Trick or Treat

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Figuring this was part of the game, Starsky smiled slyly and said, “Trick or treat?”

“I guess it’s a ‘trick’. You can have the ‘treat’ in a minute, but the trick is, you’ve gotta answer one question first….”

Grinning, Starsky said quietly, “Okay, okay! What’s the million dollar question, already?”

Without letting go of Starsky’s wrist, he looked him in the eye and asked point blank, “Why haven’t you kissed me again?”

 

This story was written for the zine, Here With You, a Tribute to Kaye Austen Michaels. It was published in May 2010.

While this story stands on its own, it is a sequel to Cheap Sunglasses.

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“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Starsky said softly.

A wide pair of deep brown eyes glanced at him guiltily, while a bulging fist poised over a pocket. The perpetrator was about three feet tall. Starsky suspected he didn’t have a record–yet.

“You do know that most of the grownups here are police officers, right?”

The boy–Starsky thought he might be eight–looked all around the room for a moment. “I f’got.”

Starsky nodded knowingly, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in the young thief’s ear. “Y’don’t have to steal that. It’s free. You can just put it in your bag and keep it for yourself.”

The child seemed amazed. “Really?”

“Sure. Go on. It’s yours.”

The boy stared at the cellophane-wrapped orb. “Is it a baseball?”

“No,” Starsky said, suppressing a smile. “It’s a popcorn ball. You eat it.”

The kid cut him a look as if Starsky were trying to pull one over on him.

“Cross my heart,” Starsky said.

The boy must’ve decided he had an honest face, because he dropped the wrapped popcorn ball in his bag and sauntered off. One of the other cops realized the youngster was not engaged in the activities and ushered him over to one of the games.

Starsky took a long pull off the frosty bottle of root beer. It was the second hour of the Police Athletic League’s Boys and Girls Club Annual Halloween party, and he and Hutch had volunteered to help. Or rather, Hutch had volunteered them. Starsky didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he had any other plans for Halloween–which in itself was odd. Just one more odd thing in a year that threatened to set the all time record for weirdness. A year when every month featured some kind of Halloween monster-movie nightmare, all of it without the fun of trick or treat. Or at least without the treat part. There were way too many tricks involved.

He took another slug of the root beer just as someone cranked up–again–Bobby Picket’s Monster Mash. The kids all clapped and started singing along. “I was working in the lab late one night, when my eyes beheld an eerie sight…”

He should consider the song a bad omen after that freaky trip to Playboy Island, complete with voodoo curses, zombie millionaires, and–he shuddered just thinking about it–the evil bokur, Papa Theodore. Talk about eerie sights–

They’d barely survived that bizarre undercover gig when Hutch got hooked up with that escapee from the movie Psycho, Diana Harmon. He skirted his own still-painful memory of Rosey Malone by focusing on the undercover assignment in Cabrillo State complete with mad scientist that was nearly the end of both of them.

The plague that tried to kill Hutch was straight out of an end-of-the-world sci-fi movie–another memory he hated dwelling on. As was the day they nearly got cooked in the barn. And then there were all the lovely Satanists they shared their vacation with. Well, one good thing came out of that–it would be a while before Hutch would suggest camping again.

Jack Cunningham, the stone-cold killer posing as a loan collector, could have been cast from the Late Late Show, as was Professor Gage, the professional hitman. Both were genuine monsters. The feds were still trying to find out how many murders they were responsible for, and suspected their hits might go back twenty years.

…And then there was Johnnie Blaine.

Starsky’s throat still tightened when he thought about one of his oldest friends, a man he’d admired since childhood. Johnnie was a more traditional kind of monster–an average, everyday guy who, in the dark of the night, turned into–something else.

He felt a rush of guilt. Johnnie was no monster. He was just a man, a fallible man. A man who couldn’t help who he fell in love with.

Which made him just as human as Starsky …who also couldn’t help who he had fallen in love with.

He took another drink from the bottle, using the activity to mask the real focus of his interest.

Hutch was busy with a passel of kids he was teaching to bob for apples. It had been quite a challenge for Hutch to introduce some of his favorite Halloween traditions to these street-wise inner city kids, but damned if he didn’t have them all hanging around the water tank, taking turns at getting dunked.

It was Hutch who’d made the cellophane-wrapped caramel-covered popcorn balls, and had even managed to locate a sheaf of corn stalks and a bunch of pumpkins for decorations. Starsky had to smile. For a man who could get damned grouchy around Christmas, he sure loved Halloween.

Hutch was dressed all in black in wide-belled corduroys that made his legs seem to go on forever, and a form-fitting black t-shirt with POLICE ATHLETIC LEAGUE BOYS AND GIRLS CLUB stenciled in orange outlining the shape of a badge. The dark clothes seemed to make him glow.

Now if Starsky could only figure out just when he started noticing–and caring–about how Hutch dressed, he might be able to figure out just when Hutch started looking like–like–

The one person in the world I could love.

It didn’t make any sense, but there it was. He deliberately tried to bring up Rosey Malone’s image, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her in his arms, her heat, her passion, but it was gone, as if she’d never meant anything to him at all. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Rosey was just a last ditch effort to deny his true feelings for Hutch. If she had stayed, how long could he have kept up the sham of his feelings?

Was this what it had been like for Johnnie? Had he spent years in the company of women, delighted by the feel of them, the look of them, the smell of them, then suddenly saw one specific man and felt it all slip away to be replaced by a desire he hadn’t asked for, couldn’t understand, and didn’t want, or–

“Your partner has those kids eating out of his hands!” Dobey’s booming voice derailed Starsky’s train of thought.

Starsky nodded amiably, more grateful than ever that his boss couldn’t read his mind. “Those kids are smart,” he said, after finishing the soda. “They know he really likes them, that they can trust him.”

One of the kids snagged a floating apple and the other kids all cheered. Hutch helped him dry his face with a towel as the boy dug out the quarter from the apple. The kids all clamored to have the next turn. Only Hutch could get these kids that enthused over a quarter.

He had a sudden, startling memory of a Halloween party at Johnnie’s house when he was fourteen. There’d been a crowd of kids surrounding Johnnie to play some game, and Starsky had been one of them. Johnnie had that same kind of charm with kids, engendered that same kind of trust. Starsky remembered how proud he’d felt when Johnnie had singled him out, asked him to help with the game, treating him like a grownup. Over the years, Johnnie had taught Starsky many things, including how to defend himself. He not only taught Starsky how to fight, but, more importantly, when to fight and when not to. He thought, too, of the irony that, with his own father gone, he’d learned how to be a man by emulating Johnnie Blaine–a closeted gay man.

