Waltz Me Again

36

Hutch returns from a long trip back home to find Starsky anticipating his return.

 

Originally published in the zine Blue Eyes and Blue Jeans 2 in 1996 by Linda McGee and Pat Massie, Idiot Triplets Press.

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Hutch made his way slowly to the front door, fumbling for the house key as the taxi cab disappeared into the rainy night. A dull click of the tumbler and he shoved himself and his two suitcases into the dimly lit hall.

“Starsk!” he called wearily, putting a hand to his aching lower back. The flight from Minnesota had been long and bumpy, then he’d arrived at LAX to find a message from Starsky saying he’d be working late and couldn’t pick him up. “C’mon and help me with my bags, will ya? My back’s killin’ me and…” He stopped and listened.

There was music coming from the next room, but not from the stereo system. It was an old, fragile-sounding tune that made him leave his suitcases and water-soaked overcoat, drawing him to the sliding doors leading to the living room of the old Victorian house. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips. The music was coming from the hand-crank gramophone he’d shipped home with some other items a few days before. Light from dozens of candles placed in colorful holders and volites illuminated the room. Brilliant yellow flames chewed away at the logs in the fireplace.

Stepping inside, he found a tray on the coffee table loaded with bread and cheese, fruit and some sliced chicken and ham, along with a note. “I missed you, Lover. Starsk.”

Hutch bit his lower lip against a flood of emotion. “Aw, Starsky…” The sentiment caught in his throat. The familiar sound of footsteps down the hall broke his thoughts. Turning to the door, he smiled at the sight of his partner entering the room, a bottle of wine in one hand, a pair of long-stemmed glasses in the other.

“Sorry about the airport, but I hadta finish some paperwork Dobey needed for court, then I wanted to get all this done before you got home.” Starsky smiled proudly, pushing past Hutch to put down the bottle and glasses on the table. The smile quickly faded as he read the pain on Hutch’s face. “Babe, that back of yours actin’ up again?”

Hutch merely nodded with a tired smile. Holding out his arms, he felt Starsky’s warmth encompass him as they moved into a welcoming embrace. After a long hug, Starsky brushed his hand against Hutch’s rain-dampened face and sighed softly, “Gotta touch you to make sure I’m not dreamin’ this again. Two weeks! Been like two years! How you doin’?”

Without answering, Hutch took Starsky’s hand in his and sat down in the old wooden rocker that had been his grandfather’s, hauling him into his lap.

“No, not yet,” Starsky protested with obvious reluctance. “A nice hot bath, then  fix your back. We’ll have time for touchy-feely when you’re up to it.” Hutch ran his hand through his lover’s curls, reveling in their silky texture. Starsky kissed him briefly, then got up to lift the needle off the record before returning to sit on the couch next to the rocker. Hutch helped himself to the banquet on the coffee table.

“This is exactly what I wanted. Nothing heavy, just a nice variety.”

“Flying never did agree with you, or me for that matter,” Starsky said as he popped the cork and poured the wine, handing a glass to Hutch.

Hutch took a sip and nodded his approval. “Good wine. Someone give it to you?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“No,” Starsky said smugly. “Couple of the guys at the precinct asked me to go to Napa for a weekend trip. Figured it was better than mopin’ round here without you, so I went and had a very good time, thank you. Fact is, I’d heard you mention once how much you liked that particular wine, so I got a case of it.”

“You’re too much.” Hutch smiled, raising his glass in salute. “I can’t think of a moment when I didn’t love you as much as I do now.”

“I don’t want to ever remember that time. Never want to go back there. Too much pain.” Starsky held out his glass to Hutch’s. “Only now matters. You and me, that’s all I care about.” They sat, listening to the fire snap and crackle, letting a few quiet moments pass.

“God, Starsk, I wish you could have come with me!” Hutch said wearily. He turned to his companion, who reached out to take his hand. “It was a double lonesome: Grandpa was gone and you weren’t there to help me through it.”

Starsky sighed heavily as Hutch’s grip tightened around his hand. “Babe, you know I woulda come, but the grief your mother woulda put you through with me there… Couldn’t put you through it.” Starsky smiled as a memory flashed through his mind. “I did like Grandpa; he was a great old guy. Even if no one else in your family can accept the fact we’re lovers, he did. You remember when he caught us up in the hayloft?” Starsky snickered, and Hutch blushed.

“Oh, I remember. He just said, ‘Soon as yer finished yer bump ‘n grind, get on out to the lower pasture and check the fences.'” Hutch laughed, his gaze falling on the gramophone.

“You know, my grandma Starsky had one just like it,” Starsky remembered affectionately. He got up, went to the table where the player was, cranked the handle and placed the needle down on the thick shellac record. A tune began that made Hutch’s eyes sparkle with recognition. Starsky slipped around the back of the rocker, placing his hands gently on Hutch’s shoulders, leaning down to whisper enticingly. “You remember that hot July night? You and I were rummaging around the attic when we found the gramophone with that record still on the turntable?” Starsky came around the front of the chair, holding out his hands to Hutch. Hutch offered his and Starsky slowly pulled him to his feet and into his arms.

“Was so hot!” Hutch remembered.  “Waltz Me Again…  Damn, we must’ve played it a hundred times!” Hutch sighed as the tinny violins and orchestra played the sweet tune while he let Starsky guide him around the room, swept along by music long since forgotten.

