Treasure Chest

Hutch isn’t happy with the surprise Starsky brought home. At least not at first.

Author’s Note: Written for the 20 minute fic challenge on the bRomance group using the words: trunk, chest

“Huuuutch!”

Hutch barely caught his balance as he exited the shower and ran naked towards Starsky’s raised voice. Mind racing, he thought of all the possible things that could have happened to Starsky—fall, burn, cut. He skidded around the corner and found Starsky kneeling on the floor in front of a battered steamer trunk decorated with stamps from around the world.

“What?” Hutch held a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath—both from the slowly dissipating panic and the slowly growing anger at the realization that there wasn’t a thing wrong with Starsky.

Starsky looked up at him, his blue eyes going wide, and that damned crooked grin that made Hutch melt every time. His gaze traveled from Hutch’s face downward. Hutch could feel his face grow hot.

“Why are you naked?” Starsky sounded so reasonable and calm that Hutch started to think he’d just hallucinated Starsky calling his name.

Hutch took a deep breath, and then, for good measure, another one so he wouldn’t strangle Starsky with his bare hands. “I’m dripping. I nearly broke my neck running out here, thinking you actually needed me for something. What do you think I was doing? C’mon, you’re a detective. Detect.”

Starsky settled back on his heels. Of course he did, Hutch thought. Because Starsky still had a grace and flexibility that Hutch could never hope to match.

“I didn’t hear the shower running,” Starsky finally said. “And I just wanted you to know I was home. And to see this cool trunk I picked up at the swap meet. I thought we could open it together.”

Hutch opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, snapped his mouth shut, and turned on his heel to go back, dry off, and get dressed.

He shivered as he stood in the bathroom. He toweled off his hair, tossing the towel on the floor, and then felt a larger towel being wrapped over his shoulders.

“Don’t be mad, babe,” Starsky whispered in his ear.

Hutch leaned back as Starsky rubbed the towel gently over his body. He shivered now for a totally different reason.

Starsky’s terry-covered hands caressed his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, his…

Oh. Oh. Guess he couldn’t stay mad at Starsky when the towel was replaced with Starsky’s gentle touch. And…Hutch reached out blindly for the sink, gripped it, and hung on as tongue replaced touch.

His heart pounded as frantically as it had only minutes earlier, but this time with passion and desire instead of panic and fear.

Hutch looked down moments later, only to see Starsky once again on his knees, looking up at him with eyes blue-black with love.

“Feel better?” Starsky asked.

Hutch burst out laughing, reached down to pull Starsky up into an embrace. He hugged him tightly, still laughing. “Thank you.”

It didn’t take him long to get clean up and get dressed, even with Starsky watching.

“So what was the big hurry when you brought the trunk in?” Hutch asked when they were back in the living room, sat on the floor in front of it.

“I couldn’t find the screwdriver,” Starsky mumbled. “I thought you knew where it was.”

Hutch stared at him. “You…” He stopped before he said something he might regret. It was Starsky after all—and he’d known and loved Starsky for years and years. Nothing could or would or should surprise him any longer when it came to one David Michael Starsky.

“It’s in the second drawer next to the sink. Wait,” Hutch said as Starsky got up to retrieve it. He held on to Starsky’s hand. “I love you.”

Starsky smiled. “Hutch.”

Maybe, Hutch thought, he could make sure Starsky had a nice shower after they finished opening the steamer trunk and discovering whatever treasures it held. One thing he knew, no matter what was inside—it would never compare to the treasure he’d gained when Starsky said hello to him all those years ago that first day at the police academy.