Trick or Treat

788

Starsky wants something that Hutch is withholding from him.

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Hutch got up from the recliner, winced as his back spasmed and then padded into the kitchen to see what the noise was all about. “Starsk?”

“Damn,” Starsky shot up suddenly, banging his head on the cupboard he was leaning into. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Oh, just something to eat. Go back to your Reader’s Digest, Blondie. I’m perfectly capable of finding my way around a kitchen.”

“Okay, but if you were looking for those pickles, only I know where they are and I’m not telling.” Hutch headed back to the living room, grinning, because he knew this conversation wasn’t over with.

“Aw, crap….my mouth was watering for one of those big Kosher dills. Where’d you hide ’em? I’ve still got a gun, you know.”

“If you were gonna use it, you would’ve by now. You know the doctor said you have high blood pressure, so salt is out.”

“Who designated him the pickle patrol?” Starsky narrowed his eyes and made an effort to look ferocious. “You hadn’t ought to get between a man and his dills, Hutch.”

“Quit bitchin’ and plant your butt down here so I can look at your head. You bonked it pretty good.”

Starsky pulled out one of the dining room chairs, turned it around and sat down.

Hutch smiled, as he remembered a squad room a long time ago, a much younger Starsky sitting just like this or on the table, with his feet on the chair. Even better….balanced on the back of the chair.

Always the rebel.

“Still are, aren’t you?”

“What? You hearing voices again? Did you eat your wheat germ this morning?”

“You’re still a rebel. Even when it comes to dill pickles.”

Starsky turned and grabbed him around the waist, pressing his face against the other man’s shirt. He breathed in the smell of Hutch, an aroma he knew so well, a mixture of laundry soap, after-shave and whatever indefinable molecular structure made up the essence of the man.

“Do you know how much I love you, Blondie?”

“Sure I do, but it’s not getting you any pickles.” Hutch pushed him back, smiling, and parted his still dark, but shot through with silver hair. “You’ve got a pretty good-sized lump there, but it didn’t break the skin.”

“Now can I have a pickle?”

“Can you say oral obsession, Starsk?”

“Just one or two won’t hurt me.”

“Tell me, what would you do to get one?”

A sly look took over the features Hutch knew so well. “Is this a trick or treat question?”

“No, it isn’t Halloween. Why…?”

“I perform a trick and then I don’t get a treat.”

“What if your trick is my treat?”

“Why Blondie, are you propositioning me?”

“Call it what you want….you still turn me on like crazy. Let’s make a deal….your Kosher dill for mine.”

“Deal….c’mon.” Starsky headed for the bedroom, hauling the unresisting Hutch behind him.

“I guess I should tell you, Starsk….I ate the last of the pickles this morning.”

“No, you didn’t, there’s one huge one left to polish off and you’d better hurry, ’cause you have a trip to the store to make when we’re done.”

THE END