We Belong to the Thunder

208

In a world where all people are either Prime or base, David Starsky had always resisted bonding. He never expected to meet Prime Ken Hutchinson on the first day of the police academy.

---

As first encounters went, it was not in the least auspicious. More accidental collision than one of the cute matchmaking proms parents often hosted when teens, Prime or base, exited school at eighteen. Nor a state sanctioned function where twenty-one year olds were encouraged to claim their bond mates.

David Starsky had avoided those types of mandated events by enlisting in the Army on the last day of required education, traveling the world for three years.

With a wealth of knowledge on how to shoot a weapon and assess a dangerous situation in under a minute, he had taken his honorable discharge back to Southern California. Done the only sensible thing and signed up to be a Bay City police officer.

Good pay, secure employment, and another way to opt out of the compulsory coupling determined by Upper case managers in the government.

He was pumped on July 10, 1968. A new start, a new way of life. Cadets, both Uppers and lowers, streamed into the academy, eager to begin their training and become cops. The hallways were bustling with enthusiasm.

Starsky swiped a hand at his newly shorn hair, grimacing. Same as when he’d enlisted, buzz cut and a scratchy, constricting uniform. Should have washed the cadet uniform once before he tried it on, it was too late now. He stopped, letting others pass him by, checking his class schedule to get his bearings. Lesson of the day: be prepared.

The first class was Introduction to Law Enforcement in room— someone thumped against him, sending his book and paper tumbling to the linoleum. Starsky only managed to stay on both feet by bracing an arm against the wall.

A tall, blond man pressed a hand to his chest, startled. He reared back, staring at Starsky in bewilderment.

Starsky seconded that elemental confusion. Felt like his whole body went on high alert, sensing his true destiny for the first time in his short life. He wanted to grab clumsy by the shoulders and plant a juicy one on those perfect pink lips. At the same time, his rational self was trying to flee from captivity.

Was this bumbling police cadet his mate?  Could not be!

 He’d never taken the pronouncement that fate would bring a person to his one-and-only seriously. No matter what most expects on sexuality said on the subject: that each and every person had an opposite. Didn’t have to be man with woman, or Prime with Prime, base with base. Uppers bonded to lowers, men with men, and women with women.

Which wasn’t the point here, anyway. Starsky didn’t—he refused. On principle. He was not some mindless bundle of sex driven hormones swimming against a sea of competing sperm hunting for that one true mate.

He’d done everything in his power to resist his own biological programming. He’d subverted his base nature for this long. And resolved to continue doing so—without the illegal drugs that suppressed his organic predestination.

No one had to tell Starsky that the blondie, fairy tale princeling here was a Prime. His Upper-ness was part of him, like those blue eyes and that elegant nose. His essence called to Starsky’s inner being as no one else’s ever had.

Sure, Starsky was base. No shame there. His mother was base, as well several other relatives and friends. As official governmental rhetoric said, those who were created base were the foundation of humanity. There were slightly more base in the overall population, which kept the birthrate climbing and filled those necessary but unexciting jobs that maintained life as they knew it.

“Do you know where room 47 is? I’ve gotten turned around,” blondie said, narrowing his eyes with a ragged intake of breath.

Probably trying to ascertain what Starsky was. Which was how it always happened. Some people asked, which was rude. He’d never learned why, but he could mute his base-ness, and he didn’t admit his status unless required by the identify laws.

Which didn’t apply here.

Bending down to retrieve his schedule, Starsky held it up for blondie to see. Sure enough, they were both in Introduction to Law Enforcement.

“Dave Starsky,” he said by way of introduction. He’d lived this long without being claimed by a Prime or a base. He was determined to avoid any entrapment here. As long as he and blondie never had physical contact—other than that brief impact moments ago—they could co-exist without resultant claiming. From the look on blondie’s face, he wasn’t anymore happy with the situation than Starsky was.

