Two Virgins

“This is crazy. We’re drunk.”

“Not drunk.” His partner sighed, eyes warm, accepting Hutch’s wondering exploration of his body and face. “Mellow.”

Touching him was a lot like stroking a lively puppy, brimming with vitality, vulnerable with trust. And Hutch didn’t trust himself, suddenly. The game-like always-had turned serious.

Two Virgins was first published in April Valentine’s zine, No Pants, No Badge, No Gun, in 1985.

Special thanks to the author for allowing us to archive her work, and special thanks to Keri for scanning and proofing the story.

“This is crazy. We’re drunk.”

“Not drunk.” His partner sighed, eyes warm, accepting Hutch’s wondering exploration of his body and face. “Mellow.”

Touching him was a lot like stroking a lively puppy, brimming with vitality, vulnerable with trust. And Hutch didn’t trust himself, suddenly. The game–like always–had turned serious. He stopped, then looked into the dark-blue almond eyes.

“Tell me no,” he demanded, softly.

Starsky shook his head, looking–to Hutch’s relief–uncomplicatedly confused. “I don’t want to. Is that what you think?” He rolled onto an elbow and reached out. “Why do you say that?”

“I wasn’t sure… Can’t help thinking you’re doing it just for our friendship’s sake; just to satisfy me. ‘Cause we had one beer too many, and–”

Starsky traced his brow, his touch light and loving. “Yeah, I want to satisfy you,” he whispered. “And me, too. You’ve barely touched me, and look at me. That in itself–doesn’t that prove something? I want you bad, Hutch. Really…”

Hutch kissed him before he could finish speaking, and Starsky’s response rose like a flame. He was a wild beast, encountered on a midsummer’s evening in some moonlit forest. His strong, satin-furred legs trapped Hutch’s thigh and waist, and his mouth fed hungrily on Hutch’s. Then, with a soft, almost painful sound, he drew back from the kiss.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want you? Huh? You’re my beautiful best friend. You’re my everything.”

“I don’t know.” Hutch moaned helplessly at the words. “It’s just, you look so…innocent, sometimes.” He took a shaky breath and chuckled. “At the damnedest times!”

“Guess I feel kinda innocent, right now,” Starsky admitted, holding him tightly. He touched his nose to Hutch’s, then pressed the rough-silk plane of his cheek close. “‘Course it’s new. I never been here before. But I’m not afraid, Hutch. I’m with you.”

“I’m glad,” Hutch breathed, new-found desire pulling him like a magnet to his partner’s willing body. Dazed with love and disbelief, he could only lie heavily on Starsky, feeling every centimeter of skin where they touched. Then, to his delight, he was lifted on Starsky’s hard, hot center and held there, possessively. He thrust in return, only to have Starsky’s slim hips lift to him again, with quick and ardent response. An awkward at first, but intensely pleasurable rhythm took hold of tongues, and pelvises, and hands. They clutched and leaped like two dolphins making love, aiming with all their unleashed feelings toward orgasm. Two voices and two bodies mingled in perfect union before they were overtaken, drowned out. A delicious, slippery-smooth wave of semen, contributed to generously by both, spread between them and they rode it, shuddering, into stillness. After, like one person, they drifted together. Disoriented, Hutch felt weirdly as if they’d just met for the first time.

Starsky was smoothing his buns affectionately, in a somehow very man-to-man way. “Guess I do know the score, after all,” he panted with smug pride. His eyes, when Hutch opened his own and looked into them, were wet and steamy as rainforests, the black lashes spiked with moisture. “Huh?”

Hutch moved against him with contented appreciation. “Yeah, you do,” he whispered. “And I love you.”

“What in hell have we been waitin’ for, all this time?” Starsky asked wonderingly. He took a deep breath in the silence. “I’ve never felt more joy comin’ with anybody in my life, Hutch. That must be what ecstasy feels like… The real thing.”

Hutch murmured in complete agreement. His eyes held Starsky’s for a long time. “We have it all, Starsk,” he said, finally. “Pretty lucky, aren’t we?” He grinned, sublime the only word for the way he felt.

Starsky grinned back crookedly, looking warm and tumbled and tender, more open than Hutch had ever seen him. He giggled, obviously bubbling inside with happiness. Unable, as always, to resist his laughter, Hutch joined in.

