not after all the sex and the sharing they’d done up until that moment, so he flat out posed his question. “Tell us why you stopped Hutch from looking at that tag around your neck. Does it say you’re straight or something—in case you get arrested again?”

Both Hutch and Alec looked at Starsky like he was an idiot.

“What?” Starsky wondered, defending his naiveness. “It’s an honest question.”

“Like he would wear an ‘I’m straight’ tag,” Hutch berated him. “It’s obvious it’s for a medical condition. I saw that much.”

“You saw what?” Starsky asked.

“The Rod of Asclepius.”

“I’m impressed,” Alec commented.

“Okay, smartasses,” Starsky whined, feeling left out. “What’s the Rod of Syphilis?”

Hutch laughed and Alec bit his tongue.

“It’s the medical symbol, Starsk,” Hutch said. “A snake wrapped around a rod. You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, I have, but forget it. The question now is: what medical condition do you have, Alec, that you need to identify it around your neck?”

“That would be personal, Starsk,” Hutch warned him.

Starsky’s turn to argue the point. “He had his dick in my ass. I don’t think we have secrets between us, do we?” He looked at Alec. “Especially if what you have is something we can catch from you—you know, like—”

“Syphilis?” Hutch cracked.

“I’m not contagious,” Alec assured them. When both men continued to wait on him, he finally rolled his eyes and surrendered. “Moved here to Colorado. Set up business defending wildlife. Ruffled feathers—no pun intended. Hunters don’t like me. Cattlemen don’t care much for me, either. Government wildlife agents really hate me. I throw the wrench in everybody’s works. ‘Who’s this asshole letting the public know we set coyote pups on fire while they’re still alive—with taxpayer money, no less—and has the evidence to prove it?’”

“Jesus,” Starsky whispered.

“So they decided to shut me up—using baseball bats.”

“Damn,” Hutch cussed.

“Broke me up pretty bad,” Alec explained. “Caused some brain damage. On the back of the medallion it’s down as ‘epilepsy.’ A rare form of it, anyway.”

“Do you have seizures then?” Starsky asked, feeling quite sorry for the man and not knowing what else to say.

“Occasionally. I’m on meds to keep those under control, but stress can trigger one. Or flashing lights. The usual suspects.”

“And you didn’t want us to know you have epilepsy,” Hutch concluded, “because you didn’t want us to worry that you might seize while you were having sex?”

“I meant to take the chain off because the risk was slim-to-none that I would have a problem, but we got more interested in each other’s dicks and I forgot about it.”

“You could have told us,” Starsky argued. “We’d have understood and not been scared out of our wits if you had a problem.”

“We’ve seen dead people,” Hutch reminded Alec. “Dead and dying; seizures wouldn’t rattle us—except to be concerned for you.”

“My wife left me because of the seizures,” Alec said. “You’d be surprised how many people treat epilepsy like it’s leprosy. I didn’t want to be judged, either.”

“Weird, hm?” Starsky considered. “I mean, you weren’t afraid of being judged having sex with two guys, but you were skittish about being judged for a medical condition you can’t help.”

“I can’t help wanting sex with two guys, either.”

A minute of silence settled over them.

“That’s some life story,” Hutch finally commented. He had been staring into his coffee cup and only looked up when he came out of his thoughts. “More tragedy in one lifetime than any person deserves.”

Prison—for a victimless crime, no less. His lover’s suicide. Divorce. Serious bodily injury. The loss of his next great love. Hopelessness.

Hutch remembered telling Starsky earlier that at least Alec’s job wasn’t a life-and-death endeavor—only to discover in that moment how wrong he’d been. The lyrics to the John Denver song, ‘Boy From the Country,’ were more apt than Hutch previously realized, even as he sang them. ‘Because he called the forest brother … Because he called the earth his mother … They drove him out into the rain.’

Alec shrugged, passing it off. “There are sadder stories in the world.”

“Like coyote pups being set on fire while they’re still alive?” Starsky assumed with a shudder as he avoided mentally picturing it. “But everything is relative.”

“Maybe so.”

“You’ve taken steps to protect yourself, we assume,” Hutch said.

“I keep a firearm in my truck and one in my bungalow behind the house. It’s another reason I live out there: the place is hidden in the trees. But, c’mon, this is the last thing I wanted; to have you boys feel sorry for me.”

“We don’t feel sorry for you so much as we empathize—and are concerned,” Hutch debated him. “You’re one of the good guys.”

The meals arrived and attention turned to their bellies.

“I want to thank you both again for an exceptionally good time,” Alec said, “and for being two honorable men I can trust.”

“Our pleasure—and right back at ya,” Starsky replied. He poured a generous amount of syrup over his French toast and it reminded him of lubricant. “Thank you for turning us onto that almond oil. We’re going to have to get ourselves some of it—by the gallon. Right, Hutch?”

“And that’s saying something,” Alec noted with a laugh, “because a little of that oil goes a long way, as you’ve discovered. What have you both been using?” He spread jam over his English muffin.

“We haven’t,” Hutch answered for them. He used ketchup on his potatoes, having ordered those and toast with a side of fruit—same as Alec.

Alec looked at them. “You haven’t used lube? Or I didn’t hear you right.”

“We haven’t had a need to use lube.”

“Spit then?”

“Yeah, spit,” Starsky said, snickering.

“But surely that’s not enough,” Alec advised them.

“It’s been enough for us.”

“You have asses built of steel?”

Starsky realized the disconnect. “Oh, you’re asking us what we use for fucking.”

“What did you think I was asking?”

“What we use for sucking.”

“I’m asking what you use for fucking.”

“Right, okay, and we’re saying we don’t use any.”

“And we’re back to where we started,” Alec said. “Square One. Asses built of steel?”

“Time for our secrets, Starsk,” Hutch decided, answering without waiting for Starsky’s objection. “We haven’t used lube because we weren’t having anal sex.”

Alec looked from one man to the other, seeming to wait for either of them to tell him the truth. When neither man did—they kept on eating—he sat back in his chair, appearing dumbfounded. “You’ve never had anal sex … before last night?”

Starsky felt a bit embarrassed, but didn’t know why. Or maybe it was that emotional hurt again. “That’s right,” he said in a low voice. “First time Hutch and me had anal sex was last night. We never had it before with anyone, either.”

There it was; that’s where the hurt came from.

“May I ask why you’ve been resistant to anal—until last night?” Alec carefully asked.

Starsky shrugged at Alec when he saw the shock on his face hadn’t disappeared. “We’ve only been at this sex thing with each other for … what, Hutch?”

“A week today, I think,” Hutch calculated. “Well, I mean, we started last Monday, but then fought about it for a while. I finally caved a couple of days ago when Starsky charmed me into seeing things his way.”

“Whoa,” Alec exclaimed. “Back up. Before a week ago, you’d never sucked each other’s cocks, either?”

“Nope.”

“Kissed on the mouth?”

“Nyet.”

“Never,” Hutch echoed, rolling his eyes at Starsky’s German.

Alec’s mouth remained open. He looked from one man to the other again, waiting. “I’ve told you my story,” he reminded them. “Be honest about yours.”

“It’s the truth,” Starsky said, looking up at him and making firm eye contact. “Like he said. I woke him up last Monday giving him a blow job for the first time. I mean, he’s had blow jobs before, and so have I, but just from women.”

“So … you snuck into Hutch’s room or you were at least sleeping together?”

“Sharing a bed,” Hutch explained between bites of food. “I took him home when he was released from the hospital—after months in rehab following his coma—and he insisted I sleep in the bed with him rather than on the couch because he didn’t want to put me out.”

“After a couple of weeks on the bed together,” Starsky continued, “I got to feeling … affectionate to him, I mean, in that way.”

“We fought about the blow job for a few days because I was afraid it might end our relationship,” Hutch finished, “but then I was reassured it would only strengthen it, and we’ve been sucking each other off for the past couple of days—how often, Starsk?”

“Twice a day.”

“Right. Morning and night.”

“And then we walked onto your property,” Starsky said, holding his gaze with Alec, “and the rest, as they say, has been … delicious.”

“We planned to have intercourse for the first time when we came to Denver, so I guess in some way we did.”

“No shit,” Alec mumbled, still obviously stunned. He hadn’t touched his breakfast. “Honeymooners.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Whatever possessed you then to have sex with me?”

“Seduction is your hidden talent,” Hutch said with a wink. “What you said: sex for the sex—even though, yes, we also have affection and respect for you. Starsky and I learned a few things, too; you spared us some serious pain, me especially. I’ve never been as fearlessly adventurous as he is.”

“Almond oil,” Starsky explained. “Rule Number One: Don’t leave home without it.”

“And, like you said, Alec: some experiences can only be had with three dicks in the mix. You enriched our lives.”

“We did that for each other,” Alec decided, finally beginning to eat. “I’m just sorry…”

“For what?” Hutch wondered.

“…that I was…”

“Say it,” Starsky encouraged him, not knowing what Alec was about to confess; not even suspecting what he would tell them.

“… that I was … Hutch’s first,” Alec finished his thought.

Starsky about choked on his French toast when Alec said what he did. He never intended to make it an issue for Hutch. He did what he wanted to do and that was to give Hutch the best sex in a threesome as he could possibly afford him, even if it meant losing something special in the transaction. He froze for half a second before finding his defense—to keep Hutch from feeling bad.

“You have the bigger dick between us,” he told Alec, avoiding eye contact with Hutch, “and having had both a big dick—and a not-as-big dick—in my ass last night, I can say with confidence that a bigger dick is better. Goes deeper.”

Alec must have known what Starsky was feeling in those moments because he pursed his lips as if to privately apologize to Starsky, and then said no more. Alec knew, like Starsky knew, that their difference in penis size was minimal, so Starsky using it to dismiss Alec being Hutch’s first was all Alec needed to know to keep from deepening the pain.

And Hutch, meanwhile, didn’t say another word about it, either.

* * *

“You boys are so sweet together,” Alec observed, having finished his breakfast and obviously thinking back over the weekend. “Last night … telling each other ‘I love you’ without words. Priceless.”

“When was that?” Starsky wondered, not remembering.

“When Hutch asked you to hear him out, but didn’t say anything—not with words anyway—and you replied, ‘Ditto.’”

“Oh, that,” Starsky said, somewhat embarrassed for having been heard when he thought he was being discreet. He saw Hutch shyly smile right then, too, and probably for the same reason.

“We came to Denver to drop off some kids and planned to have a romantic night in the city before going home,” Hutch said to Alec. “Ended up spending our time in the mountains with you.”

“It’s been romantic,” Starsky added, speaking to Hutch. “I mean, we did some good for the sanctuary, saw a bald eagle up-close-and-personal, and then sucked and fucked this guy all night long.”

Alec laughed. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky us.”

“In some grand hotel, no less,” Hutch agreed, winking at Starsky.

“Sounds like you ‘came’ to the right place for your planned visit to Colorado,” Alec decided. “Do either of you read or watch scary stories or movies?”

“Starsky’s a big believer in vampires and werewolves,” Hutch observed with a chuckle.

Starsky sneered at him. “Some of my private life should be private, Hutch.”

Alec laughed again. “Well, then, Starsky, you might be interested to know that the Stanley Hotel is where Stephen King got the idea to write The Shining.”

Starsky blinked. “No shit?”

“He was visiting the hotel shortly after it had been restored and it was still rather empty. The long hallways gave him the idea.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that last night. I wouldn’t have been able to get a boner.”

“Someone share the plot,” Hutch solicited them.

“This writer accepts a job as a caretaker of an empty hotel in the boonies,” Starsky excitedly told him, “and his son has these psychic powers that let him see the hotel’s supernatural horrors. Then this winter snowstorm comes along and traps the family in the hotel with all the demons, making the writer guy start to lose his mind and try to kill his family.”

Hutch shook his head. He wasn’t impressed. “Sounds dumb.”

“Because you have no imagination.”

“I’m not a fan of the horror genre.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “That just means you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Have you read King’s vampire book?” Alec asked Starsky, dismissing Hutch’s disinterest to share the one thing with Starsky that they apparently had in common without Hutch. “He wrote it before The Shining and they’re now making it into a movie to be released sometime in November.”

He had to think for a minute to remember the title and then blurted, “Salem’s Lot. It’s also about a writer; this one returns to the town of Jerusalem’s Lot in Maine where he lived as a kid, only to find out that the townsfolk are turning into vampires.”

“Maybe I could be an extra in the movie,” Starsky whimsically dreamed, momentarily staring off to imagine how much fun that would be. “Or maybe I could play a vampire!”

“Maybe I could play the lead,” Hutch suggested, mocking Starsky’s wishes. “I assume the star of the movie is the one to drive the stakes through the vampires’ hearts, yes?”

Starsky smirked at him. “Blond guys don’t play leads,” he insisted, “and even if you dyed your hair black, they wouldn’t use a blue-eyed, baby-faced man, either.”

“Paul Newman?”

“Exception to the rule.”

“As I would be.”

Alec asked if they thought they could ever be actors.

“Hutch and me were in a cowboy movie once—as extras.”

“We bombed,” Hutch sadly recalled.

“Why did you want to be in movies?” Alec asked.

“We were undercover on a set there,” Starsky explained. “We’ve never been serious about acting. It was a job—and it was fun, too.”

Hutch added, “We were taught how to throw punches to make it look real—”

“—but the stunt guys who taught us how to do it decided to make it really real when the cameras were rolling—”

“—and they threw real punches—which is something we’re good at, unbeknownst to them,” Hutch explained, “so we quickly beat them up on camera and duly impressed the director.”

Alec heartily laughed. “I like it when bullies get their due.”

“Same here.”

Silence settled over them on that note as each man undoubtedly lost himself in his own thoughts about justice.

The moment finally arrived. Breakfast had ended. They’d each had a second cup of coffee, briefly discussed the weather, the world at large, and the beauty of the nearby creek. But Starsky and Hutch had a flight to catch, and Alec was probably sorely missed at the sanctuary, so he was the first to stand. Before his friends could rise, he made a short, but sweet closing.

“Gentlemen,” he said, seeming emotional, but keeping it from becoming too apparent, “thanks to you both, I will never forget last night. It has been life-changing for me.”

He pulled a small plastic bottle out of his pants pocket and pushed it across the table toward them. “A parting gift of glorious slide,” he explained. “I brought two bottles of almond oil with me—the one we used last night and this one for you guys. Enjoy the feels on me.” For a moment, it seemed as if he might say more about the previous night, but decided against it.

“I have no words to tell you how grateful I am,” he said instead, “how privileged I feel, and how sorely I am going to miss you both. Think of me whenever you see a bald eagle, and know that I’ll be doing the same about you.”

Starsky stood next. Alec’s speech had moved him—and he was never the one to wax poetic. “Hell, man, I’ll think of you every time I see a horse,” he proclaimed, stepping up to give the first farewell hug. “And I watch a lot of Westerns.” He patted Alec on the back to let him know he felt the mutual affection and respect come through in the tightness of their embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Alec whispered in his ear. “I didn’t know, and I’m sorry. Had I known, I never would have—”

“It’s okay,” Starsky whispered in reply, squeezing Alec closer to affirm his sincerity. He didn’t need Alec to explain what he apologized for any more than he needed the apology itself. “It’ll work out in the wash.”

He kissed the side of Alec’s head, held him at arm’s length, looked him squarely in his blue eyes, and said, “Don’t ever think you got more out of this experience than I did.”

Starsky swore he could see a tear in Alec’s eye as the man turned to say goodbye to Hutch, so he stepped away to allow the men the space. He watched as they wordlessly hugged each other at length, gave each other a firm pat on the back, and then broke apart.

The three of them could have walked to the parking lot to say their farewells, but Alec seemed too emotional to drag the closure out; he wanted to leave when the moment struck him so that he could—quite possibly—grieve sooner, and in solitude.

“When we hear the wind through leafed trees,” Hutch promised him, “we’ll remember you and our time together. Gone, but not forgotten.”

Alec couldn’t keep it in any longer. “On that note, I’ll show myself out,” he said with a light laugh as he wiped the corner of one eye. He abruptly turned on his heel and headed off down the path, never looking back.

Starsky watched Alec until he had disappeared around a bend among the trees. He then looked over at Hutch. They made eye contact. Hutch shrugged, as if he didn’t know what to say. Only time would enable them to find words to express what Starsky imagined they were both feeling: a kind of grief themselves, perhaps on several levels and for different reasons.

“We have a little time,” Hutch said, taking the chair across from where Starsky had been sitting—Alec’s chair—and suggesting they order another coffee, relax next to the creek, and enjoy the peacefulness of nature with just each other. “I’d rather wait out the time here than at the airport.”

His was a sound idea, so Starsky joined him, pulling his chair up to the table, and serendipitously, too, because the waitress showed up to refill their coffee pot, having obviously noticed they’d stayed behind after the departure of their other guest.

Starsky dumped more sugar into his cup after she left, didn’t say anything to Hutch—because he didn’t know what to say—while a mix of emotions ran through his veins and a myriad of thoughts jumbled his mind, none of which he could seem to land on long enough to verbalize.

It seemed the same for Hutch. They sat quietly for several minutes, listening to the ambiance of nature—bird songs, the flow of water nearby, and damn, yes, the sound of a light breeze in leafed trees.