He wondered if Johnnie’s influence had anything to do with his unexpected reaction to Hutch’s anguish at the murder scene of a domestic dispute gone wrong. Hutch’s raw pain had touched Starsky on such a deep, visceral level, he’d reacted on pure instinct, giving Hutch the only thing he could think of to stem his grief. He’d kissed Hutch, and not with a brother-to-brother, one-cop-to-another-in-the-trenches kind of kiss. No, it had been a kiss of searing passion, and to this day Starsky wasn’t sure where it had come from. But it was obviously the thing Hutch had needed at that moment, because he’d met Starsky’s passion with a surge of his own so fierce and frantic it’d nearly overwhelmed them both.

For a panicky moment, Starsky had worried that they wouldn’t be able to separate, that the other cops processing the crime scene would find them making out like crazed teenagers, unable to respond to anything outside of the microcosm of their own need. But they had managed to pull apart, both of them breathless and more than a little surprised. Then, like the grown cops they were, they somehow shook it off and went back to work.

There hadn’t been an hour since then that Starsky hadn’t thought about it. Why did it happen? What did it mean? What did it say about him, about them? And the most important question–would he ever have the nerve to try it again?

He had no idea how Hutch felt about the whole thing. They never mentioned it or spoke about it. And after it happened, they went back to their usual routine. Though Hutch seemed more centered afterward, Starsky thought, or maybe he was just giving himself too much credit.

He wished he knew.

Just then, Hutch looked up and caught Starsky watching him. He grinned unabashedly, his expression open, genuinely happy. It was a look he hadn’t been able to muster very often this year. The joy transformed him from a handsome man to a radiant one.

Starsky suddenly found it hard to breathe.

So, what do I do now, Johnnie?

Suddenly, Dobey clapped a meaty hand on Starsky’s shoulder, jerking him out of his reverie again. “It’s time for trick or treat! The kids are all lining up. Once we dole out the goodies, we can finally call it a night. Give me a hand with this candy, Starsky–and don’t let me catch you pocketing any of it, either!”

Starsky grinned at his boss, following him to where the littlest kids were lining up with their trick or treat bags, waiting for their handouts. “Hey, come on, Captain! A man’s gotta have something to keep his energy up!”

He could hear the chorus of kids chanting, “Trick or treat!” “Trick or treat!” as they rounded the auditorium, scrambling from station to station, as other cops dug into the boxes and handed each of the kids a selection of candy, apples, and some practical “treats” such as PAL t-shirts in children’s sizes, dental care kits, hairbrushes and combs, and other ordinary necessities of life that many of them lacked.

Hutch was busy handing out his cellophane-wrapped popcorn balls. Some of the kids seemed mystified by it, but Starsky spotted his would-be thief carefully explaining that they were for eating, not playing.

He and Dobey manned a station full of bite-size penny candies, tossing a handful into each child’s bag. It was a popular station and soon he was busy enough that he lost track of Hutch. But before long, as the growing chorus of “Treat or treat” echoed through the auditorium, he found himself once more stealing glances at his partner, and thinking.

Trick or treat, Hutch. Which one is it gonna be? Is it the biggest trick in the world? And the joke’s on us?

* * *

“–Did you see that little girl dressed like a ballerina?” Hutch asked. They were in the Torino headed for Venice Place, and Hutch hadn’t stopped chattering since they’d finished cleaning up the auditorium and headed for home. He was so excited, he’d turned halfway around in his seat so he could face Starsky, his back to the passenger door.

Starsky had to smirk. “Hutch, there were a half-dozen little girls dressed like ballerinas. Which one, specifically?”

“The real pretty one in pink.”

Oh, that narrows it down, all right–to about six little girls of all different races and nationalities. But it would’ve never occurred to Hutch to describe any of them by those characteristics.

“She was missing her two front teeth,” Hutch continued. “She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to bite into one of the floating apples. But Edith had brought some of those little lady apples for decorations. So I put a dime in one of those and she caught it. You should’ve seen how happy she was. You’d have thought she won the lottery!”

Hutch was aglow with good spirits. He hasn’t looked like this since… The reality hit him then. Since Gillian.

Hutch glanced out the window as they turned down the block to his street. He was humming.

Starsky started to laugh. It was the Monster Mash.

“What?” Hutch asked, smiling, in response to Starsky’s laughter.

“You, that’s what?”

“What do you mean, me?”

“How is it a guy who becomes Mr. Bah Humbug during Christmas can have such a good time at Halloween?”

Hutch hesitated as though considering the answer. He shrugged. “Maybe because Christmas has become so commercial. People are supposed to be happy, but–” He paused and Starsky waited. Hutch grew a little somber and finally said, “Christmas wasn’t a good time at my house. Too much drinking. Too much expectation. Too much disappointment. Halloween was different. It was much more carefree, more fun. My mom…she loved giving stuff out at the door and seeing the kids in their costumes. And it was harvest time at my grandfather’s farm. A beautiful time of year. It was just.. a better holiday for us. All my memories of Halloween are good ones. And getting to share some of that this year with kids that don’t have it so good was terrific. The kids loved it, the cops had a good time–it was great.” He turned to Starsky. “What about you? You had a good time, didn’t you?”

“Sure!” Starsky reassured him. He wasn’t about to admit what his favorite part of the evening was. “Especially when I managed to sneak a pocketful of those little bags of candy out from under Dobey’s nose.”

“Did you go trick or treating as a kid?”

“Oh, yeah. We didn’t have much money, so mom always made our costumes. Y’know, ghosts out of old sheets, or mummies from leftover strips of fabric, hobos. The neighborhood had a lot of kids, so there were always plenty of goodies to be had. Then later, when I moved out here, there were terrific Halloween parties at the Blaines’ place.” His mentioning Johnnie made them both grow quiet for a moment.

They pulled up in front of Hutch’s apartment building.

“You’re gonna come up, aren’t you?” Hutch said.

Starsky had a clutch moment. He looked away from Hutch, feeling as if the glow lighting his partner’s eyes were a warning sign. “Gee…I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t bring my trick or treat bag.”

“Yeah, but you did bring your costume,” Hutch teased. “That’s some scary mask, partner–oh, is that your face?”

Starsky shoved him playfully, and they both laughed at the adolescent joke. It broke the mood, and Starsky relaxed.