“Ken Hutchinson,” he said faintly, with Prime disdain. “Guess we’re in the same course.”

“Looks like it.” Starsky marched down the corridor without checking over his shoulder, knowing Hutchinson was following. Of course, he had to, they were headed to the same room, along with at least thirty other Primes and bases.

When he came through the door of the classroom, the desks were half-filled. The majority of Prime males sat in the front rows. There were about ten women, probably Prime for the most part, but a smattering of base, clustered on the right side near the windows. The desks in the back were mostly empty, as if no one wanted to commit to the inferior section. Starsky grabbed the very last seat in the second row, next to a statuesque woman with skin the color  of mahogany. She gazed at him sternly, exuding Prime-ness, and turned her head as a man dressed in a blue uniform, in contrast to the green cadet uniforms, entered.

Starsky caught Hutchinson scuttling toward the desks in the back along with a dozen other students.

So he was a Prime who didn’t laud his Upper status, in direct opposite to Starsky who was able to exist in that gray zone between Prime and base without alerting folk to his caste. How exactly were they soul mates?

He did and didn’t want to know.

They had to get through the next six months, and however many classes required to graduate before becoming rookie police. Then they could go their separate ways and never see one another again.

That was Starsky’s goal. He turned slightly to look at Hutchinson sitting there, with a base man and a base woman on each side. Hutchinson raised his eyes and Starsky was undone. He had to catch his breath to maintain a steady exterior. How in the hell was this going to work if he was affected this strongly by a single glance?

What if he walked back there, took the seat behind blondie so he didn’t have to swivel to watch him?

“Welcome to Introduction to Law Enforcement,” the teacher paused, searching the group for anyone not where they should be. “I am Sergeant Fong, your instructor.”

Starsky had lost his chance to shift seats. He clenched his jaw, teetering on a precipice. He did not want to be involved with that…gorgeous man. Not at all. Was it possible that the momentary touch of bodies—through clothing—was all it took to be claimed? Could avoiding each other minimize or even cancel out their connection? His mother had always said that she knew her soul mate, his father Kasper, when she saw him from across a room.

They’d met when Rula was sixteen, at those claiming cotillions that had, for the most part, gone out of fashion. Where couples were paired off, some not even truly bonded. A state sanctioned way to produce more babies by having base women placed with Prime men.

Except in his parents’ case, theirs had been a true soul bond. Tradition claimed that every base woman hoped for a child who was Prime, and his mother had won the gold ring. She’d married a Prime man, and borne two children. One base and the other Prime.

Was he screwed here, sitting a classroom length away from Hutchinson? Forever linked to a tall blond, very, very, good-looking man who happened to be the most un-Prime Prime Starsky had ever met.

“At the police academy, we welcome all—Uppers and lowers,” Sergeant Fong continued. “You all have your places on the force. Let’s begin by each of you standing up and giving your name and one sentence on your reason for becoming a police officer.”

Respect, Starsky’s brain offered unbidden. He wasn’t sure why that was the first thought he had. Because of his unique ability to blend in without appearing to be a base, he’d rarely been bullied or teased. And to be brutally honest, the few times he’d engaged in sex with anyone other than a registered sex worker, he’d craved being dominated.

That didn’t mean he wanted some damned Prime claiming him and taking control of his life.

“Markus Shell,” the first cadet introduced himself. He was thick and broad enough to play pro-football, with a neck that was as big around as one of Starsky’s legs. So Prime the government should have used him on a poster for the betterment of the society or some such crap. “I want to uphold the laws of this great state and country.”

Made Starsky want to puke.

“Good to meet you, Cadet Shell,” Fong said solemnly.

“John Colby.” The next man stood. He was blandly handsome. “I have always felt the need to protect and serve.”

Using the police department slogan—smooth move. Starsky got the feeling Colby was a schmoozer, ready to pander and assuage with hidden agenda on the back burner.