“Everybody always said we must be sleeping together,” he commented drowsily, after they quieted. “Used to irritate the hell out of me. ‘Til a couple of minutes ago, I always thought it’d be a–a betrayal of our friendship.”

“That didn’t feel like a betrayal of anything,” Starsky enthused. “Did it?”

Hutch shook his head, thoughtful. “Felt better than the first time with Van, for me,” he said, honestly.

“Yeah?” Starsky looked at him, smiling softly.

“Yeah.”

“Ah, Hutch…” Starsky whispered. “Come here.”

They drifted the minutes away, sharing scratchy, male kisses, one or two of the secrets that were still secrets between them.

“Know what I’ve always wanted?” Hutch was dreaming, mind full of images of the different ways they could be together, have each other. “I’ve never told anybody this.”

“Tell me,” Starsky coaxed, gently. “What?”

“I’ve–I’ve always had a secret urge to have sex with a guy. Just to see what it was like, how it would work; the mechanics of it, not love.” He sighed as Starsky caressed his hair. “I’ve always had a lot of sexual curiosity,” he admitted. “Certain things, I’ve just never acted on.”

Starsky twined his fingers with Hutch’s. “I was always curious, too.” He sighed, smiling. “And a coward.” He caught and held Hutch’s eye with a devastating lustiness. “So here we are. What are we waiting for? I’ll give you anything your little heart desires.” As if to comment, he looked down at Hutch’s cock, the glance alone sending hot blood coursing. “Up to a point. Y’ever measure it?” he asked.

Hutch laughed. “How about all through my teens? It’s grown at least–oh, an inch since then.”

“At least,” Starsky breathed. He bent and tried to stretch his mouth around it, then chuckled with wry amusement. “No way. How to Explain a Dislocated Jaw by I.M. Gay.”

“Idiot.”

Starsky kissed the penis all over, then, with surprising relish, tongued the head, looking at Hutch with twinkling eyes. His beautiful, capable hands circled the rest, capturing it, giving pleasure that way.

Hutch sighed his helpless wonder, watching Starsky doing this to him. He caressed the tanned cheek, ran both thumbs across his partner’s lashes and down his nose. He sank his fingers into the wine-dark curls. Starsky sucked eagerly, with more success, that head bobbing like any other that had done this loving duty for Hutch. But it was in no way the same thing. Starsky was instinctively accurate, every note of pleasure just where Hutch wanted it to be, needed it to be. His rational mind was deserting him fast.

“How can you be so–oh, Starsk… I want you, too–! Wait up…” His body twisted, but, pressing down hard, Starsky forced the orgasm–and a harsh yell–out of him. It was pure paradise, but he groaned a little disappointedly because Starsky hadn’t shared it with him. “Slower, next time,” he broached gently, after the minutes spent recovering, stroking Starsky’s damp-silk curls. “I wanna understand it… I want to share everything with you.”

Starsky drew off, touching the head of the cock with his lips before releasing it. “I know,” he said, quietly. “I guess I wanted to give you all I could. We’ll try again, okay?”

“But you didn’t get anything out of it.” Hutch found Starsky’s rock-hard sex with his hand. “Ah, no…” He turned in the bed, and Starsky offered himself with sweet, uninhibited trust.

Hutch examined the penis, just for a moment before beginning. His best friend’s dick was astonishing, thick and tender-skinned and rose-dark, a dangerous weapon and the staff of life. Out of a powerful need to honor the natural riches in his hands, Hutch took it all at once. Starsky’s taste sang in his veins like thirty-year-old brandy. He’d never imagined being this close to his partner physically, this intimate with him. With more love–and genuine fear–than he’d ever brought to lovemaking, he began. Starsky grew urgent soon, saying the filthiest, most beautiful things Hutch had ever heard, squeezing the nape of his neck, calling to him. They cooperated for breathless minutes, until the male body under Hutch tossed in his grasp and Starsky’s voice cried out his name in a completely new way. Hutch’s soul filled up with the sound. Ah, darlin’, you… he thought, drinking his fill of the stuff, understanding now what Starsky must have felt for him, wanting to give all there was to give. He wrung pleasure out of the cock, listening to Starsky vocalizing every nuance of what was happening. There was a long moment when he couldn’t let go, when it seemed strangely as though he and Starsky were joined forever, but finally he was able to. He heaved a sigh of abject happiness.