“You can forget making guilty excuses,” Hutch argued, wagging a finger at him. “I’m well aware that you’ve been stuffing yourself with the kids’ candy all night. You never ate anything as healthy as an apple. I’ve got a meal all ready to heat up–turkey with all the trimmings. And I even made a pumpkin pie!”

Starsky had never been able to resist Hutch’s pumpkin pie. He turned back to his partner. “What about those popcorn balls? Any of them left?”

“I saved two of them for us. But you can’t have them unless you finish your dinner first.”

Laughing, Starsky turned off the car. “Okay, Mom, you win.”

* * *

He was glad he’d stayed. The food, of course, was great, and the pumpkin pie was one of Hutch’s best. The wine seemed to be just what he needed to mellow out and put troublesome thoughts away. They started talking about work and soon slipped into their comfortable camaraderie. He stopped worrying about monsters and the ghost of Johnnie Blaine, and just basked in Hutch’s warm, affable spirit.

As Hutch uncorked the second wine bottle he said, “It’s almost time for the late show. You want to turn it on?”

Starsky shook his head. “It’s just gonna be some kinda monster movie.”

Hutch paused, seeming surprised. “You love those, Starsk.”

“Yeah, but you don’t. ‘Sides, this has been nice, just…sitting, talking. And you promised me a popcorn ball.”

“So, I did,” Hutch said agreeably. “But first you have to say ‘trick or treat’!”

That brought Starsky’s mind back to the Halloween party and the thoughts he’d hoped wouldn’t interfere with this enjoyable evening. I should be so lucky.

Hutch grabbed the two cellophane-wrapped balls from the bowl where he’d left them, and brought them over to the couch where Starsky had parked himself. Sitting down on the coffee table so that he was knee-to-knee with his partner, Hutch refilled their wine glasses. He started to hand Starsky one of the balls, but then pulled it back at the last second, taking Starsky by surprise.

“Hey!” he protested. Then figuring this was part of the game, he smiled slyly and said, “Trick or treat?”

“I guess it’s a ‘trick’. You can have the ‘treat’ in a minute, but the trick is, you’ve gotta answer one question first.”

Starsky bypassed Hutch’s ploy by snatching one of the balls out of his hand and wrestling with the wrapper. “Now, I gotta sing for my supper?”

“No, just for your popcorn ball.” Hutch smiled.

“Think this new interrogation technique is gonna change police work as we know it?” Starsky finally freed the confection from its wrapper, and took a healthy bite of it. His teeth promptly stuck together.

Hutch looked exasperated. “Not so good for interrogation if the suspect can’t talk, is it? That’s why I wanted you to answer first!”

With a Herculean effort, Starsky managed to chew up the sticky-crunchy wad in his mouth and swallow it while Hutch waited none-too patiently. “Wow, that’s good!” Starsky announced, but before he could take another bite, Hutch grabbed his wrist.

“You must’ve been a terror going door-to-door,” Hutch complained. “Did you pull a gun on your neighbors when you went trick or treating? Give up the goods right now, or–?”

Starsky’s laugh almost qualified as a giggle, which made him realize that the wine had gotten to him more than he thought. “Those crunchy nut things in the popcorn ball are terrific. Come on, Hutch, lemme have another bite!”

“After you answer my question. It’s the least you can do after a turkey dinner you raved about, and homemade pumpkin pie–”

“I betcha you stomped the grapes yourself, too, for the wine, huh?”

“Damn right. My feet are still purple–”

“It was white wine, Hutch.”

“Those are bruises. My feet are very tender.”

“Like your heart, ya big softee.”

“You gonna answer my question now, or stall some more?”

Starsky sighed. Hutch was still gripping his wrist, and he liked the way that felt way too much. If he answered the stupid question, Hutch would let go. On the other hand, if he didn’t, Hutch might get so exasperated he’d shoot him. It was a tough decision.

Grinning, Starsky said quietly, “Okay, okay! What’s the million dollar question, already?”

Hutch was still knee-to-knee with him, perched on the coffee table, leaning forward expectantly. Without letting go of Starsky’s wrist, he looked him in the eye and asked point blank, “Why haven’t you kissed me again?”

Starsky’s whole world tilted, and he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. For a moment, he felt a flush of irrational anger. We aren’t supposed to talk about it. He’s breakin’ the rules, bringing it up right out in the open like this! What’s’a matter with him? He struggled to keep the panic off his face.

“Are we gonna have to wait ’til someone else dies?” Hutch asked, still in that matter-of-fact tone, as though they were discussing an old case or baseball scores.

We won’t have long to wait, Starsky thought, ’cause I’m about to have a heart attack right now.

When Starsky still couldn’t find his voice, Hutch continued. “If you’re waiting for me to admit I was wrong, I’m man enough to do that. I admit it, Starsk. You’re a really good kisser.”

Going on the defensive, Starsky answered with a question of his own. “Then why haven’t you kissed me again?”

Now Hutch was caught off guard. “I…uh, just thought…that you’d be more comfortable–”

Starsky pressed his advantage. “How come I get all the tough jobs in this partnership?” Starsky asked, parroting something Hutch had said to him recently.

Hutch remembered, and smiled. “‘Cause you’re the tough cop this week.”

“Oh, no!” Starsky insisted. “I’m not doin’ all the work in this partnership. It’s your turn.” Oops. Too far! He could tell by the wicked glint in Hutch’s eye.

“That’s just like you. Passing the buck!” Hutch grinned. Giving Starsky’s captured arm a yank, Hutch pulled him halfway off the couch and into his embrace, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“Hutch, wait!” Starsky gasped. “Wait a minute!”

“Why?” Hutch asked. The joy went out of his eyes. “Unless…you don’t want to–”

Me? How come it’s up to me?

Oh, yeah. He’d started it. His heart was trip-hammering like crazy. They were nose to nose, each with one arm around the other. Hutch was still gripping his wrist, and Starsky was still clutching the popcorn ball that had melted into his palm, gluing his fingers together. They were poised like two dancers, but Starsky was in no position to dip Hutch. That was too bad; it would’ve been the perfect move to break up this tableau.

Struggling to sound sure of himself, he asked, “You…want to…?”

Hutch got that exasperated expression again. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

Oh yeah. He swallowed hard. He felt frozen in place, as though any movement on his part would bring on disaster. It felt like one of those moments he and Hutch had shared a million times, hanging on either side of a doorframe, guns drawn, staring at each other, waiting for just the right moment to break down the door and go in guns blazing. Only Starsky wasn’t holding a gun, just a sticky popcorn ball. Which might account for why he felt so threatened.