And so it went for the next half hour. Each cadet stood, identified themselves and watched while the rest of the class judged them.

“David Starsky,” he said quietly. “I was in the military, I know how to shoot a gun.” He wasn’t about to lie, use some ideologically puffed up reason for getting this job.

“You have a background in discipline and regulations.” Fong nodded with more energy than he’d given to many of the others. “An asset to the department.”

Which was such a crock, Starsky thought, sitting. He hated rules and protocol. So much for good ideas.

He zoned out through most of the introductory statements, staring out the window at the parking lot. On the right side was a rack for motorcycles. The one that caught his attention was a shiny blue Yamaha.

He would have killed for a bike like that. Well, maybe not killed, but certainly arm-wrestled a guy.

“Kenneth Hutchinson.”

The voice broke through his daydreaming, slicing all the way down to his inner soul. Starsky swiveled to watch Hutchinson. He was blushing slightly. Shy in public? A Prime? Hutchinson was nothing like any Upper Starsky had ever met.

“I—uh—want to help people,” he said simply and sat down.

“Good motivation,” Fong encouraged.

After the last couple students, Fong explained the focus of the course and handed out a syllabus and the book. Must have weighed several pounds. Starsky despaired of having to carry the thing around all day.

The next two courses were just as boring and mind-numbing. Lunch break couldn’t come soon enough.

Starsky all but sprinted to the cafeteria, grabbing a burger, fries, and fruit salad—for the nutrition quota. He sat down, shoveling in the food, wondering, not for the first time, if he’d made a huge mistake. Not only because he’d encountered Hutchinson moments after arrival. He wasn’t a great student—learning every law, statute, and regulation in Los Angeles county, as well as how to fill out reams of paperwork after an arrest or filing a ticket, was daunting.

At least he’d have an edge at the shooting range and on the obstacle course.

“Mind if I sit down here?” Hutchinson asked politely.

Damn. So much for avoiding him. Starsky couldn’t say no—he was base and Hutchinson was Prime. But NO! He wanted the solitude after the crush of bodies all morning.

“Sure.” Starsky waved a fork with a strawberry on the tines.

Regarding his turkey on white as if it was possibly the last thing he wanted to eat on the face of the earth, Hutchinson took a deep breath and looked up at Starsky.

Starsky grabbed the edge of the table, feeling the world tilt sideways at the sweet sadness and—what?—nervousness in Hutchinson’s face.

“I think we need to talk…” he began, picking up the sandwich, fingers mashing into the bread.

“Yeah,” Starsky said.

“Starsky and Hutchinson, right?” The cadet with the blandly handsome face plunked his tray down beside Starsky, straddling the chair. “John Colby.”

There went any chance of a serious discussion. Again, despite his tendency not to expose his own base-ness, Starsky was obligated by law to allow a Prime to sit beside him.

“Starsky,” he said instead. “What’d you think of Sergeant Leonard?” The teacher of their Ticketing Procedures course.

“A pushover—he’s so old, they’re just letting him loiter here until he retires,” Colby scoffed, chomping on his burger. “Anyone who’s ever gotten a ticket will ace that class. Am I right?”

“Never had a moving violation,” Hutchinson said quietly. “Mocking your elders isn’t cool, man.”

Not sure whether to cheer Hutchinson for taking Colby on or tease him for missing a teenage rite of passage, Starsky shut his mouth, stuffing it with fries. Hutchinson was a decent person! He shouldn’t be surprised, there were many Primes who didn’t lord their status over a base. Maybe adjacent but not claimed by Hutchinson could work.

“Hey, nothing t’be ashamed of.” Colby rolled his eyes. Whether he was referring to his own comments or Hutch’s was unclear. “What about a competition here?”

“For what?” Starsky glanced over at Hutchinson and found himself drowning in summer blue. Geeze, this was going to be harder than he thought. On the bright side, he and Hutchinson were clearly on the same wavelength. Colby was a likeable jerk, and better as a friend rather than an enemy.