“It’s funny, this sex thing,” Starsky impulsively said. They should start somewhere to talk about it and that’s where his mind went first. “I mean, you think you’re going in for just no-strings attached lust and you end up attached, no matter how much you think you won’t be, hm?”

When Hutch didn’t answer, Starsky looked up at him and waited.

Hutch shrugged. “I figured there’d be some strings attached. We knew going in we liked him.”

“True.”

“We just didn’t expect to really like him.”

“True again.”

“And he didn’t expect to like us so much.”

“I guess that’s what I meant, Hutch. Funny, this sex thing. It’s never what you think it’ll be. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. But maybe we got more out of it than he did; we learned some things.”

“Almond oil,” Starsky reiterated with a little laugh. “I mean, I’m assuming we’re going to want to play with each other that way now, aren’t we?”

“I can’t wait to,” Hutch admitted, twirling the small plastic bottle on the table, but he wasn’t flirtatious; he seemed more matter-of-fact. “That was never not the plan.”

“The plan went to hell,” Starsky said, sipping coffee. He kept his eye on Hutch to make sure Hutch didn’t misread him. He liked how things had transpired; they just hadn’t been on the schedule. He wouldn’t have not wanted the weekend they had. “As soon as we stepped out of Denver,” he furthered, “we should have known we’d entered strange new territory.”

“Well,” Hutch shrugged, “I guess, in some ways, like you said a while ago, we did get our romantic experience. Beautiful country, baseball, a potluck, a hike in the mountains, bald eagles, an Italian meal at no cost to us in a five-star restaurant with a good-looking guy, and three good comes each during a 10-hour period in a romantic—albeit spooky—hotel, in a posh room complete with candles, wine, and almond oil lube.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with another laugh, “when you put it like that, who could ask for more? And, like you said, we learned some things, too.”

“Tell me one besides the best oil to use,” Hutch inquired, making firm eye contact.

“Well, I mean, I learned there are some things I don’t think I could ever do.”

“Such as?”

“Ribbing.”

“You mean rimming.”

“That, too,” Starsky said with a chuckle.

Hutch smiled at him, amused, and then said, “I don’t know, Starsk. Rimming is really sexy.”

“To have done to you,” Starsky clarified, recalling its uniquely pleasurable feel, “but not to do to somebody.”

“Even to do to somebody.”

“Seriously? You think you could do that kind of thing?”

Hutch squinted at him and eased into saying, “I did do that, Starsk.”

Starsky sat back, as confused as he was startled—and a bit jealous, too. “How’d I miss when you did that to him, hm?”

“I didn’t do it to him, moron.”

Starsky had to think back to when he’d been rimmed. It had just been the one time, he remembered. He was on his knees at the edge of the mattress early on in their sex-making. Alec’s mouth was on his penis; Hutch penetrated him shortly after he’d been rimmed. “Wait … that was you?” All along he’d thought Alec had been the one to rim him.

“When they can’t tell it’s you licking their asshole,” Hutch pretended to complain, flicking a sugar packet across the table at Starsky, “then it’s time to pack it up and go home.”

Starsky didn’t want to laugh, but Hutch’s comment forced him into it. He wanted to tell Hutch he was stunned to learn what he just had, but all he could do was feel embarrassed and chagrined, dismayed and—flattered. “I guess I didn’t think you could do something like that if I couldn’t do something like that, so I assumed it had to be him doing it. He’s the one who mentioned it to us at dinner last night.”

“Always good to get pointers from adventurous lovers,” Hutch quipped. “It was the heat of the moment and you were putty in our hands, so I gave it an honest effort. You seemed to like it.”

“I loved it,” Starsky confessed, no longer embarrassed, “but I’d have loved it more if I’d known it was you.”

“I loved it, too. So … you won’t mind if I do that to you again sometime?”

“I have to insist on it now.”

“Good,” Hutch said with a wink. “I can’t wait to perfect my technique.”

Starsky felt somewhat aroused imagining Hutch’s mouth on his anus. “But I don’t know if I can return the favor,” he admitted, suddenly losing his budding erection in the confession. “I’m not sure I would have that desire—and it’s nothing personal.”

“You don’t have to, Starsk. I never had the desire before last night to do that, not even with beautiful women, so don’t get hung up over it. Promise me.”

“Okay,” Starsky mumbled. He did feel guilty that he couldn’t reciprocate. There was a lot he could do for Hutch, including surrender his life for him, but he wasn’t sure about the anal licking. “Having said that … I reserve the right to change my mind,” he decided.

Hutch smiled at him. “No pressure, buddy. Seriously. But now do me a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“He’s a good guy and I had fun. Honest. I came three times, didn’t I? And they were strong comes, too. You had to have noticed that, right?”

Hutch looked amused. “That wasn’t going to be my question.”

“Oh.”

Breaking eye contact, Hutch leaned forward on the table. It was at that moment that Starsky realized why Hutch had taken the seat across from him. He wanted to be direct. And Starsky thought he knew then about what.

* * *

“You didn’t go into this for you,” Hutch concluded. He was sure he knew the answer, so he didn’t make it a question. But he steeled himself just the same, preparing for the hurt he expected to feel when Starsky confirmed what had to be painful for him, too—and looked Starsky in the eye.

Starsky was steadfast—even in his words. “Like I said, I had a good time, Hutch. I went all in, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you did it for yourself.”

“Why are you asking me about this?”

“A hunch.”

“But what difference does it make?”

Hutch had his confirmation. He couldn’t help but look away, to press against the swell of disappointment, sorry, and embarrassment he felt, all wrapped up inside him. He also didn’t want to be impulsive, say the wrong thing—or the right thing the wrong way. So he bit his tongue and eventually looked back at Starsky.

Starsky’s expression told him what else he needed to know: he understood what Hutch was feeling, but it was mixed with his own disappointment in having been found out—and he seemed to want to justify it.

“C’mon, Hutch, is there a better reason to do it besides making my partner happy?”

“Seriously, Starsk?”

“So, you’re not flattered.”

“I’m mortified,” Hutch said, speaking impulsively. That well of conflicting emotions was about to drown him again. “I never would have let you do it for me.”

Starsky closed his mouth, continued to lean on the table, and fidgeted with the edge of a paper napkin, as if he used it to keep himself from saying the wrong thing—or the right thing the wrong way. When he did finally speak, all he said was, “I have no regrets.”

“I have one.”

“I was more than happy to do it for you,” Starsky emphasized, despite his softer voice, and shifting his gaze to the nearby creek. “I went into that threesome for you and I’m not sorry I did. You’ve been there for me and—”

“We’ve been there for each other, and we’re not keeping score.”

“I didn’t say we were. But this last round where you were there for me … I had a chance last night to show my gratitude and I took it.”

“You’d have done the same for me if I’d been the one to be shot in the back.”

“I wasn’t talking about that round.”

“Which one then?”

“The one where you made the decision to go into this sex relationship with me.”

Hutch laughed at the absurdity of Starsky’s reasoning. “We’re in the sex for each other, buddy. It’s a mutually benefitting—”

“I’ve given you one more blow job than you’ve given me.”

“So you are keeping score.”

“That first time I went down on you,” Starsky explained, sounding firm, telling Hutch by tone of voice alone that he didn’t want to be interrupted again, “there was never a reciprocated going down on me.”

“I can make up for that anytime, buddy boy. Just say the word.”

“You could have killed me that morning—and been right doing so—but you didn’t.”

“I fought you afterward.”

“With words.”

“Unkind ones, belittling and insulting ones,” Hutch pointed out.

“Still just words.”

“Which can be more painful than punches.”

“Will you shut up for one goddamn minute? Can I finish what I have to say? Isn’t that why we’re still at this table instead of on our way to catch a plane, so you can know what I think?”

Hutch sat back, feeling frustrated, but agreeable. They didn’t have time to waste. “I yield the floor, Senator.”

“We have a relationship now that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world,” Starsky emotionally continued. “We’re in this new place with each other—not because of me, because of what I did to you that morning, or because I won the war of words when we argued afterwards—but because we worked it out together and came to the same decision: we want this sex relationship for us.”

Starsky was right so far.

“So here’s my question to you, Hutch: why can’t I show appreciation for that by doing something you wanted to do and only I could help you get? Answer me that.”

“Because I only wanted that threesome believing you did, too.”

“Did you just hear me? What you wanted was sex with Alec and me. I had a different want for that threesome. I wanted to do what you wanted. We both got what we aimed for.”

How could Hutch argue with Starsky’s rationalizations? Maybe Starsky was right when he said earlier that it didn’t make a difference why Starsky entered into the sex with Alec and Hutch; it was enough that he wanted to, for his own personal reasons. But how could Hutch repay him for such a gift? And was repayment just another form of keeping score, something Hutch didn’t want either of them to do?

“How’m I supposed to live with this, Starsk? with you going all out for me?”

“Start by saying, ‘Thank you, David. I had a great time.’”

Hutch couldn’t bring himself to speak those words. But Starsky’s glib answer to a complicated situation was appreciated because it gave them both a bit of comic relief and kept them from going over the emotional edge.

“We have fifteen minutes before we have to leave,” Starsky said after glancing at his watch. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

“No,” Hutch solemnly said. “Not at this time. But I reserve the right to revisit this. In the meantime, I’m going to hit the head and then we can go. Don’t leave without me,” he joked as he left the table and headed for the cafe. “I trust you’re still my wingman.”

* * *

For the first time in almost all of the weekend, Starsky had a few minutes on his own. He sat in his chair alongside the creek while he waited for Hutch to ‘hit the head’ before their drive to Denver.

Meanwhile, he turned his mind to nature—not something Starsky ever really did, but he felt so weighted down by his thoughts and feelings that he sorely needed the reprieve. Life beyond the human experience seemed to calm Hutch in such times, so maybe it would work for him, too.

There was so much he hadn’t told Hutch.

Not being Hutch’s first to copulate him—especially having been the first male to fellate him—was a loss that would take an eternity of time to recover from. No song birds, no clearwater creeks, no Rocky Mountain high could ease that pain.

But it was also hard for Starsky to put the blame for losing out on anyone but himself. In the end, he could have shoved Alec aside, demanded that his own needs be respected, ignored any unfounded complaints from either man, and taken what was rightfully his. So why didn’t he?

And then he knew why.

Alec had asked Hutch if he wanted to use his safe word after Hutch seemed to be having difficulty allowing Alec in, but Hutch said he didn’t want to stop trying. He didn’t want to stop. Starsky honored Hutch’s want. It had been his reason for entering into the three-man sex play in the first place and it remained a decider of his actions throughout. He went all in, as he’d put it to Hutch earlier, because he wanted to walk away knowing he hadn’t punished anyone, he hadn’t deprived anyone—including himself—and he hadn’t marred what would be a relatively overall fond memory once it was in the rearview mirror.

Starsky would argue with Hutch for the rest of their lives about whose responsibility it was to meet Starsky’s sexual needs. In Starsky’s mind, it was his own—and he chose, despite how he felt, even in the moment he felt it, to allow Alec to be Hutch’s first.

Wasn’t love about granting the other one his happiness? That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt. All he could hope for was to keep that pain to himself in the long run of their lives and hope that time itself would bury it in the past.

In the end, there was still a remaining first for Starsky in their future: his own experience entering his partner. He decided, as he sat by the creek that morning, enjoying the ambiance and the scenery, that he would focus more on his pending first and not on the un-doable past.

After committing to his decision, he checked his watch and felt anxious about getting on the road to the airport. He hoped Hutch wasn’t in the bathroom crying his eyes out or Starsky was going to have to find another way to stop Hutch from a lifetime of guilt.

“C’mon,” Hutch said behind him, startling Starsky out of his deep thoughts, “we’ve got to go.” He handed Starsky a paper bag. “I’ll drive so we’ll get there alive.”

“And I carry the paper bag?” Starsky quipped, getting to his feet. He looked for telltale signs that Hutch had been grieving in the men’s room, but couldn’t see any. “What’s in the bag?”

“Snacks.”

“We just had breakfast.”

“For the ride,” Hutch explained. “I don’t want to hear any ‘I’m hungry’ complaints along the way.”

Starsky peeked inside as they walked to the car. There was a ripe banana and a couple of homemade pastries in the bag, as well as a packet of salted cashews. He was glad he’d snatched two water bottles from the sanctuary before they left because Hutch’s choice in edibles were rather dry ones. The purchase of the goodies at least explained Hutch’s delay; better that he bought snacks than he shed tears in the restroom.

They got into the car without speaking to each other and, while Hutch drove onto the highway, Starsky rolled down his window and settled into his seat. He allowed the breeze to take away his deeper thoughts and gave himself the time to simply appreciate that they were headed home—back to their own bed, to each other, to the relationship they had begun to build together.

“You seem rather quiet,” Starsky eventually said. Enough time had passed that he felt they should be talking about something by then. He noticed that Hutch’s translucent blond hair was gently blowing in the wind as it came through his opened window, and that Hutch seemed relaxed behind the wheel, despite the winding road. He looked untroubled, but was he?

“Are we good?” Starsky asked.

Hutch glanced over at him, appearing dismayed. “It wasn’t a deal breaker, was it?”

“It’d take a lot more than a threesome to break us up,” Starsky insisted, feeling a bit alarmed that Hutch could even think fatal damage may have been done.

“Then we’re good,” Hutch said, flatly, immediately smiling.

Starsky couldn’t see Hutch’s eyes behind the sunglasses, but he imagined they were bright, too.

So they went back to their assigned tasks: Hutch driving, Starsky gazing.

After a while, Starsky had another observation. “Hey, Hutch?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Don’t you think we should be seeing signs for Denver by now?”

“Not until we’re out of the mountains.”

A beat later, Starsky had his follow-up question. Something seemed off. “Don’t you think we should be out of the mountains by now?”

“If we were going east, we would be.”

Hutch’s answer made no sense.

“So that means we’re going west?” Starsky timidly asked. He still couldn’t remember which way was which and he didn’t want to be lectured about it.

“Clever deduction, my dear Watson.”

Another answer that told Starsky nothing. “Is Denver to the west of us then?”

“Use your imagination.”

It was obvious that Hutch was playing with him. “Okay. I’ll bite.”

“I called Dobey while I was in the cafe.”

“And?” Starsky blurted, surprised.

“I told him we had some unfinished business in Colorado and could he extend our stay another night and change our flight to tomorrow.”

“I ‘imagine’ he agreed to all of that.”

“He did.”

“And what unfinished business do we have, Hutch?” Starsky’s heart sank when he realized they were headed west—toward the sanctuary—and that the unfinished business probably involved Alec Henley. He covered for his own trepidation by pushing the focus elsewhere. “We already told him goodbye. You don’t want to break his heart another time, do you?”

Hutch glanced again at Starsky—without any readable expression—and then looked back to the highway to maneuver the road. “Everybody kept telling us we should see the Rocky Mountain National Park while we’re here.”

“So that’s where we’re going?”

“And it’s on a different road from the one to the sanctuary; we’re headed southwest and the Center is northwest. You’d know that if you learned something in junior high about your own country or knew anything about the cosmos.”

“Too early to think about geometry.”

“Geography, Starsk. And astronomy. The sun, you know? Start with that big bright ball of fire in the sky.”

“What you’re telling me, Hutch, is that we’re not going back to the sanctuary.”

“That’s not where our unfinished business is, Smart Boy.”

That much was a relief to Starsky. “So what’s your plan?”

“To see what everyone thinks we’d be missing if we didn’t see it?”

“Like taller mountains?”

Hutch laughed. “We’re going to Dream Lake—a popular hotspot and one of many lakes in the Park. Let’s see if it lives up to its hype.”

“And then?”

“And then we head to Denver in time for nightfall and do what we originally planned to do there—and better late than never.”

* * *

“This sure isn’t like home, Hutch.”

Starsky had stopped near a vacant park bench along the wide pathway to Dream Lake to admire the wildflowers that swept across a meadow toward a horizon of mountain peaks. He didn’t sit, but rather stood, hands in his front jeans pockets, his weight on one foot, and gazed off to where the aspen tree-speckled land met the very blue sky.

It was Hutch who sat on the bench, leaning forward, forearms on thighs, and not because he was tired and needed the rest, but because he wanted to enjoy two views at once: the one Starsky studied—mountains and trees, flowers and vast sky—and Starsky himself. He wished he had a camera in that moment so he could forever burn Starsky’s image into memory: his city-bred partner, admiring the natural world. If Hutch took the picture in breaks between the passersby—the strollers and the hikers—it would appear as if Starsky was alone in the wilderness. In some ways, perhaps emotionally and mentally, he actually was.

Starsky also had an unforgettably beautiful backside—his shoulders, lean waist, tight ass—which Hutch couldn’t help but notice and would never tire of seeing, public spaces be damned.

“Wish I had a camera,” Starsky commented after he eventually turned and joined Hutch on the bench, sitting close beside him, “but I don’t think it would do it justice.”

“It wouldn’t,” Hutch agreed. Like Starsky’s butt, the wilderness could really only be experienced.

There was light foot traffic on the gravel path—mostly couples or families with children; the occasional lone hiker. Hutch was pleased to see so many people care about wild beauty—especially the reluctant partner he had dragged to such places. The wilderness was in everyone’s hearts, if only they could know it. Its highest redeeming value was perspective.