Hutch never took his intense gaze from Starsky’s face.

Suddenly, Starsky understood what it was like to face that intensity in the interrogation room. Because the truth just blurted out. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough.”

Now, Hutch looked baffled.

“–like Johnnie was brave.”

The confusion was still there. Hutch wasn’t making the connection.

“To live like that–the way Johnnie had to. The double life.”

“We’re not Johnnie. We’re not married–”

“If Rosey had stayed–”

“You would’ve never married her.” Hutch said it decisively, the way he did when he became convinced he knew who the bad guy was. “You went with her because you were hiding from me. The same reason I went out with Crazy Diana We’ve been hiding from each other.”

Starsky’s breath caught in his throat. When did Hutch get so smart about this stuff? His eyes locked on Hutch’s. It was like that moment when they were interrogating that junkie after Starsky had shot that sixteen-year-old kid. Starsky completely lost it and was about to pound the junkie when Hutch grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Their eyes had met and a million things passed between them in just a second’s pause as Hutch held him and kept him from doing harm. That communication had been so pure, so real, in that instance Starsky understood everything.

Everything–

“Remember your promise?” Hutch asked softly. “You said we’re our world. Just you and me. You said we were all we ever needed. You promised….”

Starsky remembered. And he remembered everything he was feeling when he made that promise. His hesitation dissolved and suddenly he felt like the bravest man in the world.

They met in the middle, both of them moving as synchronously as in a gun battle. This time Starsky didn’t surprise Hutch with the kiss. This time he was waiting for it, wanting it with an eagerness Starsky was happy to match.

Starsky marveled at the silky texture of Hutch’s tongue as it slid over his. Hutch showed none of the tentativeness of their first kiss. That one was part solace. Starsky had meant to comfort. But there was no comfort in this kiss now.

And there was no one else with them, either. None of the ghosts of their past, not the women, not Johnnie, no one. Starsky was keeping his promise. It was just the two of them.

Starsky moved in closer and bore down harder, his passion suddenly given full rein. Hutch moaned into his mouth and it completely unhinged him. Hutch. Moaning for him. In his wildest fantasies, he could have never imagined that sound.

He pulled his arm out of Hutch’s grasp and reached for a handful of blond hair, wanting, needing to anchor Hutch in place, to make sure he couldn’t get away–

But he completely forgot about the sticky popcorn glued to his palm.

Which was now tangled in Hutch’s hair.

“Ow!” Hutch yelped as he tried to jerk away.

“Wait! Wait! I’m attached!” Starsky said.

“Stop pulling!”

“Stop moving!” Starsky grabbed Hutch’s shoulder to hold him still. “Look, brute force isn’t going to work, unless you want a baseball-sized bald spot in the back of your head.”

Hutch grimaced. “Any bright ideas, Sherlock? Ow!”

“You’re still moving,” Starsky admonished. “I got one.”

“Yeah?” Hutch winced.

Starsky shifted his hand closer to Hutch’s skull, trying to cradle it. “Let’s see if we can make it to the bathroom without a disaster, huh?”

“The bathroom?”

“Yeah, y’know, that place with soap and water and towels and a tub?”

Hutch sighed. “You love having me at a disadvantage.”

“Come on. We’re gonna do this like those synchronized dancers in the Busby Berkeley musicals.”

Starsky had always thought Hutch’s apartment was weird with a bathroom right off the living room instead of the bedroom. Now he was grateful that it was so close to the couch. They both stood cautiously, then started inching their way step-by-step to it, attached like Siamese twins. Halfway there, they started chuckling and by the time they maneuvered their way to the tub, they were laughing hard.

“If you ever tell anyone about this–” Hutch said, through his laughter.

“Oh, yeah, that’ll do wonders for my reputation. ‘I was layin’ a big wet one on my partner when I decided to glue myself to his hair.’ Bend over.”

Hutch’s laughter dammed up. “What?”

“The tub,” Starsky said with exaggerated patience. “I gotta run some warm water over your hair to melt this stuff. Just pretend you’re bobbing for apples. And hope this popcorn doesn’t plug up your plumbing.” He took the plastic drinking cup from the sink and ran warm water in the tub. “Y’know, it’s not easy doing this with my right hand.”

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience!”

“Shut up and close your eyes.” He poured the small glassful of water over Hutch’s hair. Six glasses later, he was able to free his left hand with only a few blond hairs to show for it. “Finally!” He reached for a bottle of nearby shampoo. “This weird organic stuff better work like real soap.”

“It is real soap–”

Starsky lathered a liberal amount into his partner’s hair. The soap enabled him to free the mass of sticky popcorn from the tangled blond strands in short order. “You’d better split your popcorn ball with me, since I can’t eat this one now.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on eating it before we talked none of this would’ve–”

Starsky guided Hutch’s head under the tub faucet to rinse the soap, effectively shutting him up. “This stuff really suds up! Smells good. Like flowers. Hold on. I think I got all the soap out.” He turned off the tap and stood back to let Hutch stand up.

Hutch shook some of the excess water out of his hair and ran his hands through the wet tangles. “Yeah, that feels good.”

Starsky grabbed a towel and dropped it over Hutch’s head. “You’re soaked.”

“No kidding, genius. Talk about throwing cold water on a mood!” Still, Hutch was smiling through his complaints. “This has gotta go down as one of the worst seductions ever.”

Rubbing his hair dry, he left the bathroom and headed for his sleeping alcove.

Starsky followed dutifully, reluctant to let Hutch out of his sight. “Well, who ever heard of a romantic candlelight dinner followed by popcorn balls? Really, Hutch, you shoulda thought that one through.”

“Oh, it’s my fault.” He pulled the towel off his head and yanked his wet t-shirt off, making his hair stick up in a million different directions. He started rummaging through a drawer for a dry shirt.

Just as Starsky was about to point out that his own shirt had big wet splotches on it and if Hutch was any kind of a proper host, he’d be pulling one of Starsky’s own dry t-shirts out of that drawer first, he realized he was standing beside Hutch’s bed.

His big, ornate brass bed with the elaborately curved headboard. That headboard suddenly looked like a dangerous jungle gym. It was so tall and ornately curved, you could do chin-ups on it. How come he never noticed that before?

Hutch’s bed was neatly made, the tufty white bedspread suddenly seeming like an enormous expanse. More than big enough for two…even two big guys like him and Hutch.