“For best cop graduating in the class of 1968,” Colby snorted with laughter, sucking back his cola.

“I think that’s for the teachers to decide,” Hutchinson said, so cool he could have been carved from ice. “We should all do our best and strive to be good police officers who uphold the law.”

“Whatever turns you on,” Colby replied with a shrug. “But you’ll be missing out.” He spied someone across the room and stood. “See you at the shooting range. I’ll shine there, you can bet on that.”

We’ll see about that, Starsky thought, mentally taking aim. There’d be no money exchanged, but he was more than sure he could easily get a higher score than John Colby.

“You were in the military?” Hutchinson asked, looking up from his half eaten sandwich. “Which division?”

“Infantry.” Starsky smiled, choosing sides against a common foe. “Went through Fort Benning, in sniper training.”

“Groovy.” Hutch grinned. “You’ll have to give me some pointers. Took a year of college, thought about majoring in criminology.”

“Terrific.” Starsky accepted the olive branch by raising his can of 7-Up in a salute.

A loud bell sounded the end of lunch break. Cadets picked up their trays, depositing them on the cart at the back of the cafeteria. There’d been no time to talk about anything personal, and Starsky was beginning to think that was all right. He didn’t mind having a close friend. He was not, however, about to jump into bed simply because their biological programming aligned.

~~**~~

Ken Hutchinson was not the Uppermost Prime by any societal standards, and he’d never really cared. His own tendencies to be quiet, introspective, creative, and kind weren’t what a Prime was supposed to strive for. “Primes are leaders,” his father used to say, pointing out that all presidents and mayors had been Primes. As well as many athletes, although not all, and a wide majority of lawyers and doctors.

Thing was, Ken didn’t want to go into the medical profession, nor preside over a courtroom as his father had done. He’d tried the safe alternative, focusing on criminology with the vague idea of possibly teaching future generations, but ultimately, his inner drive to help the poor and disadvantaged had won out.

He wanted to be a cop. He’d seen, over and over, the good that police could do to fight against crime and help the victimized.

He’d never, in his wildest dreams, expected to find his bond mate—a man, to be exact—at the police academy. That single, momentary touch of their bodies, through the stiff poly/cotton blend of their cadet uniforms had been so exciting, so…different than anything he’d ever sensed in his entire life. He wanted to get to know this Starsky immediately, at the same time appalled at his own excitement.

This…call it what it was…arousal for another man wasn’t the proper Ken Hutchinson his family had tried to mold. It certainly wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to contemplate out loud until now.

Days, and the first and second week, passed in a blur. He learned so much, Ken was sure his brain was going to implode from the sheer volume of information he was stuffing inside. His knowledge of criminology proved to be a boon, but paled in comparison to his lack of ability on the obstacle course. David Starsky shone there.

Ken loved watching him run. It was a wild dash, without any of the structured body mechanics Ken had been taught in physical education at high school. Starsky went full pelt, putting his whole body into running, high on the energy and exhilaration of speed.

Made Ken want to pull that vivacious, sweaty body against his own and kiss him senseless. To think he’d always opposed the Prime impulse to control and dominate a base.

The cadets grabbed water from a cooler on the edge of the field, downing cups of water to quench their activity induced thirst, panting from ten laps around the track.

“Today’s lesson is hand to hand combat,” Sergeant Garvey said when the group had reassembled around him. “Something we advise against when you’re out on patrol. The goal is to take down your suspect with the least amount of force, keeping your distance. Any chance that the suspect can get close enough to you to inflict harm also increases his—”

“Or her,” Lydia Nagosy called out. A Prime among Primes, she was sure to rise in the police department ranks with alacrity. And was always the first remind that women existed as well as men.

Several cadets chuckled. Ken had to admit that even though he’d known female Primes—his mother was a perfect example—his father’s attitude that they didn’t rank as high as a male may have rubbed off to a minor degree. He was learning so much more about the world than simply police procedure.