“How far have we walked?” Starsky wondered, checking his watch as if he could get the answer there sooner.

“About halfway.”

“Half way?” Starsky asked incredulously. “I thought we were there.”

“Do you see a lake, Starsk?”

“We saw a lake ten minutes ago.”

“That was Bear Lake, but it’s not the one we came to see.”

“You’ve seen one lake, you’ve seen them all.”

“Beg to differ, buddy.”

Bear Lake was a less scenic body of water in the park compared to the lake Hutch had his sights on. The waitress at the cafe promised him it was the one to visit and would definitely live up to its name. In fact, they would pass Nymph Lake along the way, at which he and Starsky would probably have the same discussion again about how far they still were from their destination.

As if on cue, Starsky returned to his original complaint. “So … how much longer to Daydreaming Lake then, hm?”

“Dream Lake—and another half hour,” Hutch said. He realized in that exchange that Starsky had ‘guessed’ at the lake’s name as he remembered it, but it was too obvious a play on words for it to be accidental. Maybe Alec Henley was right: Starsky loved to rattle the bars of Hutch’s cage when it came to what Hutch had long-ago dubbed as ‘Starsky Speak.’ It wasn’t ignorance, after all; it was a game.

“You don’t think we’ve seen enough?” Starsky wondered, not sounding serious, but who knew anymore?

“Picture this view with a blue green lake,” Hutch suggested, “and then you tell me.”

Starsky was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, okay,” he eventually said, acquiescing.

“I thought you were enjoying the walk,” Hutch noted, disappointed to learn he had misread Starsky.

“I guess I’m just tired. I was up all night fucking around.”

“No ‘around’ about it,” Hutch replied with a light laugh. “We were both up all night fucking. Do you want to turn back and sleep while I drive?”

“I want to see Nightmare Lake.”

Hutch grunted. Starsky had done it again. “Because you want to see the lake, Starsk, or because I want you to see the lake?”

“Cheap shot, pal,” Starsky growled. He got to his feet and headed up the path on his own.

Hutch quickly bolted after him. When he came alongside Starsky, first having to avoid several hikers on their return to the parking lot, Starsky snapped at him.

“Was that a punch you threw at me back there?”

“It was,” Hutch confessed, apologetically. “But I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“What was to lighten?”

“You said you’re tired because you were fucking last night. I can’t help but feel it’s a sore subject.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good to know,” Hutch said, noticing that their pace had slowed, but also that they were on a determined continuing journey to Dream Lake.

They hiked side-by-side at times and, occasionally, followed behind the other when foot traffic from the opposite direction forced them over. Similar to the hike to the meadow to release Lady Liberty, the trail to Dream Lake was sometimes over moderately uneven terrain—and meandered through spectacular scenery.

It was on one of those times, when Hutch was following Starsky along the path, that it sharply narrowed and Starsky abruptly turned, grabbed Hutch by his elbow, and pushed him to the side of the trail into a small aspen grove. They weren’t out of earshot of anyone close by, nor out of view from prying eyes by any stretch, but that didn’t stop Starsky from becoming visibly agitated.

“Let’s have this out here and now,” he snarled, making firm eye contact, and not letting go of Hutch’s arm. “You haven’t told me everything about last night and I’m not telling you everything. I wanted to do this for you and keep to myself whatever bothered me, but I guess I don’t get my wish, either.”

Hutch was surprised to learn what Starsky had revealed, especially the part where he accused Hutch of keeping something from him. “What’s to tell you, Starsk? I haven’t held anything back.”

“What you’re not telling me is that you knew I was mad at you last night. I wasn’t that good at hiding it.”

Hutch didn’t leave eye contact with those fiery blue eyes. Starsky had definitely hit a nerve. A truthful one. Hutch had no recourse but to admit to his own hidden feelings. “I knew you weren’t happy with me about something, but I didn’t know what—and I still don’t.”

Hutch was also defensive about one thing, and he wanted it known from the start. “Alec was an innocent player.”

“I didn’t say I was mad at him.”

“Then no beating up on him.”

“I have no reason to.”

“Does that make you mad, too?”

“Does what make me mad?”

“That I’m defending him?”

Starsky huffed. “No,” he insisted, driving it home in the firmness of his expression. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said I was mad. I should say I was—”

“—hurt,” Hutch surmised.

Starsky bit his lip, loosened his grip on Hutch’s arm, seemed relieved to hear Hutch’s empathy. “Yeah. Hurt.”

“Because you went into it for me and you do regret it.”

“No, that’s not why.”

“Why then?”

“Alec didn’t know we’d never fucked … Well, I mean, it was an accident what he learned about us this morning.”

“I should have told him last night that we were inexperienced,” Hutch solemnly said, but why did Starsky care about what Alec didn’t know? Their lover had as great a time as they did.

“I could have told him, too, Romeo, but I didn’t,” Starsky replied, sounding as sheepish and looking perplexed.

Hutch tried to flesh it for him. “Were we embarrassed to tell him?”

“I can’t speak for you, but I just didn’t think about it. Besides … at some point, it was too late to tell him.”

Something else was eating Starsky, Hutch decided. “It was never too late, Starsk.”

“Imagine us telling him in the heat of the moment that we were newbies, hm?”

“Forget what we didn’t tell him. Tell me what you aren’t saying now.”

Starsky huffed again, sounding obviously defeated. He made firm eye contact, but still had to push himself into answering, his voice cracking on his words. “I wanted to be first, Hutch. That’s all.”

Hutch shifted back on his feet, knocked there by confusion and shock as they leapfrogged inside him, but he quickly caught up to what he realized Starsky had just told him. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that,” he admitted. “I need a minute to think.”

“Nothing to think about,” Starsky said. “I’m just giving you the facts. He got to be first and I didn’t. I’m mad—and hurt—for that reason, but also because you knew I was mad and hurt and didn’t care that I was. But I’ll get over it.”

Despite Starsky’s visible pain, Hutch was relieved to hear him say what he did. He didn’t want Starsky to lie to him; he didn’t want Starsky to go forward into their lives pretending he hadn’t lost something of consequence, either. Hutch was grateful for that honesty, but it didn’t ease the remorse he felt.

“If Alec hadn’t stumbled into knowing we’d never coupled like that,” Hutch said, seeking further closure, “you were never going to say anything for the rest of our lives about his being first?”

Starsky swallowed his feelings in that moment to answer the question with a simple, “No. But I figured you were already aware I feel this way.”

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know?”

“I was too caught up in the moment and dealing with my own issues at the time.”

“Then I guess it doesn’t matter if I told you or not.”

“We can’t live like that, Starsk. We’re in too deep to keep those kinds of feelings to ourselves. You think it wouldn’t fester, but it will.”

“You were there. You said a minute ago you knew I was mad at you.”

“I said I knew you weren’t happy with me.”

“What made you think that?”

“I thought you were unhappy because I was slow on the uptake to finish you after he and I came.”

“That’s why you thought I went to him for it?”

“You told him I was a ‘goner’ and went to him instead.”

Starsky bit his lip.

“Come on, don’t hold back.”

“Okay,” Starsky acquiesced, “then for the record, I went to him to finish me because I was hurt that he was your first and I didn’t want you to touch me.”

Hutch’s turn to feel the pain, but Starsky’s was paramount to him. “You’re also hurt because you think I didn’t care that you weren’t my first.”

Starsky looked back at him and seemed to be on the verge of tears. It was his way—or so Hutch believed—Starsky agreed with him: Hutch was the one who had caused Starsky’s pain and all the talk in the world would never justify the wrong that had been done to him. “Semantics,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Starsky.”

“It hurt, Hutch,” Starsky reiterated, emotionally cracking, as if he’d never be able to say those words again if he didn’t speak them right then. He released Hutch, including his physical hold, and looked up the pathway. “It hurt a lot,” he added. “And, as much as I wanted to let bygones be bygones, I took it out on you. That makes me angry at myself.”

He turned away, began walking up the trail again, and Hutch immediately followed. When hikers had somewhat cleared the area, Hutch picked up where they’d left off.

“I do care, Starsk,” he apologetically said, walking alongside Starsky while the path was still clear, “even if it seemed like I didn’t.”

Starsky kept his eyes on the rocky ground and maintained their comfortable pace. “When you wouldn’t give him your safe word, Hutch …” His voice trailed away, forcing Hutch to fill in the blanks that seemed too painful for his partner.

“Wait a minute,” he finally said, grabbing Starsky’s arm and pulling him to the side as he turned Starsky to face him. “You’re misreading me.”

The pain was in Starsky’s eyes. “I’m not misreading you; it’s that you’re not hearing me. So let me make it simple. You didn’t stop him from being your first and you didn’t stop him from finishing me.”

Hutch finally understood. He shoved his hands into his back jeans pockets and drew a deep breath. In that epiphany, he didn’t deserve to touch Starsky. “I do understand. You went to him solely because you were hurt by my going through with the … other thing.” He’d carefully chosen his words and paused long enough for them to force a cheerful hello to a passerby and then he made eye contact with Starsky again. “And the insult to injury was my not being there for you.”

“Not a bad guy to be your first, Hutch,” Starsky said, throwing an emotional punch.

But Hutch had it coming, so he took it. “I’m sorry, Starsky.”

“He apologized, too, but—”

“When?”

“When he hugged me goodbye this morning.”

“So, that’s what he was telling you,” Hutch realized. He had seen Alec say something to Starsky in that farewell embrace, but he figured it had been words of gratitude, not remorse. Hutch was glad to hear Alec had regretted it because it meant Alec knew it should have gone down differently, too, despite that Alec was the most innocent one among them.

“Besides,” Starsky furthered, “his apology is the only one I accept—and I didn’t even need his.”

“Why his and not mine?”

“Because he’s the one who had the experience I wanted—and he didn’t know it.” Tears had welled in Starsky’s eyes. “Why did you let him be first over me, hm?”

There would be no lying, despite how vulnerable it made Hutch; he could barely stand Starsky’s pain. Maybe the truth would ease it for them both. “I chose Alec because…”

“Because why?”

“… because he was experienced.”

Starsky blinked and a tear emerged on his cheek. “You thought you’d enjoy it more with someone who’s done it before? Over me?”

“Not enjoyed it.”

“What then?”

“Endured it. I thought it might hurt less with someone who’s done it countless times before.”

Starsky whispered “oh” under his breath. He definitely appeared taken aback by Hutch’s disclosure. “So … you didn’t think you’d enjoy it, not even a little?”

“Not the first time,” Hutch conceded, feeling as sheepish as he probably sounded. He—a grown, experienced man himself—afraid of sex.

“I guess he showed you,” Starsky sarcastically observed with a light laugh as he wiped his eye. “He not only didn’t hurt you, he gave you a good time.”

“I didn’t expect a good time.”

“You were just hoping it wouldn’t hurt, hm?”

Hutch was embarrassed; how could Starsky ever think he’d want anyone else to chart that new territory—but pain was a motivating factor and he’d been ashamed to admit it. “It’s why I said we should come to Denver and you wine-and-dine me—especially that wine part.”

“To loosen you up.”

“And give me courage.”

“So, me being first—”

“—is what I wanted, too.”

Starsky was wordless for half a minute. Only the bonding eye contact with Hutch told Hutch Starsky was rethinking his own actions. But there was no way Hutch could defend his reasons, even for purposes of avoiding pain.

Still, Starsky had made another point, and he seemed as troubled by it, so Hutch dug deeper. “When I failed you, you asked him to finish you because you didn’t want me to touch you.”

“I wanted you to know how it felt to be passed over.”

Hutch understood that, too. At least Starsky had taken something for himself. But regret was what Hutch finally felt. “I’d give everything to do it over again—or not do last night at all.”

“Too late for all that. Did his sucking me off make you feel like shit?”

“What bothered me more was when you spooned him afterward,” Hutch emotionally admitted, “and slept with him instead of me.”

Starsky broke the closeness between their eyes to stare toward the ground for a minute, as he too apparently replayed those moments in his mind. Then without looking up, he added, “Maybe I could have gotten past that then, I mean, last night while we were together, if I’d known I’d gotten under your skin.”

“And I didn’t want to be wrong about how you were feeling and make a scene where there wasn’t one.”

“Maybe we underestimate how well we read each other without words.”

“I think—because there was a third party involved—that we didn’t allow ourselves to be as open and honest with me-and-thee as we normally are.”

Starsky finally lifted his eyes. “Instead, I decided to go all in and fuck that guy like there was no tomorrow, show him a grand old time—and you and me, too—so you’d be jealous. That’s not how I went into that situation, but that’s how I came out of it. Sometimes I can be a four-year-old.”

“You’re always a four-year-old,” Hutch said with a sad laugh. “But you succeeded, Starsk.”

“You were jealous?”

“Like a green-eyed monster,” Hutch replied, not ashamed to admit it. In fact, he would probably never tell Starsky just how possessive he’d been.

Starsky’s turn to sigh with a sad laugh. “So, I guess we’re even.”

Hutch shyly smiled, realizing that Starsky had passed through his anger, and quite possibly a lot of his hurt, and found the mutual understanding they both sought.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm again and turned them toward Dream Lake. “C’mon, you Big Blond Brute,” he said whimsically, “enough of this shit. Let’s go see some lemon yellow water. Then I’m taking you back to Denver tonight where I’m going to do to you what I planned to do all along—and it’ll be Alec’s turn to be the green-eyed monster.”

* * *

“You weren’t kidding, Hutch,” Starsky admitted when they turned their attention to the spectacular view overlooking Dream Lake. He whistled through his teeth. “It was worth the hike to get here.”

It had been a somewhat steep climb in some parts of the trail after they left Nymph Lake, first spending a quarter of an hour enjoying the serenity of its lily pads in the company of a resident elk herd, and using the time to rest, before they finally reached Hutch’s planned destination. Fewer hikers were on that part of the rocky trail, which went beyond Dream Lake to Emerald Lake and higher.

“Be glad I’m not asking you to go further,” Hutch had said, chastising Starsky for his complaints about the steeper hike than he expected, and despite that they’d taken their time to climb it. “We took it slow for you.”

Starsky then dutifully closed his mouth and silently followed his partner; he was glad for what he didn’t have to do as much as he was for what he did. Now at Dream Lake, and having been spurred by Hutch to hike a short ways up the side of the mountain off the beaten path, and he was rewarded by the calming wilderness—as old as time itself.

The mountain summit, more than 12,000 feet at its highest point, was the centerpiece of their awe-inspiring view. The tree line stopped well below it and helped to define the picturesque landscape. The blue green water of Dream Lake, flanked by alpine forests and wildflower meadows, was dwarfed by the cliff-chiseled natural monument known as Hallett Peak and its iconic ridge line.

Despite the change in altitude, Starsky didn’t feel squeamish. Hutch had been smart to keep them hydrated or Starsky was simply so overwhelmed by nature’s beauty that he didn’t notice just how high up they were. Hutch had also been clever to drag them up off the trail to a higher vantage point, to be able to look down on the lake and up at the mountain for one breathtaking visual.

“We can’t say we didn’t see the Rocky Mountain National Park,” Hutch commented in a quiet voice, sounding as if he too was spellbound; of course, he had to be—he, the country boy—and despite that there was much more to see of the Park, but very little time. He’d wisely chosen the place for them, compromising on his need to see every bit of the national icon while allowing Starsky the reprieve from anything too strenuous.

“It sure is pretty,” Starsky observed. He stood beside Hutch, hands on his hips, and soaked in the magnificence of their surroundings, fresh air and its pine and wildflower aroma. Even the sky was a special kind of blue, much like Hutch’s eyes.

Minutes passed. Only then did Starsky realize how far away his troubles seemed—and by troubles, he meant the daily crime they fought against, his ongoing recovery from gunshot wounds, and simple things, like which house they should buy and where to put the pool table. Here, on the mountain, it all fell behind him. There was only now—and he and Hutch were alone in it together.

“I’ve never seen anything like this, Hutch, not even in Yosie-might.” Maybe it was the high-up vantage point: the one from which they viewed Yosemite gave them a majestic perspective, whereas here the mountain was much more within reach, a seemingly attainable grandiose wilderness.

“There’s a first time for everything, Columbus.”

Starsky chuckled; he, the discoverer. Maybe so. Life didn’t have to end when it almost nearly did. There was so much more to know, feel, experience.

“Hey, look, Starsk!” Hutch excitedly said, quickly pointing to a spot above the distant tree line. “Do you see that?”

Starsky strained to see what Hutch apparently had no trouble laying eyes on, but all he noticed was wilderness. “What is it?”

“Young bird.”

Starsky didn’t understand why the bird’s age mattered—or even how Hutch could know it—but he couldn’t see anything moving about. “Where?”

“Flying.”

Starsky scanned the sky above the trees to where Hutch continued to point. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, Hutch.”

Hutch dropped his arm to his side and sighed, sounding disappointed; apparently it was too late to show his partner. Whatever had been there was now gone. He then pointed toward the valley between Hallett Peak and its neighboring ridges, to where a scattering of alpine trees flourished. “Hear the flowers growing,” he said.