“Seems like we never made love the way we did that night in that stuffy, dusty attic,” Starsky whispered, looking at Hutch with all the dreams ever dreamt glistening in his eyes. He sighed, dropping his head onto his partner’s broad shoulder. Without thought, Hutch wrapped his arms around him, brushing the curls against the side of his face.

“So good to be home with you. Our home. Have I told you how much I love this house?”

“‘Bout a zillion times! But I never get tired of hearing you say it, since you told me when I brought you out to see it that you hated Victorian architecture!” Starsky turned his head to look at Hutch with a smug smile.

Hutch sighed his resignation, pulling the other man to him as hard as he could.

“Yeah, but when I’m in love with the guy who loves the house I hate… Love does conquer all, and honestly, I do love the house now. It grew on me, like you.” Hutch stood still in the candlelit room and kissed his lover deeply as the music ended.

“Gotta fix the player,” Starsky gasped between kisses.

“Forget it,” Hutch ordered seductively, running a free hand along Starsky’s back and buttocks. “It’ll run down by itself.”

“What about your back?” Starsky asked.

“Screw my back,” Hutch intoned darkly as he pulled Starsky to the hearth, feeling the heat of a familiar fire that began to burn inside his soul. Starsky’s eyes took on a smoky haze as his sensuality awakened. He wrapped his arms around Hutch’s neck.

“Ummm, is that one of those Minnesota pine cones in your pants, or are you just glad to see me?”

Hutch took up the challenge. He slipped from his lover’s grasp and eased himself down onto the lush Oriental carpet. The invitation was unspoken. Starsky dropped to his knees next to him. His dark eyes glimmered with the promised rapture to come. Hutch reached up and unbuttoned Starsky’s shirt to run a long finger lazily along his collar bone, smiling his ‘I’ve got you now’ smile. “You can’t fool me, Starsk. I’ve known you too long now.”

“What?” Starsky asked, honestly confused.

“Come on. The food, the candles? You always light candles when you’re horny. The more candles, the hornier you are and partner, this place looks like a cathedral!” Hutch rolled on his side and laughed, but stopped suddenly when he caught a glimmer of hurt in Starsky’s eyes. Reaching out, he pulled his lover down to lie next to him, brushing the back of his hand against Starsky’s face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; it’s just that sometimes you’re so damned transparent.”

Starsky glared at him. “I’m not just horny, smartmouth, I missed you! I even slept with your damned jacket!” He wrapped his arms around his partner as tightly as he could. “Don’t ever leave me for that long again, promise?”

“What am I going to do with you?” Hutch wondered while Starsky gently administered kisses on his face and throat. “Hey!” He sat up suddenly. Starsky lost his grip and tumbled next to the coffee table. “I just remembered, I brought something back for you.”

Hutch got up and walked out of the room to where he’d dropped his water-soaked coat, hearing Starsky mutter, “Mood wrecker.”

When Hutch returned, he discovered that Starsky had plopped down on the couch, sprawling out like a lazy cat. He sat down beside his brooding lover, holding out a small box wrapped with silver foil and blue ribbons. There was no better way to win Starsky over than to give him a gift.

Starsky took the package and carefully pulled the ribbons and took the foil off and opened the box. Inside on a bed of white cotton was a small gold bee tie tack. He took it out and looked it over. Two tiny diamond chips made the bee’s eyes, but the rest was warm, polished gold. A look of puzzlement came over him as he looked to Hutch for an explanation.

“When I went out to the farm after the funeral, I was walking around when I came to the beehives. I stood there for, god I don’t know how long, when I could almost hear Grandpa telling me about the bees.

“The bee is an amazing creature. The laws of aerodynamics say it’s impossible for a bee to fly, by his body mass against the size of his wings. There’s no way he should be flying. But he does. A day or so later I was out shopping with my mother… Don’t look at me like that! We went into a jewelry store and I saw the bee.”

Starsky smiled, putting the bee back in the box. Reaching out, he pulled himself up into a half-sitting position, then guided Hutch down to lie between his outstretched legs. Hutch snuggled up to his lover’s body, letting him circle his arms securely about his torso.

“So, what’s a bee got to do with me?” Starsky asked, kissing Hutch’s hair. “I mean, I love it, coming from you, but I don’t get it.”

Hutch raised a hand to Starsky’s face, looking up into his eyes. “When you were shot a year ago, there was no way you should have survived, but you did. You do the impossible everyday by being here and loving me.”

They were silent for a few moments, listening to the rain pelt the porch roof and windows. The spell of silence was broken when Starsky let out a ragged sigh. Hutch’s hand came down to caress the hands now on his belt buckle.

“Why do you care for me so much? What do I do to make you happy?” Starsky’s voice—soft and full of longing—could barely be heard above the rainstorm outside.

“You’re doing it right now,” Hutch replied with equal longing. “I give you presents because it makes me happy to see you happy.” He sighed as he dropped a kiss on his lover’s forehead. “Besides, you thank me in the most unusual ways and since I’m in the mood, I think now is as good a time as any.”

Smiling in love and anticipation, Starsky pressed his mouth to Hutch’s. “Thank you,” he murmured against Hutch’s lips. He kissed him again, tongue teasing its way inside. “Thank you.” Shifting their positions, he moved down to Hutch’s sensitive neck, nuzzling and nibbling. “Thank you…”

Twenty minutes later, sprawled in half-dressed satiation on the couch, Hutch managed to gasp, “You’re welcome…”