Starsky sighed, too, blinking, serious. The look on his face said he was surfeit, and very much in love. Too much to disguise it. “I didn’t think you’d want to,” he murmured.

“Why on earth?” Hutch asked, trailing three fingers down his lover’s thigh.

“I woulda thought you’d be too… I dunno, prim or something. Too proud to enjoy doin’ that.”

“I’m not,” Hutch snorted. “Prim? I loved doing it for you. You look, smell, and taste wonderful to me, Starsk.” He looked up to find Starsky’s eyes on him, bright and pleased. “I like you,” he said, straightforwardly. “Don’t you know that by now? God, I love everything about you.” He climbed up Starsky’s body, leaning over him to plant kisses all over his face, saying, “David Michael,” between each kiss. And then, in quicker succession, “I love you–I love you–I love you.”

Starsky laughed and squirmed under his passionate affection, rolling over onto him and kissing back. Their mouths met, tongues seeking one another and finding. Tasting…

*****

“Must’ve fallen asleep,” Hutch whispered, wondering for how long as he blinked at the light. Awake, Starsky seemed to be drinking him in with his eyes, looking lost in his face and body. Hutch felt him harden, then move sensuously. “Hey…”

“Like that, huh?” Starsky breathed against his mouth, then ear, repeating the action.

“Ohhh… Yeah, but–”

“Yeah, but what?” Starsky growled, occupied. “We’re sober, now.”

“It’s not all the fun it could be,” Hutch said. “Maybe?”

“Whaddya mean?” Starsky drew back and stared at him. “Feels fantastic to me. What’s the matter?” Hutch realized that it was wrong to mistake this unassumingness–a gift of nature–for innocence.

“You know what I mean.” He made a circle with his forefinger and thumb, stuck his other finger through, back and forth. “Fucking.”

Starsky was a study of sheer amazement. “You sure? I never done it before…” He’d stopped still and now looked at Hutch as if he were a tender round of roast beef, measuring himself against his hunger. “I’d love to, but–”

“Hey. What?” Hutch saw tension behind the lust in the tropic blue eyes.

Starsky looked down, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hurtcha or anything. That’s all.” He took Hutch’s hand warmly in his and shrugged a little. “I never believed it was really–pleasurable for ’em. Y’know? But I guess…”

“Thousands would disagree with that belief,” Hutch said, wryly. He inspected Starsky with a sense of intimacy that warmed him. Desire surged, and excitement. “You’re pretty big around, sure, but I think I can handle it… I want to.” For some reason, he did want to be taken by this man now, to make that commitment to him.

Starsky’s eagerness visibly overtook his caution. “Okay, well, how do you, how d’you want to do it? You wanna lie like that? Or–”

“Nature knows best.” Hutch curled onto his knees. “Let’s do it the way the rest of the animals do it.”

Starsky stroked him, chuckling softly. “You’re beautiful, Trigger. Come here. Shit, I feel like Jack-the Giantkiller. I’ve never fucked anything so enormous. Not countin’ Linda Liebermann, of course.”

Hutch had to laugh. “I’m not gonna ask.”

“C’mere,” Starsky moaned again imperiously, placing himself. With a slow lunge, he was halfway in, circling Hutch’s waist with his hands.

Hutch stifled the yell that filled his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” Starsky whispered, soothing him. “I wasn’t wet enough. Ow… Jesus–!”

“Next time, ask me,” Hutch grated. He groaned at the crazy, painful sensation of being filled there, having Starsky inside the boundary of his skin. “Just give me a second… Can you?”

Starsky obliged, following Hutch’s nonverbal instructions. “How’s that?” He gasped for breath, arms sliding around Hutch. “Is this happening, babe?”

“Yes!” He was sure of it. “It’s wild. Try a little more. Ohhh… You’re inside me. Ah, Starsk, you’ve got me.” It was the crux of his life. He sighed. “I think I’m gonna like this.”

“Me, too.”

*****

Starsky came stumbling back from the bathroom looking absolutely panicked, and slightly ridiculous, with a wet cloth in hand. Slightly touching…

“Aw, Hutch, does it hurt you inside? Is that where? Oh, God.”