His sudden focus on the bed explained why he never noticed Hutch moving against his back. His partner must’ve realized how distracted he was, because he’d never put on the t-shirt. Bare-chested, he slipped his arms around Starsky’s waist and whispered in his ear, “Trick or treat.”

Inside, Starsky leaped a mile, but outside he held his ground, never letting Hutch know how rattled he was. Give a guy a heart attack! Maintaining an outward display of false bravado, he glanced back at Hutch over his shoulder. He made sure Hutch could get a good look at his lowered eyelashes. Women were always telling him what killer eyelashes he had. He wondered if Hutch would even notice.

“Actually, I think we just had the trick,” Hutch said, smiling, “so we can skip that part.”

“What’s the treat?” Starsky asked. He lowered his voice, going for what he hoped for was a sexy growl. If Hutch accused him of mumbling he’d–

With a boldness that shocked him, Hutch hugged them together, back to front. A flush of adrenaline raced through Starsky as he realized Hutch was erect, his rigid shaft nestled suggestively against Starsky’s rear.

Pressing his lips to the back of Starsky’s neck, Hutch murmured, “Even you should be able to figure that out, Detective.”

Wrapping his own arms over Hutch’s to let Hutch know he approved of the embrace, Starsky wondered if they’d continue their usual barrage of mutual insults even in bed. Not if I can keep his mouth full–

Why did he have to go and think that? His erection, which had been at a pleasant low-boil simmer, bloomed. He felt like he was choking in his pants. Swallowing to regain his aplomb, he managed to sound almost normal when he said, “Sounds pretty vague. I think I’d better know more about this treat before committing myself–”

Before he could finish the sentence, Hutch pushed him away while taking hold of one of his wrists. Using it for leverage, Hutch spun him around and brought his foot up behind Starsky’s off-balance ankle. It was the kind of move he’d use on a perp trying to escape. Before he could react, Starsky found himself falling backwards onto Hutch’s bed. He lay on his back, staring up at his grinning partner looming over him.

“That felt more like a trick,” Starsky managed when he found his voice.

“Pretty good trick,” Hutch said, “don’t you think?”

“Maybe. If it leads to the treat.” Starsky slid his hands–blissfully free of popcorn–into Hutch’s damp hair, gently pulling his handsome face close enough for Starsky to claim another kiss. Hutch yielded easily, and as they enjoyed another long tender moment of tasting and touching tongue-to-tongue and lip-to-lip, Hutch settled gently against Starsky’s body.

He felt so right there, his weight almost negligible, which was weird considering he was a substantial guy, not some flyweight lady like Starsky was used to. He had a fleeting memory of all those times he’d held Hutch when he’d been hurt, cradling his body against injury, keeping him close, holding him tight. It had always felt good, having Hutch in his arms. Now he had the freedom to hold without the excuse of pain. He hugged Hutch tight, wanting close contact with every inch of the male frame resting over him.

Hutch pulled out of the kiss long enough to say, “Your shirt’s wet.”

“And cold,” Starsky murmured around their kisses. They were being so careful with each other, so tender, as if they were still afraid of breeching some unspoken barrier.

Hutch sat up, straddling Starsky’s hips, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

Lost in the sensation of Hutch’s butt pressing against his almost painful erection, Starsky was only dimly aware of cooperating to free himself of the damp clothing.

Still sitting over his groin, Hutch tossed the shirt aside and stared down at Starsky.

While he’d always been aware of the differences between them physically, Starsky had never spent a minute concerned about it. Until now. Staring at the broad expanse of Hutch’s fair, smooth skin, his nearly hairless torso, Starsky suddenly wondered if his own dark hairy chest would slam home to Hutch all too graphically that he was about to make love to a man. Would it turn him off?

Hutch’s fingers skimmed lightly over the pattern of hair on Starsky’s chest, his eyes intently following the path of his fingers. Starsky held his breath, waiting to see if that worried crease would show up on his partner’s face. Waiting to see if he’d pull away.

Hutch only smiled. “Must be convenient–your own fur coat. Keep you warm in the winter?”

Starsky relaxed a little. Obviously, Hutch’s corny humor extended even into the bedroom. Good thing he was so handsome. “I got enough fur to keep us both warm, blondie.” Emboldened, he rubbed the knuckles of his hand against Hutch’s nipple and was pleased to see Hutch shiver at the touch and the tiny bud tighten up.

“I don’t think warmth’s gonna be the problem,” Hutch said, stretching out full length against Starsky again.

Now, the kiss had more of an edge as they hugged each other and rolled over on the big expanse of bed. Their denim-clad legs tangled, the sturdy cloth preventing the kind of skin-to-skin stimulation Starsky yearned for. Yet both seemed hesitant to venture into uncharted waters. Starsky tried to remember the last time he was this unsure of himself with a lover and couldn’t. There was no denying the need was there; both of them were as rigid as pipes.

Hutch had been the brave one tonight, initiating their kiss. Even after Starsky’s popcorn fiasco, Hutch had managed to get them back on track. If Starsky was any kind of a partner, he couldn’t let Hutch take all the risks. He couldn’t leave him in the line of fire all by himself.

Swallowing at his own audacity, he slid the flat of his palms down Hutch’s long lean back and stroked the mounds of his ass. It was a man’s ass, firm and muscular, so very different. The minute he touched it, Hutch tensed and Starsky feared he’d ruined the moment. But then Hutch gasped and rubbed his groin even harder against Starsky’s. Hutch made that sound again, that moan that turned his bones into lava.

He rolled them over, and as much as he hated separating, pulled away from Hutch to tackle his partner’s fly. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the clasp of Hutch’s jeans, unable to make the material part.

Hutch was there, working with him, telling him, “I’ve got it, let me do it,” and helping to undo the button and slide down the zipper. Which was good because suddenly the mechanics of the whole thing seemed beyond him. Everything seemed to be on the wrong side then when he did it for himself. The rasp of the zipper sounded as loud as a freight train, but when Hutch lifted his hips so Starsky could help him slide the pants off, Starsky no longer heard anything.

All he could do was stare at the wonder of all that blondness stretched out before him. It seemed like miles of tanned legs with the thinnest down of hair covering them, all of it leading to more maleness then Starsky had ever seen. He’d never seen Hutch erect before. His mouth went dry.

Hutch must’ve misinterpreted the look on his face, because he suddenly got all somber, not happy like he’d been. He almost seemed to withdraw.

Starsky took a good long look at Hutch and then grinned. “Now I know what you really meant when you said, ‘when you’ve got it, flaunt it’!”