Hutch must have wanted Starsky to listen, so he strained to do that, too. There was definitely a stillness in the air, a tranquility absent of thought, a time-stand-still quiet. Hutch had been poetic: ‘hear the flowers growing.’ But something else in those words was familiar. Starsky couldn’t pinpoint it. After a minute, he looked at Hutch for further clues and discovered Hutch was already looking at him.

“What?” Starsky asked. He couldn’t help but notice the intent expression on his partner’s face, but a soft one, kind, fond, encompassing. “What’s with you?”

“‘And the time will be our time,’” Hutch said, turning toward him, a gentle smile in his sky blue eyes.

Those hadn’t been words, Starsky then realized; they were lyrics.

Hutch stepped up to him, cradled Starsky’s face in both of his hands, closed his eyes, and tenderly kissed his lips. Warm kiss. Loving. When he leaned back and looked into Starsky’s eyes, he finished the lyric in a singsong voice. “‘And the grass won’t pay no mind.’”

* * *

“This is why you brought us up here, isn’t it?” Starsky decided, choking back his sudden emotion; it was a rhetorical question. “We could have seen the lake and the mountain just fine from down there, but you brought us the rest of the way for this.”

“First time for everything, Starsk,” Hutch said again, unbuttoning Starsky’s shirt.

They’d never made love in the grass, not with anyone, ever.

Hutch wouldn’t be able to make up for the mistakes and ‘the first’ he’d botched, but he seemed bent on finding other firsts for them. How could Starsky not love his man all the more? He was so emotional in that moment that he couldn’t even feel aroused when Hutch finished opening his shirt and then released the button on his waistband. All he could do was remember to breathe—and to watch.

Cool air washed over his skin—and especially around his groin when Hutch lowered Starsky’s jeans to his ankles. It made Hutch’s hand feel warmer after he knelt in the wild grass at their feet and lifted Starsky’s flaccid penis off his scrotum, tenderly kissing the inside of his thigh.

“Are you going to suck my dick, too?” Starsky asked, burying his fingers in Hutch’s blond hair and enjoying the view of the top of his head. “Right out here in the open?” He knew what Hutch would do, but somehow asking for it immediately aroused him from the anticipation alone. He couldn’t remember a time when anyone’s mouth had been on him while he remained standing. That was a first, too—unbeknownst to Hutch.

Hutch looked up at him with a gentle grin. “But don’t come like this,” he kindly suggested. “We have more to do. Just enjoy yourself for now.”

Something about the splendor of the mountains and the fresh wilderness air, enveloping them as those things did, coupled with Hutch’s warm touch and the exposure of his privates, made Starsky begin to harden even before he felt Hutch’s lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Starsky said, holding one side of his shirt open, his other hand on Hutch’s head, and slightly leaning over so he could completely see what Hutch was doing. He watched his partner take his time kissing his penis—no tongue, nothing wet, just soft and warm and tender. The anticipation of something more sensual and sexual stiffened Starsky further. “I love that you love sucking me, Hutch,” he said with a deep breath as he momentarily closed his eyes. Hutch did make him feel wanted, every part of him. “You’re such a sweet lover.”

Hutch gave the perimeter of Starsky’s crown a series of small kisses. “I love how you love it, Starsk.” He seemed to appreciate the deeply inhaled sexy aroma, too. He caressed Starsky’s engorged shaft with his lips, still without moisture, inhaling slowly, telling Starsky he appreciated the scent and its stimulating sexiness.

Starsky immersed himself into how desired he felt, how especially indulged he was by his partner. Hutch was in no hurry, despite the ache he must have known Starsky craved to have fulfilled. Hutch wanted to please him, to take his time, to allow the wild and the timelessness of their place on that mountain to magnify the awareness of their sharing. This much Starsky knew about that.

Cool air, the occasional cry of a predatory bird, and the sound of leaves in trees from an ever-so-slight breeze did their magic. They reminded Starsky that he was completely exposed in the outdoors, that he stood with his pants down to his feet as Hutch knelt before him, cradling his wanting erection, and kissing it gently, lovingly, longingly.

Hutch finally licked the slit in his crown, the way he’d initially kissed it, with gentleness and want, before he encircled the cap again with small kisses, that time with moist lips.

“I can’t believe you love this so much,” Starsky said, pulling Hutch’s head closer to make Hutch take his penis further into his mouth, “like nobody else ever has.”

The slippery sensation, its tightness and long slide in, forced Starsky to lift his head and close his eyes so he could only feel it. Hutch’s hand slipped behind him and gripped his butt cheek, and that felt arousing, too, pulling Starsky closer in and therefore deeper. He felt cornered in a way he relished: Hutch’s grip on his buttock, his fully erect penis deep in Hutch’s mouth, and held there so he could thoroughly enjoy the anticipating eroticism.

His skin perspired, he breathed deeply with an open mouth, he heard Hutch’s heavy breathing through his nose, and together they softly moaned, telling the other they coveted the suspended moment, each experiencing his own sensations, but equally craving them.

Hutch slowly withdrew him, licking Starsky’s shaft along the way, tonguing his frenulum beneath the crown—that hypersensitive sweet spot of orgasmic pleasure—then sucking its head, kissing and licking it, before repeating the stimulating technique on a return entry.

“Oh, Hutch,” Starsky whispered as he watched his heated erection disappear into his partner’s mouth again, that time faster than the previous one. He knew Hutch wanted to prolong their enjoyment, but Starsky wanted more sooner. “Suck me like you want me to come,” he begged, “at least for a … minute.”

Hutch gave him that minute, pumping Starsky’s shaft with both his hand and mouth, tightly and with a satisfying pace, noisily, as if to let Starsky know that he too enjoyed the rhythm, and squeezing Starsky’s buttock to remind him he was locked in a deep warmth.

Starsky watched at times, the entire length of his swollen penis appearing and disappearing from base to tip, seeing its raised veins filled with hot blood, its glistening skin coated in Hutch’s saliva and his own pre-cum, its rigid, reddened girth, and he could only feel, not think; he could only want, not speak. But sometimes he could only close his eyes and purely enjoy the ecstasy Hutch built for him. Starsky was completely in the present.

“I really want to come, Hutch,” he finally told him, opening his eyes and placing both hands on Hutch’s head, attempting to hold Hutch in place so he could surrender to that intensifying crest as it rolled into a glorious orgasm. But his breathless words did what his reluctant subconscious needed Hutch to do—and that was to release Starsky.

Hutch broke the contact, sliding Starsky out, dropped his arms to his sides, sat back on his heels, and panted off his own heated delirium. “Sorry, Starsk,” he eventually said between heavy breaths, and lightly laughing. “I’d love to finish you right now, but…”

“But I’m going to fuck you,” Starsky presumed, trying not to show his excitement because he was afraid Hutch might think he hadn’t fully appreciated the fellatio. “That’s why you brought us here, isn’t it, Mr. Trailblazer?”

They made firmer eye contact.

“Yeah, Starsk. You’re going to fuck me.”

“Right here in the grass, right, Hutch?”

“Yep. Right here in the grass.”

“And it won’t pay no mind, will it, Hutch?”

“No, buddy, no mind at all.”

* * *

Together, they completely undressed—with Starsky helping Hutch to speed him along. Hutch had even remembered to bring the bottle of almond oil on their hike. After he got down on all-fours in their bundle of clothes, Starsky knelt behind him, using his own jeans to protect his knees. He squeezed oil into the division of Hutch’s backside to be sure the opening was well-lubricated, and eagerly sighed with anticipation.

Despite his excitement, he was determined not to hurt his partner. “Are you okay?” he asked, mounting Hutch’s hips and guiding his penis into the indentation, but still waiting for permission.

“I want you,” Hutch said above a whisper. He fondled himself—to both relax, Starsky assumed, but also to feel pleasure. “I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more.”

As Starsky’s crown slowly disappeared into the widening ring, he felt a burst of orgasmic pleasure he was sure he’d never experienced before. “Oh,” he blurted, startled by the sensation. He eased in further, balancing himself on his bare feet and his hands on Hutch’s hips. More pleasure rewarded him. “Oh, Hutch.” He’d never felt anything as tight and wet as he did then. Not even Alec was as lubricated and still that snug. Starsky and Hutch were finally in sync.

“It feels good, Starsk. It doesn’t hurt. Go deeper.”

Starsky drove in with purpose, watching himself incrementally disappear inside the person he loved more than life itself, and the visual giving him almost as much pleasure as the physical. The slide was a stroke of ecstasy. He went in as far as his penis would take him, his sac tight to Hutch’s perineum, feeling those erotic sensations, too, and then carefully withdrew. “Are you still okay?”

“I’ll let you know if it hurts,” Hutch said, speaking between heavy breaths and moans. “You can take me like you want, Starsk. I’ll let you know.”

Starsky could barely remember to be careful; his body overtook his mind, its need for more pleasure, higher ecstasy, and deeper sensations. Soon he was thrusting his groin, squatting over Hutch’s hips, gripping Hutch’s shoulders to keep his balance, pushing in and pulling out, over and again, in a steady rhythm, hearing his own skin gently slap Hutch’s, feeling his sac snug against Hutch on each deep penetration. “Oh, Hutch,” he said again, mesmerized and overwhelmed and laughing in disbelief. “I’m fucking you.”

“Nobody does it better,” Hutch swore with a heavy breath. “Nobody ever has.”

That was saying something, Starsky decided—Alec Henley sure did a fine job of intercourse.

“Oh, honey,” Hutch whispered, enjoying Starsky’s longer strokes, his breath becoming labored. “That feels so good.”

Starsky increased his rhythm to tell Hutch he understood Hutch felt no pain—music to Starsky’s ears. As his pace accelerated, so did his forceful plunges, hardening his own penis, swelling his own testes, taking him further, deeper, harder. It was an effort to squat while he thrust in-and-out of Hutch, but the momentum kept him on his feet, and his desire gave him the strength to stay mounted, engaged, and feeling good.

“Come when you want to,” he breathlessly said, moaning on a particularly deep dive that he thought might ejaculate himself, but then finding the energy to endure. “Don’t wait for me,” he insisted, plunging deeper, faster. He could feel that Hutch still pumped his own penis and imagined his partner was as aroused and close to cresting.

“I’m gonna come, Starsk,” Hutch plaintively said, confirming Starsky’s assessment, and moaning with the ecstasy he was experiencing.

“I’m coming, too, Hutch!” Starsky cried out, plunging one last time into his partner, tightly gripping Hutch’s hips with both hands, and emptying his sac as he pulsed spurts of semen deep inside the man he loved, each spasm a wave of orgasmic bliss. He was hostage to the intensity of his ejaculation, unable to think, speak, or move until the last throb of pleasure left his body, emptying itself of semen, strength, and stamina.

Starsky was drenched in sweat; his legs trembled, only then noticing it. “Oh, my my,” he said laughing as he carefully pulled out. He couldn’t stand another minute or he’d collapse onto Hutch, so he quickly rolled onto his back in the grass, affectionately slapping Hutch’s side while he did. “Holy shit,” he laughed again, turning his head and smiling into Hutch’s sky blue eyes, and noticing how utterly spent Hutch appeared.

“You came, too, didn’t you?” he asked, assuming Hutch had. “I didn’t leave you behind, did I?”

“Not even if you’d tried,” Hutch said, laughing. “That was crazy good.”

“Nothing like it,” Starsky agreed. He closed his eyes and listened to the light breeze in tree leaves, the deafening silence of the wild, and was aware again of the remoteness of their location, reminding him they were utterly exposed—and how good that felt, too.

Hutch couldn’t yet move out of his kneeling position. “We’re in for some better times,” he playfully noted. “This was just a warm up.”

“Because I’m an expert now,” Starsky dreamily said.

“Yep. You were in-and-out of him last night with such perfection to qualify long before you got to me.”

Starsky opened his eyes. “Cheap shot, Hutch?”

“No, Starsk,” Hutch believably said. “Just a fact.”

* * *

“Have you ever had sex like that before?”

“As in, wild?” Hutch asked. He lay on his back in the grass, fully nude, Starsky snug inside his arm.

“Wild and free like that.”

“Never,” Hutch said, closing his eyes so he could listen intently to Starsky’s masculine voice. “This entire past week has been sex like I’ve never had it before. We were made to do this with each other.”

“Same. And it’s how we’re supposed to have it, Hutch. Wild and free.”

Hutch smiled and then sang the last of the Neil Diamond chorus. “‘…and the grass won’t pay no mind.’”

“Just you and me and the grass, that’s what you’re saying, Blondie?”

“Well, that and the trees and the flowers. Maybe even the rocks and the water.”

Starsky grew silent for a few minutes. He snuggled into Hutch’s shoulder, rested his arm over Hutch’s chest, held him close and quietly. “I think somebody else maybe saw us.”

Were it not for Starsky’s unalarmed tone of voice and the calmness with which he’d delivered his words, Hutch may have thought some hiker had stumbled across them, but he could tell Starsky played a game. “A moose elk?” he guessed.

Were that true, they should definitely be on guard, but they hadn’t heard a single leaf rustle or a twig snap; sounds they couldn’t help but hear—that’s how absolutely still the wilderness had been, and despite their heavy breaths and moans.

“Well, I mean,” Starsky explained, “what do you suppose them is up there, hm? I bet they can hear us all the way down here.”

Hutch opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, to an area where Starsky pointed. High above them, a pair of predatory birds circled in flight.

“Buzzards, Hutch. Come to pick our bones.”

“Beg to differ,” Hutch said with a laugh, squeezing his boyfriend closer as his heart swelled with a certain kind of joy he knew Starsky was about to feel when he corrected him.

“Buzzards don’t have white-feathered heads.”

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: DENVER

They slept in the grass for more than an hour on the hillside overlooking Dream Lake, and then hiked the couple of hours back to the parking lot before heading to Denver, eating snacks and drinking bottled water during the two-hour trip.

Only then did Starsky realize Hutch had planned the purchase of snacks for just that purpose; Hutch knew they’d be driving to Denver later in the day and that Starsky would be hungry by then.

But despite whetting his appetite, Starsky was eager for a real, sit-down meal even before going to their hotel to freshen up. They chose an upscale place to eat—Italian food—and didn’t care that they weren’t appropriately dressed for the clientele; the clean clothes they had brought for their romantic night in Denver had since been worn and soiled.

But after flashing their badges to explain that they’d just come from meaningful undercover work, the owners didn’t ask them to leave. It wasn’t a complete lie; they simply left out the part that their incognito job had ended a couple of days earlier.

A satisfying dish of spaghetti and garlic bread for Starsky, and linguini and eggplant with a side salad for Hutch, a glass of red wine each, and Starsky was soon interested in his next order of business.

“So … let’s lay this to rest, Hutch. Do you think maybe we’re gay after all? I mean, after this past weekend … don’t you think we proved that we are?”

Hutch looked around the restaurant and then jutted his chin in a particular direction. “What about that guy, Starsk? Shall we take him to our room tonight and bang him like we did Alec—settle this matter that way?”

Starsky didn’t even look at the man in question. “We didn’t ‘bang’ Alec,” he argued, sounding annoyed. “We … had sex with him.” He apparently couldn’t go as far as describing it as ‘making love,’ but he didn’t say ‘fuck,’ either. He found middle ground, perhaps like his feelings.

“The guy over there is a good looking dude, Starsk. See for yourself.”

“I don’t care. I wasn’t even interested in Sally or Sarah and they had tits and pussy and were willing to give us some. We could have had a foursome. Did you ever think of that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Been there, done that, I guess.”

“Had a foursome?” Starsky asked, incredulously, his mouth dropping open as he stared in disbelief at Hutch.

“Had tits and pussy,” Hutch clarified with a roll of his eyes. He thought Starsky knew him better.

“Oh. Yeah, okay, but … you could have fucked me while one of them sucked you and be eating pussy at the same time. Or however that might work out, know what I mean?”

“It didn’t cross my mind.”

“I’m asking you why not and your answer isn’t good enough.”

“What’s wrong, Starsk? Are you afraid you’re not straight anymore and—if you’re not—therefore you must be gay?”

“Well, I mean, that was some pretty gay sex we had last night, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t mean we’re gay. Or is it that you want to be gay?”

“No, but how do you explain me not wanting women anymore, hm?”

“Okay, maybe it’s like what Alec said about us: we’ve discovered that we’re only gay for each other.”

Starsky slowly nodded and glanced away as he contemplated the assessment. “I can live with that,” he finally decided.

“We’re not straight, we’re not gay, we’re only gay for each other?” Hutch concluded, noticing the relaxed look in Starsky’s blue eyes. “Is that how you want to define us?”

“It works for me,” Starsky said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d just laid the definition of their relationship to rest and would consider it no more, despite whatever Hutch may have labeled it. “But now I have to wonder how long we’ve been gay for each other before we finally acted on it. Has it been all these years, do you think?”

“No.”

“I don’t know, Hutch. Something had to be there all this time. It didn’t just materialize out of the blue one morning.”

“I think it did just that.”

“All these years and then last week, boom?”

“Whatever, Starsk,” Hutch mumbled, finishing his wine, and silently admiring Starsky’s masculine appearance, his hair and his face, the man’s pure heart. “I don’t really care one way or the other. It is what it is and what it is is what we have now.”

“Spoken like a true poet.”

“You mean a philosopher.”