“Starsk.” Hutch smiled, loving him completely, wet cloth, wide eyes and all. “It’s natural for us virgins.” The dark head lifted under his caress. “Nothing hurts for crying out loud.”

“I should’ve gone easier with you!” Starsky berated himself. “First time…”

“Hey, dummy,” Hutch murmured, drowsily. “Forget it, willya?” He felt nice. Well-used, no pain–possessed by Starsky in a weird and very pleasant way. No woman had ever been laid so royally, he was sure of that.

“–my fault!”

“Shut up,” Hutch said mildly. “It’s okay. Really, okay.”

“Not this,” Starsky insisted. “No way is this okay.” Seeing the blunt aftermath of their loving had scared him more than it had Hutch. He gently pushed one of Hutch’s thighs wide to peer in, wipe clean with the warm cloth. “I see it,” he said. “It’s a little tear, right there. I’m really sorry, okay?”

Hutch relaxed under Starsky’s very tender care, sprawled like a freshly ploughed field. “That cloth feels good.” That earned him a smile. “Did you tidy up?”

Starsky nodded, absorbed in what he was doing. “We haveta use some thin’ next time,” he said, shortly. “This is–inexcusable. What was the hurry? I’m a grown man, not a kid! I’m s’posed to have a little patience.”

“Starsky!” Hutch exclaimed, half-laughing. “Will you drop it?! Lie down. Come on. Lie here… It goes both ways, doesn’t it? Look at what I did to you. Not that I meant to… A passion mark… This scratch…” He cupped Starsky’s cheek and bent to kiss the tiny scratch on his face, hoping it would disappear soon. It had been an accident, happening when he’d blindly grasped Starsky’s face for a kiss. “We’re making something new. Bound to be some pain–but it just adds to the beauty.” His arms stole around Starsky’s warm body. “I wasn’t yelling for a cop, was I?”

Starsky grinned and nodded, and Hutch blushed a little. His pleas and demands must have been difficult for his lover to resist, now that he thought about it. Starsky hadn’t resisted them. He had obligingly driven one willing blond to orgasm, following him enthusiastically.

A little later Starsky sighed. “Can’t do it that way for a while. I’d hurt you again.”

He hugged Hutch, cuddling close. The thought must have occurred to them both simultaneously. “Unless–” he said, “unless at some point, you wanna do me? Take me?”

Hutch tried to read the lovable face. I’d like it,” he began with trepidation. “Would you?”

Starsky stared back. “Are you kiddin’? ‘Course I’d like it!” He paused thoughtfully. “I think. But you’re assumin’ I wouldn’t. Why? You feel in’ insecure again?”

“I don’t know. You’re–you’re different than me, that’s all.”

“Like some kinda kid, huh?” Starsky laid a hand on his head. “More…naive? Well, I’m not and you know that, so–”

“No, you’re not,” Hutch had to agree. “That’s not it. This is something else. Your masculinity’s important to you. I won’t do anything to make you doubt it.”

Starsky looked at him as if to say, that’s really dumb. “Whereas you–?”

“I’m not in the least bit concerned about my masculinity, Starsk. I don’t much care one way or another, anymore, what people think of me.”

“And I do?”

“In a way. Even I’ve been aware of how much man you are, even before all this. You’re a mensch, Starsky, and you’re proud of it. And frankly, I’d never think of asking you to do something like,” he paused and smirked, feeling a little silly. “Like you want to do.”

“Hutch,” Starsky scolded. “I don’t give a flea’s prick about that stuff. Isn’t that obvious? Of course, it could be argued that homosexuality doesn’t diminish a man’s masculinity anyway, to paraphrase a certain blond detective, but we’ll save that for somebody else to hash out, some other time. Just take what I want to give, like you gave me, just because I want to give it.” He stopped, staring intently at Hutch. “You do want it, don’t you?” He pretended indignation, then. “Don’t I–what? I don’t turn you on that way or somethin’?” There was no threat whatsoever in the fierce eyes.

“Are you kidding?” Hutch demanded, laughing, wrapping him up like the special gift he was. “You’re an aphrodisiac! Being with you makes me want to make wild, passionate love. And I’m going to.” With that promise, he planted a smacking kiss on Starsky’s mouth.