Hutch smiled back at him, clearly relieved. “Don’t leave me hangin’ out here by myself, buddy!” He reached for Starsky’s jeans and with the same dexterity he’d used on his own zipper, easily unfastened Starsky’s button-fly jeans. Starsky envied his dexterity.

Getting him out of those jeans, however, took a group effort. As hard as he was, it made the tight jeans even tighter, so there was nothing graceful about the way they had to skin him out of his pants.

“Do you have to wear those pants so tight?” Hutch asked, tossing the jeans over the side of the bed.

“You said, ‘when you’ve got it . . .’ Well, the ladies tell me I’ve got a great butt,” Starsky admitted.

“So I’ve noticed.”

Starsky’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve noticed my butt?”

Hutch hesitated as if he’d been caught in something he didn’t want to admit. “Well…I’ve noticed the ladies noticing your butt!”

Starsky wasn’t buying that. The red creeping up Hutch’s face was a dead giveaway. “You’ve been watching my butt.”

Clenching his jaw, Hutch tackled Starsky, pinning him to the mattress. “So what if I have? Maybe I’ve been watching your butt for a while. Maybe I’ve been making plans for it.”

Just his saying that made Starsky’s cock slap his belly. “Oh, yeah? Plans, huh? Seems like your schedule’s running a little late, isn’t it?”

They kissed again, and the edge turned into urgency. “Maybe,” Hutch said. “I never worked out a timetable for my plans.”

“That’s just like you, over thinking it. You’re makin’ plans, while I’m runnin’ on instinct.”

Hutch chuckled against his mouth. “We’ll see about that.” He slid his lips from the corner of Starsky’s mouth, over his chin, and down his throat.

The sensation made Starsky’s eyes roll up. “Ah, jeez, Hutch,” he moaned.

Hutch only made an mmm sound against his skin, then ran his tongue over the skin he’d kissed, ratcheting up the pressure. Hutch was laying over Starsky again, only now they were skin-to-skin, which completely changed the nature of the embrace.

Starsky’s hands were everywhere, and everywhere they roamed, Hutch’s smooth soft skin was there, responding to his touch, encouraging him to touch more and more.

Hutch was busy himself, using his mouth, his lips, his tongue. He seemed to be tasting Starsky, sampling first the flavor of his throat, then nibbling a bit of collarbone, then sliding down further to kiss the swirls of hair over his pecs. It was making Starsky squirm in a delightful way. His cock started to leak, but he didn’t care. It only helped the delicious slide of skin-on-skin they were enjoying.

Then Hutch found one of his nipples, and the sampling turned into a feast.

The aggressive move was so hot, so intense, Starsky had to bite his lip to keep from coming. He couldn’t stop the strangled groan from escaping, and when Hutch put teeth to the nipple, Starsky cried out, digging his nails into Hutch’s ass. But Hutch never let go. He’d found something he wanted, and he worked at it mercilessly.

Starsky couldn’t remember ever getting this much pleasure out of such a tiny part of his body. He thrashed under Hutch, overwhelmed by the teeth and tongue and lips alternately teasing, delighting, and abusing him. His balls were so tight, they ached. Dimly, he became aware that Hutch was losing himself in what he was doing. He was stropping his big cock against Starsky’s leg, and it was leaking just as much as Starsky’s was. Just knowing that Hutch was that turned on for him made Starsky weak.

“What’s happening to all those big plans now, boy, huh?” Starsky managed to gasp.

Hutch loosened his hold and turn to Starsky, confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You said you made plans–” Starsky suddenly realized his folly before the words for my ass left his lips. What was he trying to do, wave a red flag in front of a horny bull?

The look on Hutch’s face told he didn’t have to finish the sentence.

This would be a good time to change the subject, but he wasn’t sure how. “How long have you been plannin’…those plans.”

“You don’t want to know.”

Starsky blinked. “I asked you, didn’t I? This is a helluva time to start holdin’ out on–”

“Long before you ever kissed me,” Hutch blurted.

That shut Starsky up effectively.

“Surprised?” Hutch asked. His voice had an edge of nervousness in it.

Starsky schooled his expression. “Not really.”

“Not–?” It was Hutch’s turn to look nonplussed.

“I mean, we’ve been working together all these years, day in and day out, spending seventy-five percent of our time together, and all that time you’ve had to just watch my beautiful ass from a distance. It was bound to lead to an elaborate fantasy life. I’m surprised you held out as long as you did.”

“‘I held out–‘” Hutch sputtered. “You started this whole thing.”

Starsky had to chuckle. Hutch was so easy to distract. He gave a sudden heave and rolled them over in the bed. He was tired of looking up at Hutch. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Before Hutch could react, Starsky decided it was time to hand out some treats himself. He summoned all his courage, kept his gaze on Hutch’s face, and reached south.

He gripped Hutch’s cock, marveling at its size and heft. He marveled too at the very fact that he was willingly holding another man’s cock, that he wanted to hold it, that it could feel so good to hold it.

“Starsky!” Hutch shouted, his back arching, nearly lifting them off the bed.

“Trick or treat,” Starsky murmured, and stroked upward. It was a man’s cock, and that gave Starsky the kind of knowledge he never really had with a woman. This was equipment he had himself, equipment he knew how to handle as well as he knew how to handle his gun. He knew what a cock liked, how sensitive it was, and he knew, suddenly, just how good he could make it. If he had the courage.

He stroked again, making Hutch thrash on the bed. His hands were everywhere on Starsky now, gripping his shoulders, stroking his back, petting his ass. So much for your plans, buddy.

Hutch suddenly gripped Starsky’s head and they were kissing. It was beyond urgency now. There was a frenetic need in Hutch’s kiss that Starsky had no trouble matching. His own cock was pinned against Hutch’s hip and every move Hutch made teased it. Starsky couldn’t remember ever being this hard.

He realized another advantage of loving Hutch. Neither of them were holding anything back. Starsky didn’t have to worry about his strength or weight or whether he would accidentally hurt this lover. Hutch could handle anything Starsky could dish out, and he hoped Hutch realized the same of him.

Hutch was babbling his name, lost in the sensation Starsky’s hand was giving him. Starsky was amazed at the reaction he was getting from just a simple hand job.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by Hutch’s vulnerability, how willing he was to show his passion, his need. It was beautiful to see, as beautiful as Hutch himself was. Starsky felt swamped by emotion, and realized how lucky they were to break through the barriers and share this with each other. He knew at that moment he would never love anyone as much as he loved this man, his partner, the one human being who cared more than any other if he lived or died. The one human being willing to give his own life in exchange for Starsky’s.