Starsky winked at him.

Maybe Alec was right about them: gay for each other and nothing else. There wouldn’t even be cravings for women or threesomes with females in their future. And Alec may have been right about Starsky: about Starsky’s knowledge of cultural, language, and historical concepts and facts, and that he was illiterate and uneducated about those things was just a ruse, and always had been.

“Are you up for another round tonight?” Hutch asked, changing the subject as he looked forward to his gay-for-Starsky endeavors. He didn’t want to further contemplate his analysis about ‘Starsky Speak’ lest he realize he’d been duped all those years by his pretend-to-be-stupid partner.

“I’m up for it,” Starsky said with a snicker to draw attention to his play on words. “But I have something different in mind I’d like us to do first.”

“I think I know what it is.”

“I don’t think you do. It’s something new.”

“Oh,” Hutch said, raising an eyebrow. The only thing he could think of that they hadn’t done with each other was Starsky rimming him.

“It’s not that,” Starsky said, as if he’d read Hutch’s mind. “I might do that to you someday. But what I want to do tonight isn’t anything we’ve done before. You’ll see.”

* * *

After they arrived at the hotel, Hutch went to the bar to purchase a bottle of wine and told Starsky he’d meet him ‘upstairs,’ but upon Hutch’s return to the lobby, he found Starsky waiting for him outside the elevator.

“I knew you were up to something more than just wine,” Starsky said, noticing the paper bag in Hutch’s hands as he shifted their backpack over his shoulder. “What’dya buy?” he curiously wondered as they entered the elevator. “Something for dessert?”

“Nothing edible,” Hutch told him, trying to sound sorry. He held the bag and a single wine glass by its stem in one hand, a bottle of corked red wine in the other. “Besides, you had dessert at the restaurant.”

“I can’t have two desserts?”

“Have a hundred,” Hutch replied, not wanting to defend himself about why he hadn’t bought anything for Starsky to eat. He also noticed that Starsky had punched the second floor button. “If memory serves me right, partner, I think we’re in Room 347.”

“Not anymore,” Starsky informed him. He carefully took the paper bag out of Hutch’s hand and peered inside.

“Not anymore? Did they kick us out of that room as no-shows?”

“Candles!” Starsky exclaimed when he discovered them. “Nice touch, Romeo.” There were only two in the bag, medium-sized, vanilla-scented, but that seemed to satisfy Starsky. “What’s the book about?” he asked, not making the effort to find out for himself. No doubt he’d also spied the bottle opener and a book of matches in the bag.

“The Rocky Mountain National Park,” Hutch said. The book was actually a thick binder of assorted postcards. “Something from which to remember Colorado.”

The elevator stopped on the second floor and Starsky led them down the empty, carpeted hallway. “That reminds me to get a souvenir tee-shirt when we get to the airport tomorrow,” he said, as if hoping Hutch would remember for him.

“Tell me again why we had to change rooms?” Hutch wondered, trailing behind, but using the opportunity to enjoy the visual appeal of Starsky’s muscled butt in tight jeans. “Wait,” he quickly said. “Let me rephrase myself. There’s no ‘again.’ You didn’t answer my question the first time. Did they kick us out?”

Starsky turned to face Hutch when he arrived at the room and inserted the key into the door lock. “This is my room,” he said with airs, pretending to be a dignified guest. “Yours is one floor up, peasant. 347.” He opened the door just as Hutch got to it and then pushed Hutch into the room ahead of him.

Hutch half-stumbled into what he soon realized was the foyer to an executive suite. It opened into a living area, lit by two lamps on end tables, and complete with a sectional sofa, reclining armchairs, a squared-glass coffee table, and a skyline view of Denver outside its picture windows. To one side was a door through which Hutch could see a king-sized bed, plush with comforter and decorative pillows, and to the other, a presumably fully stocked kitchenette: refrigerator, sink, cabinets, coffeemaker, small dining table and four chairs.

“I told them you were getting on my nerves,” Starsky said, sliding the room key onto the nearby counter as he spun around to admire the posh and spacious suite. “We needed one bed, Hutch,” he further explained, as though he knew he wouldn’t hear an argument to the contrary—and being right about that. “We’re paying for this upgrade, so the Department won’t know, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get a better room with a king bed.”

“Clever you,” Hutch said under his breath, impressed by Starsky’s ingenious surprise. He remembered that the room Dobey had booked for them was one with two double beds, having stayed there the night they arrived in the city—and nowhere near as comfortable and inviting as the suite. “I should have bought more candles—and dessert.”

“It’s just the one night,” Starsky reminded him, grabbing Hutch by his arm and pulling him into the living room after he dropped their backpack on the floor. He let Hutch go so he could open the see-through curtains and give them a clearer view of the darkening city horizon. “Wow. Maybe we should stay two nights.”

Hutch carefully set the bottle and glass on the coffee table and joined Starsky at the window. A sea of lights was emerging from the dusky settle of night. “If you look closely,” he observed, “you can see the silhouette of the Rocky Mountains over there.”

Starsky was quiet for a minute, seeming to contemplate Hutch’s sentimentally known fact, and then he offered a suggestion. “Let’s have some wine and look through that book, hm?” He turned and pulled it out of the bag before sitting on the sofa. “Maybe there’s a picture in here of Dreamy Lake. We can see where we played around.”

Hutch studied the postcard pictures with the same attention to detail that his partner did as they sat snuggled into each other on the sofa cushions. He also noticed how proud Starsky seemed of himself when he described his newfound appreciation for the beauty of aspen trees, and recognized a coyote in a picture—expertly knowing the difference between it and a fox or wolf—and dreamed about hiking into places they could only see in the photos.

“Hey, look, Hutch!” he exclaimed, jarring Hutch out of his contented relaxation with his excitement. “It’s Dreamy Lake!” Whether Starsky knew the lake by photo caption or from sight recognition was irrelevant; that he was that excited to see it was all Hutch needed to feel good about having dragged him there.

“Gee,” Hutch said, dryly, slipping his hand up under Starsky’s shirt to feel the aliveness and warmth of his hairy belly. “I wonder if I bought that postcard collection knowing there was a picture of Dream Lake in it. What’s your guess?”

“Where were we, hm?” Starsky asked, ignoring Hutch’s sarcasm. “Over here, right?” He sounded certain of it as he pointed to the eastern side of the lake. “Up in those trees.”

“More specifically in the grass beneath those trees,” Hutch said with a light laugh, combing the hair on Starsky’s chest. “I’m feeling horny just remembering it.”

“That’s amazing, Hutch, that we were right there, doing that.”

In the picture, Starsky was better able to see their location in the context of the Park’s vast and uninhabited wilderness, and it apparently still amazed him. “Talk about the middle of nowhere.”

“Just you and me up there,” Hutch agreed, no longer petting Starsky so he could squeeze him closer, and feeling Starsky’s warm, muscled flesh inside his arm.

Starsky rested his feet on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles, and was pressed into the back sofa cushions. He didn’t seem interested to know Hutch felt sexually amorous; he was that engrossed in his picture-browsing. He especially ignored Hutch when a photo of a bald eagle appeared in the next postcard, reminding him of earlier. “Do you think those birds we saw this morning were Alec’s eagles?”

Alec’s name ended Hutch’s pursuit. The last thing he wanted was for Starsky to think his arousal was related to the threesome—or to Alec, in particular. “Well,” he explained, taking his hand out from under Starsky’s shirt to point to an area beyond the postcard binder, “when you figure his sanctuary is somewhere over here … I can’t imagine those birds weren’t his. The distance from there to where we were, as the crow flies, is—”

“You mean, as the bald eagle flies.”

“Yeah, Starsk,” Hutch reworded himself, pretending to be annoyed, “as the bald eagle flies … it isn’t that great a distance.”

“I wish we could tell him we saw them,” Starsky quietly said, turning the page to the next postcard, and commenting as if he didn’t expect nor want a fix to his whim, despite how sad it may have made him feel—or how easily he could contact Alec. “Look here,” Starsky said, changing the subject. “Moose elk.”

“At least, elk.”

After he finished viewing the pictures, Starsky closed the binder and sat up, put his feet on the floor, and left Hutch snug against the sofa. “How about a drink, partner?” he suggested, tossing the postcards onto the coffee table and handing Hutch the paper bag. “While you light the candles, I’ll open the wine.”

He gave Hutch the bottle opener, forcing Hutch to sit up. “I thought there was something ‘new’ you wanted to do first,” Hutch recalled. Shouldn’t they move to the bedroom?

“Yeah,” Starsky said; he obviously hadn’t forgotten. “We’ll carry the stuff into the other room. Hold your horses, Roy Rogers.”

Without words between them, Starsky uncorked the bottle and filled the glass while Hutch set the candles upright and lit them.

“Maybe we should have Room Service bring us a piece of cake,” Hutch said, hoping Starsky wasn’t too disappointed for not getting a second dessert.

“I think this will do,” Starsky replied, having taken a sip of the wine. “It’s good,” he added, getting to his feet. “Besides, I want you for dessert. So let’s go.” He momentarily waited for Hutch to stand and then led him into the bedroom.

But Starsky didn’t go to the bed. He went into the adjoining bathroom instead. “Oh, whoa!” he blurted when he entered ahead of Hutch. “I mean, I knew this would be nice, but not this nice!”

Hutch walked up beside him, a burning candle in each hand, and together they surveyed the spacious room. Marbled floors and counters, dual sinks, bronze light fixtures, large corner windows to the city skyline and, across from the large, tiled, glass-doored walk-in shower, a very inviting hot tub.

“You want us to take a bath together?” Hutch asked, not snidely, but assuming Starsky hadn’t expected to see the spa, though he must have had bathing in mind.

“A shower,” Starsky clarified, setting the bottle and glass on the edge of the hot tub and immediately turning on its faucets. “But this is way better!”

Hutch put a candle on opposite edges of the tub and turned off the overhead light. “I wish I’d bought more of these.” The lamps from the living room made up the difference in what the candlelight lacked, and the room became suddenly romantic.

“Check the cabinet,” Starsky suggested while he adjusted the faucet knobs for water flow and temperature. “Maybe they keep some around for just this reason, hm?”

“Detective Sherlock, you are,” Hutch praised him after he opened the linen cabinet and discovered a small box filled with candles in various sizes and shapes—but no way to ignite them. He returned to the living room to get the matches and then rejoined Starsky in the bathroom. Steam had already begun to fog the mirrors.

“This will be a first, Starsk,” he said. He placed candles around the perimeter of the tub, lit their wicks, and left a space among them to get into the water. “I mean, a first in that I’ve never had a spa with anyone before.”

“No shit?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Hutch said, making them both laugh; it wasn’t an insult then, either, but a play on Hutch’s earlier sentiment about Starsky’s brilliance in having figured out there had to be candles in the cabinets—and Starsky realized it, too.

“This will be a first,” Hutch reiterated. He wanted Starsky to know that it would be meaningful for him in ways beyond the experience.

“We’ve done saunas together,” Starsky reminded him, standing back to watch the tub fill and admiring the candle-lit view. “Sort of the same thing.”

“Nowhere near the same thing—plus those were jobs. Face it. This is a first for us—and me.”

“Okay, so I’ve done this a couple of times with girls,” Starsky replied, speaking above the sound of the water falling into itself, and as if he was confessing, “but never in a private place like this—and you’re right: never with you.”

Hutch squeezed the back of Starsky’s neck. “We’ll make this a first of many together.”

“I hear you, pal. So let’s take a quick shower to get minty fresh and then jump in this tub.”

“And then we jump each other?”

“Great minds think alike, Blond Boy.”

* * *

Hutch knew in his heart-of-hearts he would never get tired of intimacy with Starsky. Right there in the hot tub, in a room lit by candles and a lamp from the bedroom, one filled with steam and their heating bodies, they again enjoyed each other’s wet lips and tongues—and the enthusiasm that drove them into such sensual kissing. Starsky’s desire was a gift Hutch never imagined he’d be given.

Their sex life—his sex life—had taken an unexpected turn earlier that week when, lying in bed one very early morning, Starsky followed his heart-of-hearts, and expressed his love and gratitude for Hutch by providing him with sexual pleasure. Hutch didn’t have to ask for it, didn’t have to hope or solicit it, didn’t have to find reasons to justify or rationalize it; it was freely given to him—without pretense or payback. The profound ways their lives had changed since that fateful morning did not escape him.

Hutch had since enjoyed the pleasures of a threesome; he learned a few new positions and techniques, and entered into areas of sexual giving and receiving that had never even occurred to him before. But of course he regretted its timing. Starsky should never have been deprived of those experiences he expected, wanted, and deserved. Because here Starsky was, again, having laid his pain behind him—or so it seemed—to engage Hutch in the physical expression of his desire for a man he’d die for—and die without.

Hutch’s hands followed Starsky’s hips under the water and over his thighs when Starsky mounted him. He imagined Starsky had roused a wanting erection, but Hutch didn’t feel for it; he was in no hurry, despite the power of his own pressing urge to have Starsky sit on his hardening penis. He fantasized about Starsky devouring it completely inside him in ways no woman ever had, allowing Hutch to drive into that snug, tight, graciously receptive opening between Starsky’s muscled buttocks.

Hutch no sooner had that thought—while passionately kissing Starsky, breathing heavily, and perspiring—than he felt Starsky’s stiffened shaft press against his hairless belly and Starsky’s sac snug up to his own, titillating Hutch further, but not rewarding his dream. The man did know how to tease.

Proving it, Starsky giggled and abruptly broke contact, pushing back to his side of the tub as he gave Hutch a ‘not so fast’ squint. He then turned, rose slightly out of the water, and opened the window to cool down the steamy room. “It got hotter in here all of a sudden,” he said with a laugh.

“We have the rest of our lives to take our time,” Hutch argued. “Why can’t you just let sex take its natural course?” He experienced a kind of revelation in his question, not realizing it until that moment. They had the rest of their lives to sexually enjoy themselves. Not in his entire lifetime had Hutch ever been with a lover who wanted sex as often as he did, as much as he did, and who would provide it for him without a scorecard. All those wasted years.

“You said so yourself,” Hutch remembered, thinking back to a comment Starsky had made a few days earlier, and not missing the brief opportunity to study Starsky’s wet hairy chest and belly before they disappeared beneath the water again. “‘We’re never going to not have sex again now that we’re bona fide.’”

“There’s something I want to ask you,” Starsky explained, ignoring Hutch’s point. He remained on his end of the tub and lifted his foot into Hutch’s lap. “You can play with that instead,” he joked, basically saying without words that his question—whatever it was—wouldn’t be so serious that Hutch needed to steel himself.

“Have we ever lied to each other?” was actually the startling question.

“Lied—as in, practiced to deceive?” Hutch wondered, mildly alarmed by where Starsky led them. He absent-mindedly squeezed Starsky’s toes.

“What other kind of lies are there?”

“White ones,” Hutch said. “The kinds that don’t matter in the scheme of things.”

“Name one you fed me.”

Hutch shrugged. “That’s the point of them: they don’t mean enough to remember.”

“Give me an example then.”

On second thought, Hutch recalled one. “When I told you I’d left my wallet at The Pits when really I was going to see Huggy about your brother. Remember?”

“I remember. But I knew it was a white lie. I didn’t think for a second that you forgot your wallet anywhere. I mean, it was safe with Huggy; we could have picked it up after work. So I thought maybe you needed to hit the head for a while, if you know what I mean.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“But you’d say you’ve never lied-lied to me, right?” Starsky asked.

“Never to deceive you, no, not on matters that mattered. You?”

“Well, I mean, I suppose there’s stuff I didn’t tell you, but I haven’t ever lied to you.”

“Okay. Two things.”

“One?”

“Tell me something you’ve never told me that I should have known—or that you kept from me for some reason.” He massaged Starsky’s arch and heel, finally enjoying the commingled feel of their flesh and the weight of Starsky’s calf on his lap.

Starsky glanced out the window to the lit city skyline, pretending to tread water for half a minute, and then looked back at Hutch. “I went to Gillian’s apartment after what I saw her do in the parlor room—and I gave her some cash to leave town.”

Candle flames danced in Starsky’s blue eyes; they were much darker in the dim light, but no less sincere. His hair was wet from the shower and had lost its curl, his shining face aglow in amber, and sprinkled with drops of water. A stillness settled over them, as if Starsky’s question had been a set-up for his confession.

Hutch forfeited his erection. He didn’t know what to say to such news. The loss no longer pained him, except that he was sorry Gillian had lost her life—and them nearly theirs in the ensuing gunfight—but he didn’t like to remember any of it, either.

Starsky filled in the rest of the story. “She wouldn’t accept the money; said she was going to break it off with Grossman instead because she loved you so much.” He seemed to pause to let her memory pass. “Anyway, that’s an example of ‘no information’ as opposed to ‘false information.’”

“Okay,” Hutch slowly said, keeping eye contact and continuing to massage Starsky’s foot. He appreciated the truth.“Two. Why are you asking about us lying to each other? Do you still suspect me of not telling you something?”

“Oh, no,” Starsky quickly answered. “Nothing like that. I was mentioning it because I think we have the most honest relationship I’ve ever had. Would you say the same?”