The intensity of the moment flooded through him, and letting his instinct take over, he slide down Hutch’s body, and without any plan at all, or even a coherent thought, took the head of Hutch’s cock in his mouth.

Hutch gasped in shock, his body freezing in place, as if he was terrified to dislodge Starsky.

Starsky glanced up, needing to be sure this was what Hutch wanted. He found Hutch staring at him in total shock, his face diffused with surprise and delight. Hutch’s fingers grazed his face, as if he really couldn’t believe this was happening. With the gentlest touch, Hutch traced Starsky’s lower lip right where it met his own flesh.

“Starsky,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t find the energy to speak any louder. “God…I love you.”

How many times had women said those words to him? They’d always smacked of entrapment, desperation, loneliness, obligation. Hutch’s saying them was totally different. It was just a confirmation of something he already knew. Hutch loved him. Of course. And he loved Hutch, more than he’d ever loved any woman, more than he ever could love any woman. But he’d have to tell him later, because right now his mouth was really busy.

He swirled his tongue around the head of Hutch’s heavy cock, tickling the slit just the way he liked it himself. Using his hand on Hutch’s length, his mouth teased and sucked and licked. He was amazed at how good Hutch tasted, how right it felt holding him in his mouth. Then he watched his lover’s reaction, loving the pleasure he was giving Hutch, loving the joy on his face, the bloom of sweat covering his body, the flush of red covering his chest and face. He loved making Hutch happy. He couldn’t wait to make him come.

As if Hutch could read his mind as easily here as he did on the street, he tried pulling away. “Starsky, wait! Starsky, no! If you keep that up–”

But Starsky was past the point of no return. He was lost in the pleasure of giving pleasure, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He didn’t care about Hutch’s plans, he didn’t care about anything but wringing the maximum amount of happiness from Hutch’s body.

Reaching up, he carefully took hold of Hutch’s balls, rolling them carefully in his palm. They were tight against his body, swollen, ready to give up their prize. And Starsky wanted that more than anything else.

But when Hutch came in his mouth it seemed to take them both by surprise.

Hutch moaned his name and buried his hands in his hair, not pulling or pushing his head down, just holding him tenderly while his body went rigid with pleasure.

Starsky, still running on instinct, took as much of Hutch in his mouth as he could, and when he couldn’t take anymore, managed to swallow. He didn’t think about it, he just did it. It shocked him, but he had the crazy thought that he couldn’t mess up Hutch’s clean bedspread and there just wasn’t anything else to do.

Hutch just kept calling his name, his voice all tender and sweet, the love inside him pouring out as thick as his come.

As soon as he finished, Starsky pulled off, knowing how uncomfortable that could be when your cock got so hypersensitive after orgasm. When he did, Hutch reached under his arms and hoisted him up in the bed, pulling him to him so he could attack his mouth. His tongue went wild, as if searching for his own flavor that was everywhere in Starsky’s mouth.

That kiss was the hottest one so far, so fierce it nearly made Starsky come himself. But Starsky was close right now, so almost anything would.

“Why did you do that, why?” Hutch asked when they broke from the kiss.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Starsky said. His voice was raspy, his throat tight.

“Your instinct’s kinda scary, partner.” Hutch was still struggling to catch his breath.

“You liked it, right?”

“Are you kidding? No one ever made me feel like that. No one.”

Starsky’s heart swelled with pride. Hearing that made it all worth it.

“I want to make you feel like that,” Hutch said. He had that earnest look on his face he always got when something was real important to him.

Starsky loved seeing that look directed solely at him. He would do almost anything to make sure that happened again and again.

“You must be really hurting by now,” Hutch said, and started to move lower in the bed.

“No, wait,” Starsky said, stopping him.

“You think I don’t want to?” Hutch said, looking hurt.

Starsky shook his head. “I’m so close. Give me a few minutes, will ya? I swear if you touch me now I’ll go off like the fourth of July.”

Hutch laughed lightly. “I bet. That’s what it was like for me. Fourth of July, on the Bicentennial!” They both laughed. “I can’t believe you…you did that. You didn’t have to.”

Starsky kissed Hutch gently on the cheek. “I wanted to. I love it when you get all happy looking. You were just glowing. And, really…I liked it.”

Hutch seemed surprised by that. “I meant what I said. It wasn’t just pillow talk. I love you, Starsky.”

“I believed you. I would’ve said the same but–my mouth was full.” They both laughed again. “I mean it, too. I love you, Hutch. I think we’ve been in love with each other for a while. I think it explains a lot of our problems with women. They don’t like taking second place to a man’s partner. And it’s always been like that for us.”

Hutch stroked his cheek. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t care about a double life. I don’t care about any of it. I just want to hide out here and make love to you. And I’ll do anything I have to, to let us have this.”

“God, Hutch, you’re breakin’ my heart. You always had such a way with words.”

They hugged each other hard, as if they both understood whatever time they would get to share in this new world they were creating would be stolen time. Starsky decided that was just fine. There wouldn’t be any monsters in this world, not ever.

“I can’t wait for you anymore, Starsky,” Hutch said finally, and started sliding down in the bed.

“But don’t you need to take a nap or something?” Starsky said.

Hutch laughed. “Nervous?”

Maybe a little. You’ve got all those plans I don’t know about. “Who, me? ‘Course not.”

Hutch laughed some more. “Maybe you should be. If you had any idea how much I want you–”

Starsky felt those words go right to his groin. “Keep that up and you’ll talk me into an orgasm.”

“That might be fun,” Hutch said, “but right now, I want this–” He gathered Starsky’s rigid erection in his big palm and squeezed gently.

Starsky saw stars for a moment, then realized his hyper need to come had just lessened slightly. “Some trick there, Hutch,” he gasped.

“I got a few more up my sleeve,” Hutch warned, then slid his mouth over Starsky’s cock in one smooth move.

Then it’s a damn good thing you’re not wearing any clothes! That was his last coherent thought.

Starsky felt like Hutch had swallowed him whole; he felt like his entire cock was smothered in a wet warm living cavern pulsing around him. Then Hutch started using his tongue. Starsky couldn’t hold still. He clawed at Hutch’s shoulders, shouted his name, his hips dancing all over the bed. He needed to come, needed to come, then realized Hutch was holding the base of his cock tightly, preventing the explosion, forcing more pleasure on him. Where did he learn this stuff?

If Hutch had any hesitancy about what he was doing to Starsky, he wasn’t showing it. He displayed the same confidence in making love to Starsky that he did on the firing range. He took a stance, aimed for his target, fired, and hit it dead on.

Only this time he wasn’t letting his gun fire.

Starsky wrapped his legs around Hutch’s waist. He wanted to climb down his throat. He wanted to scream his name so loud everyone in Venice, everyone in the world, would know his beautiful partner was making the most insane love to him.

Hutch suddenly shifted them slightly and Starsky felt Hutch’s hand graze his balls. He arched his back, the feelings so intense he thought he’d fold in half. Then Hutch’s hand slid lower, stroking the lower curve of his butt. Dimly, he remembered Hutch talking about his butt, noticing his butt–something about plans. He couldn’t remember. At this moment, hovering on the verge of ecstasy and release, he wasn’t sure he could remember his name.

Hutch shifted again, moving his hand, and suddenly he was running those big, long fingers slowly down the crack of Starsky’s ass. Hutch stroked him over and over, playing with the most intimate part of his body the way he played his guitar, tenderly, knowingly. And just like his guitar, Starsky sang, calling Hutch’s name, saying words that made no sense, making promises in a language only he and Hutch could understand.

Somehow, Hutch took him deeper into his mouth, swallowing around him, and at the same time, deliberately ran the tip of his finger around Starsky’s anus.

Starsky shouted for deities he didn’t believe in and clawed Hutch’s back, trying to pull him tighter against him. Hutch rimmed him again with his finger, and suddenly the thought of having Hutch inside him seemed like the best plan in the world.

He was babbling “yes” and “please” even though he didn’t know what he was asking for or agreeing to. He just wanted Hutch to do whatever it was he wanted. It was clear to Starsky that Hutch really knew how to plan.

When Hutch inserted the tip of his finger inside Starsky, his world went nuclear. He came so hard, nothing could have held the flood back. He felt like he was turning inside out as he came and came. Hutch took it all, teasing his butt, tormenting him, sucking him down until there was nothing left but a husk of a man.

Only then did Hutch release him. The bastard had the nerve to laugh about it, too.

“You okay?” Hutch asked, obviously pretending to care.

Starsky had no voice left. He’d said it all during his orgasm. He just moaned pitifully.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Hutch said confidently, and left the bed. Starsky watched him walk out of the alcove, and swore he was swaggering.

Where’s he going? Abandoning me in my condition. A guy could die like this!

He wasn’t capable of complaining out loud.

Hutch returned with two big glasses of orange juice. “Here. This should restore some of those precious bodily fluids.” He sat on the bed and hauled Starsky up against him so he could drink safely.

Starsky would’ve helped him, but he had nothing left. He just stared at his partner pitifully. He remembered Hutch hauling him around after he’d been shot in the Italian restaurant. He was willing to swear he was weaker now than he was then.

Hutch held the glass up to his mouth, and he managed to take hold of it. He drained half of it in a swallow, the tart sweet liquid helping to hydrate and refresh him. He handed the glass back to Hutch, who had already drained his.

Starsky tried to speak, “Where did you–? How did you–? Who taught–?” He gave up. His brain was still nonfunctional. He knew if he didn’t struggle to stay alert, he would fall dead asleep in about two seconds. How did Hutch manage to stay so awake after sex? What kind of a superman was he?

Dimly, Starsky was aware that Hutch was still erect. He had to suppress a whimper.

Hutch held him as gently as he had in the Italian restaurant, as if he were mortally wounded. Which Starsky thought he might just be.

“Easy there, big fella,” Hutch said. He was grinning like a fool. “Hey, was it good for you?” He could barely get the sentence out without laughing.

Starsky glared at him. Not only did Hutch have the nerve to be alert, he was together enough to be sarcastic. He mustered his energy for a returning salvo. “Not bad,” he croaked. “I almost came.”

Hutch threw back his head and laughed out loud, then hugged him so hard, Starsky’s spine cracked. It felt good.

With a herculean effort, Starsky managed to sit up. Hutch helpfully propped some pillows behind him and they sat together quietly for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, just listening to the sounds on the street. Starsky decided they were lucky no one had called for an ambulance since someone in the upstairs apartment was clearly being murdered.

He turned to Hutch when he had more confidence in his voice. “Baby,” he said softly, “that was beautiful. I love you.”

Hutch’s expression melted, his eyes going all soft in a way Starsky had never seen before. It was an expression Hutch must’ve only shared with his lovers. They exchanged a gentle kiss. Starsky could taste a bit of himself on Hutch’s tongue, even after the orange juice.

They sighed and rested against each other. Hutch put an arm around Starsky and hugged him and they cuddled together. Starsky loved to cuddle after sex, and many women told him he was unusual in that. They complained most men, once done with the act, were less interested in snuggling in the afterglow. Apparently, Hutch liked extended body contact also. How lucky could a guy get?

“Hey, Starsk,” Hutch said quietly, “you didn’t mind when I touched you, did you?”

Okay, so it only took Hutchinson less than five minutes to start over thinking it. Minor drawback. Starsky smiled. “Yeah, I really hated it. Couldn’t you tell by the way the top of my head came off? Come on, Hutch! If your mouth hadn’t been there, I think I would’ve hit the ceiling.”

“Well, that kind of response could be due to the surprise–”

Starsky turned to stare at him. “Have you been reading Masters and Johnson again? Look at me, will ya? I’m drained. Devastated. A shadow of my former self. I probably won’t be able to get it up for a week.”

Hutch looked concerned. “Okay, I’ll never do it again!”

“The hell you won’t!” Starsky narrowed his eyes. “But I do think if you’re gonna be pulling those kindsa tricks out of your sleeve, we might need to soundproof this room.”

Hutch relaxed a little and laughed. “I should’ve known you’d be noisy.”

“I’m not usually that noisy.”

“Yeah?” Hutch’s voice sounded proud and surprised.

“And here I always thought you’d paid all those ladies to brag on you just to make me jealous.”

Suddenly, Hutch hugged him hard and kissed the side of his face. “Starsky, no one ever made me feel this way. You’re a wonderful lover.”

Starsky grinned, realizing he’d needed a little reassurance on that score himself. “I gotta say, Hutch, I think I like your plans.” He turned back to look at him. “I want to find a way to make them all come true.”

Hutch hugged him again, and Starsky could feel him starting to relax. He suspected they were both about to take a good long nap.

Just before he dozed off, he murmured, “I think Halloween’s my favorite holiday now, too…. But you still owe me half a popcorn ball–“