Hutch wasn’t sure Starsky wasn’t holding back information even then. “I think—same as you—that this is the single most important one of our lives. It took all these years and some near-death experiences for us to really see it, and now we have a relationship that’s deeper and more meaningful. That’s how I view it, anyway.”

“Me, too.”

“So … my second question back to you is … again … why are you bringing this up when we should be all over each other in this romantic setting instead?”

“Because I have a question for you,” Starsky explained, switching his feet out in Hutch’s lap.

“I thought you already asked your question,” Hutch assumed, that time gently massaging each of Starsky’s toes. “Something about honesty, I recall.”

“That was the pre-question question,” Starsky said.

Hutch laughed. There were times he wanted to smack sense into Starsky and other times he sincerely enjoyed the games his partner played. This was one of those former times. “You want to ask me something and you expect an honest reply—not a white lie, not an answer where I might leave out some part of it, but a real, straightforward, honest-to-god truth.”

“Bingo.”

Hutch laughed again, that time enjoying Starsky’s child-like playfulness—delivered in his undeniably masculine voice. “Let’s hear the question.”

“Putting me and everything else in your life aside,” Starsky said, speaking without hesitation and not leaving eye contact with Hutch, “and ignoring all the practicalities and hassles it would require … do you want to live in Colorado, I mean, get a job here?”

Hutch wasn’t prepared to be asked that hypothetical. “That’s a loaded question,” he impulsively replied, letting go of Starsky’s foot so he could wipe sweat and water from his brow; the tone of the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. “First, I can’t put you aside in anything I do in life.”

“Well, I mean, knowing I’d do whatever you want … it’s not like I wouldn’t be in your life; you’re just making a decision without worrying about what I think or what I’d do.”

Hutch understood. They were back to that moment with each other when they realized there wouldn’t be anything to split them apart, nor any place they wouldn’t go together. “Okay,” Hutch said, not wanting to give the question any real weight for fear it might get lost in translation, “the god-honest truth is that I love our job in California.”

“With changes to it, right?”

“Serious changes. I’m not going through what I just went through a few months ago, nearly losing you—or worse—and you’re not going to, either. But it doesn’t mean we won’t find meaningful cases.”

“Like the things we’ve already done: returning kidnapped kids.”

“And stopping rapists—”

“—and serial killers.”

“And arresting child molesters.”

“And maybe solving some cold cases.”

“All those things, Starsk. We’re good at what we do. I want to do more of it. Besides, Dobey is family—and Huggy, too—and I’m not ready to leave them behind.”

“We would make new friends and family if we moved here.”

“We can always visit Colorado,” Hutch suggested. “Or maybe Utah. We haven’t been to Zion National Park or Monument Valley.”

Starsky squinted at him. “You’re getting off point, pal.”

“I like what we do,” Hutch reiterated. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t keep Colorado on the back burner.”

“Plan B, you mean.”

“It’ll give us leverage.”

Starsky seemed to silently consider it, nodding in subtle agreement.

“But what about you, Starsk? Do you want to stay in Colorado? Be a Park Ranger or private security? The possibilities are endless, so don’t forget you’re under oath.”

Starsky laughed, as if he’d been caught. “I want to go home,” he bluntly said, adding,“but I like having Plan B, too.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Starsky echoed him.

“We do what we agree to do, together.”

“It’s different now,” Starsky reminded him.

“It’s better now.”

“Much better.”

“We’re in this with each other, Starsk—all the way.”

“And if you want to do something and I agree to do it with you,” Starsky said, seeking confirmation, “you won’t not do it just because I’m doing what I know you want, right?”

“So … what you’re saying is … if I want to live in Colorado, we live in Colorado?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re going to do this because I want to–”

“–because I want what you want.”

Could Hutch feel more loved?

No.

He resumed massaging Starsky’s foot. “If those are the rules.”

“Let’s say they are.”

Hutch considered it and then agreed. “Then those are the rules. But one more thing, Starsk.”

“Yeah?”

“The rules apply to both of us.”

Starsky smiled at him, his crooked smile, sort of shy. “Okay, but I’m trying to tell you something, Hutch.”

“I hear you.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Try me.”

“I’m telling you that what makes you happy makes me happy—but I’m saying it without using those pesky, three little words, know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Hutch said, carefully dropping Starsky’s foot from his lap and crossing the tub to take him in his strong, wet arms. “Trust me,” he whispered in his ear. “I heard every one of those pesky, three little words without you saying them—and then some.”

* * *

“I didn’t go into last night to take anything from you. I went into it believing it was something you were curious about doing with me. I never meant for it to become what it did afterward.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“With a gun to my head, Starsk, I could never hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

They had pulled the plug on the spa and, while the water noisily drained, they towel-dried themselves, and then carried four of the candles—one in each of their hands—to the bedside table, leaving half a dozen behind on the tub. Starsky returned for the wine and then joined Hutch who had, by then, folded the covers to the foot of the bed and was comfortably lying on his back across the sheeted mattress.

Excited, Starsky sat against the headboard beside him and filled the glass with port before he leaned over Hutch and set the bottle on the nightstand.

Hutch gently licked his nipple on the pass.

“You just can’t help yourself, can ya?” Starsky joked, laughing as he melted into soft pillows. He didn’t wait for Hutch’s reaction and he meant every word. “But it’s okay; just another one of those things I’ve come to love about you.”

“I had that thought myself,” Hutch said, watching Starsky take the first swallows from the glass.

“What thought?” Starsky asked. He handed the drink to Hutch.

“That I’ve come to love things about you, too.”

“Sex things.”

“Not just sex things, but what you think, feel, believe.”

Starsky considered Hutch’s observation. Hutch must have meant he’d learned new aspects of his partner’s life: behaviors, sentiments, convictions—all those not-previously-known details that only his lovers had known. He felt likewise about Hutch. “I didn’t realize you were so…”

“Horny?”

“Tender.”

Hutch closed his mouth and rolled to his side to face Starsky. He had yet to take a sip from the glass, needing to sit up to do so, but was apparently dumbfounded instead, finally asking, “Is that a good thing or do you want our sex to be rougher?”

“Tender has its place, know what I mean?”

“But you like the ‘animal’ ways about me, too, right?”

“For sure,” Starsky said with a giggle, recalling Hutch in the grass, taking it like a man from behind. Its reminder created a stir in his groin. “I like all of it with you—the kissing, the hugging, the … ribbing … the fucking … the caressing and stuff.”

“There’s that ‘stuff’ again,” Hutch said with a light laugh. “I’m learning that you mean it’s all good; you know, like ‘fresh air and stuff.’”

“You might be making fun of me now.”

Hutch rose to his elbow to finally drink from the wine glass and then handed it back to Starsky. “Not in a ha-ha way.”

“What kind of way, hm?”

“In an ‘I-love-you-you’re-such-a-kid’ kind of way.”

“I don’t mind being a goat,” Starsky chuckled, reflecting on the little he knew about them, but having experienced their company at the wildlife center. “They seem kinda cool.”

Hutch’s eyes twinkled, and not just from lamp and candlelight, but from a certain admiration he was obviously feeling for Starsky. “You were a champ up there, buddy. Out of your element and immersed in it all at once.”

The room was quiet as evening gave way to night. They were alone again, together, escaping into their own space, shutting out the world and the world’s troubled future, being only with themselves. Starsky couldn’t ask to be anywhere else; home was wherever Hutch happened to be—in this case, it was in a second floor hotel room, downtown Denver.

“I suppose I see the bigger picture now,” he said, looking back over the past few weeks. “I mean, going deeper into this thing with you has made me look at everything through your eyes, too.”

“That’s what I was trying to say a minute ago—except your words are better.”

“What are the odds of that, hm?”

Talk turned to mundane things while they shared the glass of wine: the room’s old-fashioned decor, the city’s police department, how much it would snow there that winter. When finished drinking, Starsky put the glass on the nightstand, pausing long enough to allow Hutch another lick of his nipple, and then he slouched into the pillows beside him.

Their naked skin had cooled from the time they’d spent in the hot tub, but neither man felt a need to cover himself in the blanket. The amber glow in the room, and the flames from the candles in both the bath and bedroom seemed to ease the cold of night. And, of course, they were with each other; he couldn’t speak for his partner in that instance, but the very presence of Hutch kept Starsky’s blood warm.

“I didn’t go into last night to take anything from you,” Hutch said after a minute, having obviously been thinking about the previous night—and apparently still feeling sorry. “I went into it believing it was something you were curious about doing with me. I never meant for it to become what it did afterward.”

“I know you didn’t,” Starsky said. He believed Hutch.

“With a gun to my head, Starsk, I could never hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for letting someone else take what belonged to you. Never.”

“C’mon,” Starsky insisted, believing Hutch with all his heart, “we can’t have you feeling guilty about this for the rest of your life and me forever wishing I’d cock-blocked him in that instance.”

“Tell me how to make it up to you.”

Starsky shrugged. “You can’t. Let it go.”

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“I heard you, partner—every time you’ve said it. The one thing you haven’t said is, ‘Thank you, David. I had a great time.’ When am I going to hear that, Blondie, hm?”

Hutch sadly laughed. Then he composed himself and sincerely said, “Thank you, David. I had a great time.”

Starsky winked at him. “My pleasure, Ken Doll. Besides, you’ve already made it up to me.”

“Not really,” Hutch contended. He pulled the plastic bottle of almond oil out from under his armpit. “Something else I was thinking about earlier,” he added, uncapping the bottle with the thumb on his hand that held it, “was how grateful I am to have a lover in my life who’ll never say no.”

Starsky watched as Hutch turned the oil container upside down and gently squeezed it, drizzling the cool lubricant over Starsky’s hairy belly, but not over his penis—which had begun to swell just from the appearance of the bottle. “I could be as sick as a dying rat, Hutch, and I’ll never reject you.”

“Don’t ever get that sick again.”

Starsky laughed, sadly, remembering how close he’d come to dying by poison. “I promise,” he swore. “But I’m just saying … my door is always open.”

“I’m grateful for that, Starsk—more than you know. Besides, I have a lot of catching up to do to be as experienced.”

“What makes you say that?”

Hutch closed the bottle and tucked it under his arm again. “I think you’ve been more confident with the ladies,” he explained, slowly massaging the oil into Starsky’s warming skin, but purposefully avoiding his penis—or so it seemed. “You’re quite the seductive guy.”

“With that baby face? You think I’m the one with the confidence and experience?”

“Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m a pretty boy. But you’re the sexy one.”

Starsky remembered that Alec had made such an observation; maybe that’s how Hutch had been influenced. He’d been swayed by an outside perspective, by a man who loved men, no less, so how could the assessment be wrong? “Well, we’ve both had a good sex life,” Starsky decided, “and it’s only going to get better.”

“I’m just saying I’m grateful,” Hutch reiterated, bending over and kissing Starsky’s navel. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

The touch of Hutch’s lips was moist with oil and felt immediately stimulating. “I think we both know we’ve found the pot of gold in sex,” Starsky said, his penis throbbing from a surge of wanting engagement.

Hutch lightly laughed and rose back to his elbow. “I love your poetry,” he softly replied, making sincere eye contact. “Another thing I admire about you: your spontaneity with words.”

“Are you making fun again in an ‘I-love-you-you’re-such-a-goat’ kind of way?”

“No,” Hutch said, obviously amused, his eyes sparkling with authenticity. “I think I’ve always admired your impulsive way of being.” He kissed Starsky’s shoulder, then his chest, down to his navel, using the oil there to further moisten his kisses. “As much as your butchering of our native language sometimes drives me nuts,” he playfully added in a buttery soft voice, “it’s one of those things that makes you special.”

He didn’t wait for Starsky’s retort; just as well because Starsky was beginning to lose his ability to think straight, feeling teased and enjoying it. Hutch’s mouth and the warmth of his breath were so close to his swelling shaft and yet seemed to dance around it while the slick feel of oil at Hutch’s lips continued to stimulate him.

Hutch moved slightly toward the foot of the bed, taking the small plastic bottle with him, kissing around Starsky’s hips and his pubic hair, and deeply inhaling the aroma. He then leaned away to purposely study Starsky’s penis and sac—and licked his lips. No words. Just a gentle devouring with his eyes.

“What do you think?” Starsky had to ask, glancing at his own erection as he stroked Hutch’s shoulder, and watching his partner savor the view. “I mean, now that you’ve gotten to know him better, hm?”

Hutch finally kissed Starsky where he wanted to feel it—first at the tip of his hardening penis, then around its crown—gentle, soft, caressing kisses. It wasn’t until he felt Hutch’s hand cup and fondle his sac that Starsky realized Hutch had somehow squeezed more oil onto his skin without him noticing.

“You’re gonna suck my cock again, aren’t ya, Hutch?” he plaintively asked, inhaling an audible breath.

Hutch answered him by sliding his hand from Starsky’s scrotum and up along his swollen penis, taking it into his mouth in the sweep. He then pulled Starsky’s erection away from his belly, which had become coated in the oil Hutch had poured into his navel, and then sucked it in as far as he could take it.

“Oh, yes,” Starsky breathlessly said, opening his legs to allow Hutch better access. He tangled his fingers in Hutch’s hair and briefly closed his eyes as he felt the return slide give him as much pleasure, especially at the crown where it was most sensitive and Hutch knew best how to pleasure it. “Suck me hard?” he begged, pushing Hutch’s head down to demonstrate his desire. “Right to the edge, I mean.”

But Hutch’s technique didn’t change. His oral sex giving remained rhythmically slow—deeply sucking Starsky in, nearly out, tightly back in again—using his hand for added pressure and his thumb to tickle Starsky’s frenulum on each withdrawal.

Starsky closed his eyes to focus all of his senses on the orgasmic sensations Hutch provided him; he listened to Hutch’s deep sighs, not just his own, to Hutch’s moans of enjoyment, not just his own, and felt Hutch’s heat—the man’s mouth, his lips, his hand, his perspiring skin where it pressed along Starsky’s body. He could also smell a hint of almond oil and the musky aroma it trapped in its viscous texture.

Behind his closed eyes, Starsky pictured Hutch’s beauty, the shape of his snug mouth as he sucked and licked Starsky’s stiffened penis, his mussed blond hair, his bare skin, his perspiration. And Starsky could feel nothing but his own accelerating ache for orgasm, deepening his desire, making him sweat, pounding blood through his veins.

“I might come, Hutch,” he was able to say after several minutes, especially because the rhythm was perfectly timed, the pressure and stroke becoming predictable, something he could lean into, depend on to take him further toward the inevitable. But he also trusted Hutch to stall him—and he wasn’t disappointed.

When he felt Hutch’s mouth come off of him in an upstroke, Starsky opened his eyes, seeing only ceiling at first, lit by flickering candles and lamplight, and then he dropped his gaze to Hutch’s beautiful face. He found his partner looking back at him—soft smile, gentle, kind, and obviously happy for him.

Starsky was about to ask for the almond oil so he could return the favor of those minutes in the same way they’d been given to him, but Hutch’s hand hadn’t let go of his penis; instead, Hutch fitted him with a snug downstroke, pleasingly massaging that sweet spot beneath his crown, and knocking Starsky back into the pillows before he could even begin to rise out of them.

They didn’t leave eye contact while Hutch created a new stroke and then another. His hand held firm to Starsky’s want, never having missed a beat of its cadence. Starsky soon couldn’t help but watch those familiar fingers, glistening with oil, sensually pumping him, and nearly as pleasurably as if Hutch orally stimulated him. Hutch knew the rhythm; he’d already discovered Starsky’s triggering pace. He didn’t look smug, just happy for his man, as if he knew how Starsky felt and couldn’t have wanted anything else for him.

Starsky dropped his head back and closed his eyes, focusing again on the gift of Hutch’s uninhibited giving. He could immerse himself without the distraction of losing his endurance—and just let it all go.

Hutch must have known it, too. The pumping stopped. His hand left Starsky’s penis, rubbed his belly instead, slowly bringing Starsky back to his senses.

When Starsky opened his eyes and found Hutch still looking at him, he smiled at Hutch. “You’ve never done that before,” he dreamily noted. “I mean, you’ve never … given me a … hand job like that.” He could only speak through the heavy breaths he needed to take. “Nobody’s better at giving me a hand job than me—except you.”

Hutch affectionately winked at him and then bent over and kissed Starsky’s nipple while he squeezed Starsky close inside his arm. Every touch he gave Starsky was stimulating, as if Hutch knew not to let up, even then. Starsky’s fully erect penis lay against his belly just below Hutch’s arm, feeling cool air around it, while the force of his beating heart pounded blood through its shaft, and his mind wanted nothing else except to feel Hutch perfectly touch it again.

But it was his turn to give and he was quite happy to do it. However, when he started to sit up to find the lube bottle, Hutch still had it. He opened the cap with one hand and squeezed oil over Starsky’s scrotum.

“Let me have some of that,” Starsky whined, reaching for the bottle, but Hutch closed the lid and tucked it away before Starsky could snatch it. “C’mon,” he said with a light laugh when he realized Hutch wouldn’t be deterred. “You know how much I want to suck your dick.”

He watched Hutch coat his own penis with the oil, and saw just how hard Hutch had become; his crown had fully emerged from its foreskin and a bead of pre-cum rolled off its slit. Starsky should have known his partner was as aroused as he was; they were of one mind and heart in just about every aspect of their lives.

He drew an abrupt breath when he felt Hutch’s fingers unexpectedly probe his anus; Hutch apparently wanted intercourse more than he wanted fellatio. “Should I get on my knees?” Starsky asked, prepared to roll over, but Hutch was intent on finishing the lubrication, gently inserting a finger partway into Starsky to be thorough.

“Oh,” Starsky whispered, not expecting it. He didn’t know how he was supposed to be taken. “I can turn over,” he suggested again, but Hutch pulled Starsky’s leg up onto his hip, and Starsky quickly understood. He rested his bent knee over Hutch’s thigh, opening his legs further. “Can you reach me that way?” He wasn’t sure.

But he didn’t have to wait long for an answer, either. He felt Hutch push into him, carefully, gently, without urgency, and he relaxed his muscles—from his face to his feet—to aid the entry. “You won’t hurt me,” he promised. He was soon rewarded by the entire head of Hutch’s penis penetrating him. “It feels good.”

Hutch drove in further—one long, slow, careful, deep slide into him, watching himself do it, as if he needed to see what was transpiring lest he make a wrong move. Or maybe he just liked seeing his penis enter Starsky’s body the way Starsky enjoyed watching his own disappear into Hutch. When he reached the limit of his penetration, he finally lifted his head and looked into Starsky’s eyes, softly smiling.

“Does that feel good to you, too?” Starsky asked, imagining that it did, but hoping it was as pleasurable as it made him feel—to be full with Hutch. “Your cock’s so hard,” he added, to give Hutch the proof he’d found that his lover obviously liked the feel.

Hutch briefly closed his eyes and moaned. There was no guessing he relished the sensation. He then looked longingly at Starsky as he slowly withdrew to his penis’ tip. One more glance between their legs and Hutch began to rock his hips against and away from their groins, creating a very sensual stroke, filling Starsky in one glorious moment with his rigid flesh, and then nearly emptying him in the next.

“I never knew I would love this,” Starsky said, listening to the rhythmic sound of their fleshy union as each thrust pushed him deeper into blissful pleasure. “You’re so big … and it feels so good.”

He wiped oil off his belly, having been unable to reach the bottle, and then gripped his own penis for an equally pleasurable slide of heated friction, down-stroking himself on each of Hutch’s thrusts into him and up-stroking his shaft on each of Hutch’s near withdrawals.

“Oh, Hutch,” he cooed, closing his eyes to bathe in the sensual beauty of Hutch deep inside him, to listen to their heavy breathing and moans of mutual pleasure, to bring his climax closer to its end. For long minutes of passing time, he pumped himself in rhythm to Hutch’s steady and slow penetrations, feeling overcome with euphoria and an orgasmic ache he knew would eventually reward him.

But he suddenly opened his eyes when he felt Hutch pry his hand off of himself. Hutch obviously wanted to be the one to bring him to orgasm; Hutch’s manual massage had been so perfect and he knew it. But that’s not what Hutch wanted; he moved Starsky’s arm to his side onto the mattress and continued to thrust into him, not touching Starsky’s penis.

“What are you doing?” Starsky quietly asked, calming his heavy breath, but knowing Hutch teased him. “You can’t keep me waiting.” He saw the twinkle in Hutch’s blue eyes; they surprisingly didn’t play with him, but rather spoke to him, seeming to ask Starsky to be patient, to just enjoy the feel of Hutch’s deeply penetrating entries and pullouts.

“Okay,” Starsky said with a sigh, surrendering to Hutch’s desires instead of his own. “Take all the time you need.” He heard Hutch’s breath, slow and deep, relaxed and content, and felt Hutch’s lips kiss his shoulder—and then more kisses, small, tender, loving kisses on his face and neck. They eventually found Starsky’s mouth when Starsky turned his head toward Hutch so their lips could wed.

They breathed in tandem, deeply and more urgently with each kiss as they read each other’s minds and aroused bodies. New moans, sometimes playful, were buried under the familiar sounds of their deep breathing and lips smacking.

Starsky wanted to take Hutch in his arms, but his one was pinned between himself and Hutch, and the other was still in Hutch’s gentle grip at his side. Cool air tickled Starsky’s oiled and aching penis and his heart noticeably pounded, but he couldn’t reach Hutch—or himself—for the life of him. Despite how well-muscled he was, he felt weak under Hutch’s spell.

Something quite special was in the mix that night: Hutch was deep inside him, no longer moving, but filling him with his hard, pleasure-driven flesh, and passionately kissing him at the same time, reminding Starsky just how uniquely joined they were. “Oh, Hutch,” he whispered when Hutch broke contact with his lips to kiss his face and neck. “This feels so right.”

His words seemed to encourage Hutch into thrusting again—each stroke intentionally slow, pulling out to his penis’ spongy head, effortlessly sliding in, filling Starsky with viscous heat, stimulating Starsky’s penis seemingly from deep inside it, and intensifying his delirium. “That feels good,” he said, closing his eyes.

When he heard Hutch softly moan and felt him lean away, Starsky looked at him again, into those crystal blues. They held longing eye contact while the mesmerizing thrusts continued. A soft smile appeared on Hutch’s lips as he sensually rotated his hips enough to give Starsky a stimulating perk of pleasure.

“C’mon,” Starsky begged him. “Don’t make me wait.” He opened his legs to encourage Hutch—without success—closing his eyes and burying himself in total blackness instead.

All he could do was hear and feel—Hutch’s deep breathing, Hutch’s hardened flesh pumping inside him, moving sensually in and out of him—and he could feel his own heart beating in his chest, the perspiration break over his skin, the heat fuel and burn him from the inside.

“Oh, god, it feels so good,” he said in a low voice, still keenly aware of Hutch’s hand on his skin—everywhere except where he desperately needed to feel it—and that Hutch was inside him, snug to Starsky’s buttocks, while Starsky’s legs hung over Hutch’s hip and thigh, and none of Starsky’s want seeming to mean anything. He couldn’t even moan to express his craving; he was barely able to breathe. Something unique had overtaken him.

Hutch’s rhythm slightly increased its pace, and the new sensation sent thrills of eroticism into Starsky’s penis, filling it with an unbearable urgency. He was being stroked from the inside; was that even possible?

“I’m gonna come,” he finally blurted, feeling the peak quickly upon him. The pressing intensity in his penis had magnified, and his desperate anticipation for that fulfilling return stroke was about to put him over.

The in-stroke was firmer, more pleasing, more satisfying, more powerful in its lubricated delivery, swelling Starsky’s shaft as far as it could go, hardening him to the max, pounding his heart and deepening his pant. “I’m gonna come, Hutch,” he breathlessly repeated, expecting to be heard that time. Hutch should be warned, shouldn’t he?

“You come first, so I can, too,” Hutch said with heavy, desperate breaths, as he bent over and touched Starsky’s perspiring chest with his lips, gently kissing him.

Starsky’s ecstasy mounted exponentially upon knowing Hutch was that close—more so because Hutch was still of the mind to kiss him in that delicate moment. And then Starsky climaxed as overwhelming ecstasy pushed over itself.

That’s when it hit Starsky—not just his orgasm, which he could no longer control, but a reality he had missed up until that pivotal moment. Hutch had barely said a word to Starsky since he’d entered him. Everything that had followed was purely touch, joining, giving pleasure, caresses, sound, and gentleness.

Starsky’s ejaculation emerged without either of them touching his penis. Hutch’s love, not just his lovemaking, delivered Starsky into the inevitable. The only audible sound Starsky made, other than his labored breathing, was the irrepressible grunt of release when his climax began, powerfully and with such force that there was no holding it back. His semen pulsed in robust wave after glorious wave over his belly and chest—while Hutch deposited his own inside him, loudly moaning as he, too, was helplessly overcome.

Starsky had just experienced another first, one he didn’t know was even physically possible.

But Hutch must have known. He’d even planned it—just like he’d planned the hike to Dream Lake to make love in the grass.

Oh, that beautiful, blond boy. “You really do love me,” Starsky whispered in Hutch’s ear, as if he hadn’t really known it before then.

“More than life itself,” Hutch assured him, kissing Starsky’s cheek as he slowly withdrew from him. His exit was as gentle and tender as his entrance had been.

Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms, still not able to believe how perfectly he’d been taken. Only when the spin in his brain and his desperate need for oxygen lessened and his heart had returned to a steady beat did he realize Hutch’s breath was heavy on his perspiring skin, warm where it exhaled against his neck; Hutch’s face buried there and in his hair and continuing to kiss his face.

“I’m just glad you didn’t fight me,” Hutch finally said, confirming his planned actions. He leaned back to look Starsky in the eye.

“Fight you? You know I’m weak when it comes to you.”

He heard Hutch’s light laugh. That familiar sound told Starsky all he ever needed to know about Hutch’s heart and mind when it came to the mutual bond between them.

“We have so much yet to experience together,” Hutch said. “Lots of firsts for us lie ahead.”

They listened to each other’s breathing as those sounds returned to an ultimate quiet, and until their hearts no longer registered in their chests, and until the heat had evaporated from their skin and the inevitable blanket got pulled up over them.

Starsky could never be that connected to another living soul, not even if he lived a thousand years. To be where they were in that moment was possible only because of the years they’d spent in each other’s lives—implicitly trusting the other, respecting and admiring the other, unconditionally loving each other. Their mutual experiences made it possible, but also their distinct personalities, aside from their differences—or maybe because of them.

There had never been—nor would there ever be—anyone Starsky could be as comfortable with, feel as bonded to, be as grateful for, trust as much, respect as fully, need or love as deeply. He had been right about his relationship with Hutch: from the day they’d met to the moment on that downtown Denver mattress in the soft candlelight. They had everything they needed—or could possibly ever want—right there in each other.

No man could tear them apart.

And he could forgive Hutch … anything.

* * *

EPILOGUE: THE MIDDLE MAN

They woke that morning to another brilliant sunrise whose rays filtered through the window drapes and lit the hotel room in yellow gold. After Hutch pleasured Starsky with fellatio while they were still in bed, they met in the bathroom; Hutch was first to use the toilet before entering the shower, Starsky following in due time.

“How do you wash that bad boy, hm?” he asked, turning Hutch toward him to wait for the instruction as he studied Hutch’s sheathed penis and wondered what the trick was. “Just push the skin back and soap it up?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Starsky looked up into Hutch’s blue eyes, alarmed to have been reprimanded. “I need to know how it’s done,” he quickly explained, not truthfully, and knowing Hutch didn’t believe him, “so I can take care of you when you’re an old man.”

Hutch laughed and tousled Starsky’s wet hair. “That’s decades away and, besides, you’re older than I am.”

“Not by much,” Starsky reminded him. He decided Hutch wasn’t as annoyed as originally believed and nudged Hutch’s hands out of the way so he could wash Hutch’s penis to the best of his ability. He then bent over and orally brought his partner to orgasm once he felt the man was sufficiently clean. Neither of them cared that they were showered with hot water during sex, despite the heat inside their bodies.

“C’mon,” Starsky said, rinsing them both off when it was over; Hutch hadn’t lasted long. “Let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”

After a minute to regain his strength, Hutch eventually left the shower to join Starsky at the sink and brush his teeth.

“Should I shave?” Starsky asked, examining his face in the mirror from one side to its other as he tried to decide.

“Do it after we get home,” Hutch suggested, rinsing his mouth. “Let’s be wilderness men a while longer.”

Starsky was comfortable with that idea and even rather liked it.

They then checked out of their two hotel rooms: Hutch from the one they didn’t stay in except on the night they’d arrived in Denver, Starsky from the one they used the previous night. He then followed Hutch to the parking garage, carrying their backpack, and locked it in the trunk before they wandered off on a slow stroll in downtown Denver to find a restaurant.

“Can’t they just sell donuts?” Starsky complained, joining Hutch at the small sidewalk table outside a French café. “Does everything have to be fancy?”

“It’s just a croissant,” Hutch explained, shaking his head, “and you didn’t even order that much.” They both had coffee; Starsky had chosen a bagel with cream cheese, Hutch the jellied croissant. “We’ll go back to eating good ol’ American food as soon as the plane takes off.”

Dobey had rescheduled their flight and upgraded them to First Class, so Starsky didn’t fall for the ‘appease Starsky’ ruse. “They’re going to serve us a five-course meal on board. Mark my words,” he swore.

“Why are you complaining?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want to go home, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I just…”

“What?”

“I wish I could take some of this with us.”

“‘This,’ being? Bagels?”

Starsky looked around. There was something different about this particular city—fewer people, perhaps? Less traffic? The buildings weren’t as tall, he concluded, looking up at the ones surrounding their location, and then spying the sky. It was definitely bluer. “It just feels … lighter here,” was all he could think to say.

“‘Fresh air and stuff,’” Hutch said with an affectionate laugh. He winked at Starsky when they made eye contact. “You’re right, buddy. It’s not as heavy here.”

The wilderness had grown on Starsky. “We still have Plan B, right?” he asked, remembering that Colorado was their backup should they not get the new job requirements they’d outlined for themselves with the Department.

“We still have Plan B,” Hutch confirmed.

They finished their breakfast in relative solitude, studying the occasional passerby, the cars that passed through the nearby intersection, and shared polite small talk with the wait staff. When finished, they walked back to the hotel garage to retrieve the rental car, and then drove out to the airport.

Once on board and buckled into his seat, Starsky noticed the menu right away. “See? I told you so, Hutch. ‘Beef stroganoff in a white wine and mushroom sauce over jasmine rice. Potatoes au gratin. Roasted asparagus with lemon and Parmesan cheese.’ What the fuck, Hutch, hm?”

Hutch laughed at him. “You’ll love every mouthful, so quit your bellyaching.”

“But I just want a hamburger and fries.”

“There are plenty of those on every street corner in Los Angeles.”

Dissatisfied with Hutch’s answer because it didn’t solve his immediate problem, Starsky tucked the menu into the seat pocket in front of him and stared out the window while passengers continued to board the aircraft.

Hutch was busy reading the in-flight magazine, sitting on the aisle because of his longer legs. He had joked with Starsky that it would keep his partner pinned to the window seat and prevent him from running up-and-down the aisle like the four-year-old he was.

“I just realized something, Hutch,” Starsky said after several minutes of watching the ground grew prepare an airplane for service at the adjacent gate.

“You don’t want to leave Colorado?”

“What?”

Hutch didn’t look up from his reading. “You haven’t stopped complaining since we got into the shower this morning. I think you’re subconsciously wishing we’d stay here. It’s not too late to get off the plane. Just say the word.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Starsky said, frustrated to hear Hutch thought so. “I had this other idea.”

“I’m listening.”

Hutch may have been listening, but he didn’t prove it as he continued to flip through the magazine in his lap.

“I think I’m in love, Hutch.”

Hutch grunted. “With a stewardess? Already? Again?”

“Now who’s the idiot, numb nuts?”

“The pilot then?”

“Will you knock it off?”

Hutch closed the magazine and gave Starsky his undivided attention. Damn, didn’t Hutch have the most beautiful blue eyes in all the world? “Tell me again, Starsk.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“Do I ask with whom?”

“You don’t ask,” Starsky snarled. “It can only be you.”

“But this was a fact we both already knew.”

“Not like I know it now.”

“Why now? What changed?”

“When we were in the hotel lobby checking out this morning … remember?”

“It wasn’t that long ago, Starsk. I remember.”

“There was a love song on the overheads.”

“Okay.”

“There was another one playing in the café when we went in to order food.”

“So you heard two love songs this morning.”

“Then another one in the car rental office.”

“Three.”

“And still a couple of ’em in the newsstand at the terminal when we passed by on the way to our gate.” Couldn’t Hutch see what he was trying to tell him?

“You heard four love songs, maybe five,” Hutch calculated. His eyes sparkled, as if he did know what Starsky aimed for, but he wasn’t going down easy.

“And they all reminded me of you,” Starsky finished, stating the obvious. “I mean, everywhere I go now and hear something like that, I think of you. Of us. I’ve never done that before with anybody—even when I thought I was in love with Terri. It’s different now.”

Hutch softened. Noticeably. “It is different,” he agreed in a warm voice. “We’re in this with each other.”

“Is it the same for you?”

“To be in love with you?”

“To hear songs like that and think of me, of us?”

“I wasn’t paying them any attention, Starsk. My mind’s been on other things.”

“What things?”

“Future things: our house, the bed, the job. Love songs are about the here-and-now.”

“Well, don’t forget to be here-and-now, okay?”

His advice seemed to have hit a nerve because Hutch bit his lip and swallowed. Starsky knew Hutch had flashed back to those terrible days when Starsky lay in a coma; he knew that look, and he didn’t intend to push Hutch into that place.

“I’m just saying … be in love with me sometimes.”

Hutch smiled at him. “I’m in love with you every minute of every day for the rest of my life. I thought when I told you that I was dreaming about the future you would see that as proof.”

Of course it was. It had simply gone over Starsky’s head. “Yeah, okay. You win that round.”

“I didn’t know it was a game.”

“It’s not,” Starsky mumbled, frowning at himself and looking out the window again. Only when he felt the plane push back from the gate did he realize everyone had been seated—and they were officially on their way home. That’s when the calm finally came over him.

Upon arrival in the City of Angels, they immediately left the terminal for the parking garage across the service road and found Starsky’s Striped Tomato. He was grateful to be reunited with it; its familiarity and the love he had for it helped him to further leave Colorado behind and turn his own mind toward those things Hutch had earlier mentioned: their house, their bed, their jobs.

He also thought it was appropriate to stop by Dobey’s office on the way home, and Hutch didn’t disagree. “Just a quick hello-goodbye,” Starsky said when they pulled into the Department’s parking lot. “I’ll bet he didn’t think we’d be back.”

“You might be right,” Hutch said with a laugh. “Asking him if we could stay an extra day probably gave him that vibe.”

Dobey was obviously happy to see them, giving each man a bear hug in greeting, and offering them drinks and snacks, and not because he wanted them for himself. “You look refreshed,” he noted, sitting again behind his desk and admiring them from there, “even despite the longer hair on your faces.”

“There’s a lot of nature up there,” Starsky explained, scratching his whiskered chin. “It was kinda nice to let it all go for a while.”

“What did you do for three days that you needed more time in Denver?”

“We went up to this wildlife sanctuary—” Starsky said.

“—and laid around a lot,” Hutch added, laughing.

“We played baseball,” Starsky continued. He was excited to fill in his superior, grateful for having been given the time and the experiences that came with it. “Hutch won the—”

“We won the game against the Denver County players,” Hutch interrupted him, “to help it raise the funds the sanctuary needed to build an animal hospital.” He sat nearest the door and fidgeted with the shoelace on the foot he’d propped on his knee. “There was a food celebration afterward.”

Starsky knew Hutch had taken over that part of the conversation to include Starsky in having helped win the baseball game, when they both knew Starsky had to sit it out. Hutch wanted Starsky to have some credit—and Starsky appreciated him for it.

“There was a marshmallow roast and a campfire singalong. You know who led that,” Starsky noted, seeing how pleased Dobey looked to hear about their adventures. “We spent the weekend up at that place—about, what, Hutch? two hours north of Denver?”

“And then we asked for the additional day to see the Rocky Mountain National Park,” Hutch furthered. “We decided not to go all the way to Colorado without stopping to see the scenery.”

“We spent Sunday at the sanctuary, too,” Starsky added, reminiscing while he spoke. “Hutch won the ‘best of’ the pancake breakfast contest. But the most fun was when we hiked up the mountain that afternoon to watch them let a bald eagle go free.”

“Splendid!” Dobey exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, beaming from ear-to-ear, happy to hear what he had—and obviously not so much for the bird, but because his men had definitely made the most of their vacation. “I trust you didn’t push Starsky too hard,” he said to Hutch.

“We had plenty of down time,” Hutch replied. He was slouched in his chair, as relaxed as he sounded. “Slept in the grass even.”

“Oh?” Dobey joked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you mean you got laid in the grass?”

“No,” Starsky said emphatically, feeling the blood drain to his feet. Why would Dobey even think such a thing?

“I didn’t mean with each other,” Dobey quickly clarified. “That would be a shock I wouldn’t survive. But you’ve been laid up a long time, Starsky. Did you get a little of that kind of R&R?”

Starsky didn’t know how to feel in that moment: glad his superior didn’t suspect him of engaging in homosexual behavior—and not just with Hutch, but with a third man, no less—or disappointed that Dobey would be shocked to learn he had. Dobey hadn’t struck him as the judgmental type, but Alec’s experience with the morality police immediately flashed through Starsky’s mind.

“None of that,” he said in a low voice, trying to sound nonplussed. “It was enough to see the scenery and the bald eagles and eat marshmallows and pancakes.”

“He’s losing it,” Dobey joked again, exchanging eye contact with Hutch. “Comparing trees, birds, and snacks to sex.”

“He’ll eventually get back into that saddle,” Hutch assured him. He then maneuvered them away from conversation about sex. “But to his point: the scenery was spectacular, the air was fresh, the people … real good folks.”

“I’m sure it all was,” Dobey said, abandoning his effort to razz Starsky. “I’m glad you boys enjoyed yourselves. We probably all need to get away sometimes. It reminds me to put my cabin to better use.”

“So what’s our next assignment?” Starsky asked, relieved to be talking about something else. “Or maybe I should pick some place on a map that Hutch and me would like to see and find a job to make it happen.”

Dobey laughed, then sobered. “That might not be a bad idea, Starsky. Detectives-at-Large.”

“First things first,” Hutch decided, dropping his foot to the floor to signal the beginning of their departure. “Starsky and I have to get settled somewhere—a house, a barn, a cabin in the woods, any place but where we are—and in the meantime give us assignments that won’t get us killed.”

“Yeah, those,” Starsky echoed. “We’re done almost dying.”

Dobey’s exuberance had turned to deep seriousness. “You know I love you both like sons. We’ll find the right cases. If you’re happy, I’m happy. If I’m happy, the Department is happy.”

“Just hearing you say that makes me happy,” Starsky said, rising to his feet. “Do we come in tomorrow for our regular shift?”

“Come in when you feel like it tomorrow. I should have a couple of cases for you to choose from.”

Starsky was satisfied with their conclusion, and he believed Hutch was, too, because neither of them talked about it on the way to the car, out of the parking lot, and not even when they stopped at a health food grocery on the way home.

“Those people turned you into a grass-eating hippie,” Starsky teased, following Hutch into the store. He remembered that Hutch had eaten the stroganoff, asparagus, and potatoes on the plane, downing bread and butter, a couple of glasses of red wine, and a fruit salad during the two-and-half-hour flight. No health-conscious diner was he, but it was fun to rattle his cage.

He then discovered why Hutch had stopped at the organic food store. “Almond oil, Starsk,” Hutch said with a smile and a raise of his eyebrows. “We never want to run out, do we?”

“Nope,” Starsky gleefully replied, heading for the personal care aisle to search for such a beast. “We never damn do.”

* * *

“I can really get into this,” Starsky said. He sat at the kitchen table and helped Hutch prepare their dinner. Something had changed in Colorado. He couldn’t pinpoint what or how, but the relaxed feel was in the air—at least for himself. He was more hopeful, more settled, too.

“You can ‘get into’ making dinner with me every night?” Hutch asked. He was at the stove preparing the baked salmon. “Let’s see how well you can put together that salad you’re working on over there and then we decide if we need your participation.”

Starsky rolled his eyes, despite that Hutch couldn’t see him do it; he sat profiled to Hutch, but Hutch’s back was turned. “I meant I can really get into this domicile stuff.”

“Like I said, let’s see how—”

“I mean doing this kind of thing with you, Hutch, you know, like making dinner, but also … doing the laundry … washing the sheets … going grocery shopping together. That kind of domicile stuff.”

“I see,” Hutch mumbled, apparently half-listening to his partner while he focused on finishing their entree. Hutch had bought more than just a gallon of organic almond oil from the health food store; he bought groceries, too—excited to unexpectedly see so much colorful fruit and vegetables at once, and telling Starsky they would have to purchase fresh, organic produce from such places in the future.

“‘Domicile stuff’ will be more fun,” he promised, “after we move into our new house.”

“Yeah, about that,” Starsky noted. He chopped the various veggies for their lettuce salad: tomatoes, red onion, carrots, cucumber. “We were going to make an offer on that half-acre house last Friday, but got sidetracked to Denver. Remember?”

“I do.”

“Suppose we make an offer first-thing tomorrow, assuming the house is still for sale, hm?”

“I’m with you a hundred percent, buddy boy.”

“But this time we don’t have to pretend we’re sleeping in separate rooms, right?”

“I believe we decided to just get a bigger bed.”

“Yeah, I like that,” Starsky replied in a low voice, as if to himself. He had filled the large salad bowl with a mix of lettuces and much of the vegetables he’d cut up for the dish, so he wrapped what was left in their plastic bags, and then left the table for the refrigerator.

“Why is the almond oil in here?” he asked, surprised to have seen the gallon jug in the fridge and having to make room around it for the leftover produce. “Are you going crazy already? I knew you’d lose your mind before I do, so I’m glad I learned how to wash your dick this morning.”

Hutch laughed, but otherwise ignored Starsky‘s wisecrack. “The guy at the store said it’ll last forever with refrigeration, but only a couple of weeks without.”

“Well, cold almond oil isn’t going to feel good, you realize.”

“Which is why I already poured some into our little bottle and put it by the bed.”

Starsky closed the refrigerator door and smiled—another gesture Hutch couldn’t see. He was just pleased to learn how well Hutch was already taking care of them. Then he leaned against the appliance, hand on hip, and closely watched Hutch finish seasoning the fish and put it into the oven.

When Hutch straightened, he turned toward the table, discovered Starsky wasn’t there, and then spun around to find him behind his back. He shyly smiled as if he knew he’d been mentally elsewhere and was caught in the act. “You have my undivided attention,” he swore, opening his arms to prove it. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Before dinner?” Starsky joked, but then seriously replied, “Nothing. I was just admiring you.”

His words only seemed to make Hutch shyer; he was speechless.

“You’re my mate now,” Starsky said.

“Soul mate?”

“Especially my soulmate.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, his voice soft and unassuming. “Let’s open a bottle of wine and turn on some music and relax before dinner is ready. What do you think about that idea?”

Starsky pushed off the refrigerator. “You do the wine. I’ll do the radio.”

They met in the living room—Hutch with a glass, a wine bottle, and an opener, Starsky having found a classical music station and adjusting its volume to a soothing level. They sat on the sofa beside each other, knee to knee, as their apartment filled with a pleasing aroma of spices and the promise of a satisfying meal.

While Starsky watched Hutch open the bottle and pour wine into the glass, he spoke impulsively. “I was bummed to hear Dobey think he’d be shocked if you and I played around in the grass.”

Hutch grunted, drank wine, handed the glass to Starsky, and said, “Maybe he was reacting to your reaction; if you hadn’t sounded so defensive, perhaps he’d have gone with it, too.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Starsky reluctantly agreed, thinking back over the conversation and realizing he’d probably overreacted. He didn’t want to be shut out by the people he most cared for, especially by his superior, but Dobey had never struck him as a judgmental person. He found another reason for Dobey’s resistance. “Or maybe he didn’t want to think we played around like that on the Department’s dime, hm?”

“There’s that,” Hutch noted. He leaned back into the sofa and sighed, sounding relaxed, and not seeming to care about what Dobey thought.

Starsky leaned into the cushions with him. “Do you think we took advantage of the Department?”

“It owes us for nearly costing us our lives all those many times.”

Hutch was probably right about that, too. He knew the decisions they made in the line of fire were theirs alone, but they did it on behalf of the greater good. The dime they spent in Colorado belonged to the public and the people should be grateful for the work he and Hutch had done—especially for their successes in taking criminals off the streets.

Starsky drank from the glass, too, and then handed it to Hutch. He was grateful to remember that he would always have Hutch’s love in his life, someone who allowed him to be himself, even if Hutch gave him a hard time over it sometimes. Their comfort and affection for each other reminded him of the one man who’d watched them share a drink and that he not only accepted their behavior, but admired it. Starsky’s fondness for that moment forced him to sit up as a warmth passed over him and say what he suddenly felt in his heart. “Would you mind too much if I called him?”

Hutch quickly glanced at Starsky, meeting his eyes with a friendly expression, and seeming both surprised and expectant. “I wouldn’t mind at all if you call him.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Starsky said, grateful that Hutch hadn’t asked who ‘him’ was, but knew.

“Would you like me to leave the room?”

“Of course not,” Starsky firmly said. “I guess I should have said ‘would you mind if we called him?’”

“I won’t mind at all, Starsk. And I agree: it’s the right thing to do.”

* * *

“Alec? It’s Starsky.”

He’d been patched through to the bungalow by someone in the house who didn’t recognize his name—or didn’t seem to—and the nonchalant way Alec answered the phone told him that Alec hadn’t been given fair warning, either.

A moment of silence hung on the line.

Maybe Alec didn’t believe Starsky was who he said he was. Or maybe Alec feared the worst; why else would David Starsky be calling him when Starsky had made it clear that their time in Colorado was finite?

“All’s good here,” Starsky quickly said to ease Alec’s concerns, “but have you got a minute?”

Alec affectionately laughed, lightly, a sound filled with genuine delight, and having either relaxed enough to speak or recovered from the shock—or both. “Starsky! Well, aren’t you a voice from the past that I never thought I’d hear again. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have been wrong.”

“Yeah, about that,” Starsky said with a quiet laugh. “I guess I have more to say.” He was pleased to hear Alec’s masculine and familiar voice as he winked at Hutch, figuring Hutch could read between the lines. Hutch could have gone to the kitchen phone, but he was way too relaxed to move off the sofa; he seemed content to stay where he was and to listen

“There are a couple of things I wanted to tell you,” Starsky further explained to Alec. He heard movement on the line and assumed Alec had repositioned himself or at least settled into wherever he already sat as he braced for what he’d hear next.

“The first thing I want to tell you is that … we’re okay. Hutch and I are okay, I mean, and I’m okay.” He figured Alec knew he meant that he was accepting of the thing they both understood he’d missed out on. “We stayed an extra day—on the spur of the moment—and worked things out up there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alec asked, sounding very pleased. “That makes me so happy, Starsky—for both of you, but especially for you.” His voice was kind and welcoming. “You didn’t have to tell me this, but I can’t thank you enough for making the call and putting an end to my misgivings about that night.”

“We all got something special from each other,” Starsky said, realizing that specific truth only as he spoke the words. “I never meant to come away from it like what we did was—how did you refer to the other times you’ve played around?—a hit and run.”

“It most definitely wasn’t that,” Alec agreed, “but I wanted it to be perfect, and you missing out on what you did kept it from being flawless.”

“Yeah, well, I appreciate what you’re saying, Alec, but I want you to know that it’s okay now—and it was no hit-and-run. I mean, I doubt we’ll be back in your neck of the woods—at least not for a long, long time—but we’d love to look you up if we ever head that way again.”

“My door is always open. Of course, I have to be honest and tell you that I hope I’m in love with some beefcake biologist by then,” he playfully said with a ring of truth in his tone, “and we can all just share a spaghetti meal together.”

“Hutch and me would like that very much.”

“You’re a kind and generous man, Starsky, to make this call. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“You can stop trying,” Starsky suggested, not ungraciously. “I suppose I did it for myself, too, to not have ended what we all partook in—is partook a word, Hutch?”

“It is.”

“I didn’t want it to end the way it did,” Starsky confessed to Alec. “Like I said, we stayed an extra day—Hutch’s idea—and worked it out between us. I think we’re stronger for it.”

“I have no doubt that you are—and so am I for it, too.”

“Well, anyway, until our roads cross again, take care of yourself, hm? Go into the rest of your life knowing we only have good memories of our weekend up there.”

“Thank you, Starsky. The same to you, my friend.”

“Hutch wants to tell you the other thing,” Starsky finished, handing the receiver over to Hutch. He even moved the phone closer to his partner so Hutch didn’t have to change position. “Tell him that other thing.”

“What other thing?” Hutch asked, obviously surprised to have been given the task as he pressed the receiver to his ear.

Starsky took the glass out of Hutch’s hand so he wouldn’t spill what was in it. “You know … tell him about the other thing up there.”

Hutch seemed to realize it then and immediately dived into telling Alec. “Hey there, buddy,” he said into the phone, smiling when he apparently heard the return greeting. “Everything Starsky just told you I concur and I do hope we all came away from the weekend the better men for it.”

Starsky leaned into the sofa cushions, set his leg on Hutch’s lap, and closed his eyes. He wanted to listen—to Hutch’s beautiful voice, to his words, and to the imagined replies. Starsky was home.

“Like Starsky said, we stayed an extra day, and visited the Rocky Mountain National Park.” A short pause, during which Alec was probably thrilled to hear that, and then Hutch said, “It was worth the hike to see such stunning beauty. We’ll always be envious of your backyard.”

Starsky dreamily pictured the wilderness in his mind and remembered how taken in he was by the scenery.

“We made love in the grass,” he heard Hutch tell Alec. “Found us a spot off the beaten trail and … yeah, had ourselves a first. But that’s not the part I’m to tell you. What we wanted you to know is that we saw a couple of bald eagles in the park.”

Starsky could see them in his mind’s eye, circling above Hutch and him in the blue sky while they lay on their backs in the grass, having just made love, and drifted into timelessness.

“No mistaking them,” Hutch assured Alec. “I’d say just slightly northeast of Dream Lake. … I thought so, too—not far from the Center as the crow flies.” Hutch laughed, massaging Starsky’s leg. “Pardon me,” he said, correcting himself, “as the eagle flies.”

Starsky chuckled to think he and Alec had made the same correction for Hutch. He could only imagine how thrilled Alec had to be to learn about the pair of eagles, still together, not far from the release site where Liberty had been set free.

“We thought so, too,” Hutch added. “They had to be your birds.”

Hutch was definitely the right man to tell Alec what they’d seen, and where, because Hutch was a country boy … talking to another country boy, speaking the same language, experiencing moments and words and feelings that not even Starsky could hear or feel. But he freely gave Hutch that gift, that shared experience with another man.

Because he could give Hutch … anything.

* * *

THE END

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Next: The Day He Left
(Book Three from Dandelion Series 2).