“Or her,” Garvey conceded with a raised eyebrow, “chance of grabbing your weapon. Avoid that at all costs, even if it means taking the suspect down. This can get messy fast. Make sure you have back-up and avoid injury.” He handed out the holsters and fake guns they used for demonstration. “Nagosy with Shoemaker. Second is Starsky and Hutchinson…”

Ken held his breath, glancing Starsky’s way. They had managed not to touch or have any sort of contact so far, but he was quite aware that even the smallest stroke of skin could set them both off. He’d be compelled to claim his bond mate—not something that was going to happen in front of all their classmates.

Starsky’s eyes narrowed, conveying his resolve. Ken could read him as easily as if they were speaking out loud. Was this how true bonding really was?

“On second thought, Shell with Starsky and later, Colby paired with Hutchinson.”

Relief flooding his system, Ken found he couldn’t look away from Starsky’s blue eyes. He wanted to gaze into those eyes for the rest of his life.

Except, he was still married.

Nagosy strode up to Shoemaker, going for gruff authority. “Police,” she said gruffly. “Turn around, both hands on the hood of your car—”

Shoemaker may have been shorter, but he was fast and brutal. He elbowed her in the belly—looked like he might have made physical contact–and grabbed the pistol she was wearing at her right hip.

“End scenario!” Garvey called out, holding both palms facing the combatants. “Good job taking her on, Shoemaker.” He waited until the cadets had gotten to their feet. “What would you have changed, Nagosy?”

Rubbing her abdomen, Nagosy looked chagrinned, her dark brown cheeks blazing burnished pink. “I stood too close to the suspect.”

“Be on the alert, folks!” Garvey warned. “Starsky and Shell in the hot seat.”

Starsky sauntered to the front of the class. Shell, a burly chested guy with a permanent scowl, cracked his knuckles, taking the suspect role without a word.

Ken watched with a weird worry and yet warm place in his chest. He wanted Starsky to succeed and thrive. Yearned to pull him in close and—no, no, no, those thoughts should be banned here at the academy. They had months of shared classes and activities before graduation. He could not endanger either of their future careers.

“Police,” Starsky announced, standing with his feet slightly spread in a firm but solid stance. “You are under arrest—hands above your waist, face the wall—”

Shell kicked a foot out, aiming for Starsky’s knee. Pivoting, Starsky shoved one shoulder against Shell’s flank, driving him into the wall. Although Starsky was smaller than his opponent, it was the work of seconds to snap the cuffs around his wrists.

The class applauded, several muttering impressed comments.

“Excellent take-down, Starsky.” Garvey nodded. “Did you all see how he kept his holstered weapon away from the suspect even when in bodily contact with him?”

Ken grinned, catching Starsky’s eye as the latter rejoined the group, and felt Starsky’s adrenaline fueled joy to the bottom of his feet. This was how it was going to be: separate but together, as far away from each other as possible to be.

~~**~~

The obstacle course was one of Starsky’s least favorite exercises. While he thrilled to the exhilaration of a quick dash, or a chase across the practice field, the grueling physical endurance necessary to complete the long course was exhausting. And far, far too reminiscent of the Army. Especially having to do it more than once—after four members of their class lagged so far behind they were in danger of being on probation and failure. Which forced the entire group to repeat the obstacle course, and had most of them grumbling.

Starsky paused for half a second to admire Hutchinson’s ass as he crested the climbing wall, bending over the precipice with his butt raised before slipping over to the other side for his descent. Hutchinson was surprisingly strong and agile in pursuit of a goal, all the while stumbling over his own big feet when walking to and from class.

He had shown himself to be a leader in regards to learning. He recalled every law, procedure, and protocol effortlessly. The rest of the cadets looked up to him, but Starsky was the only one who’d garnered the coveted seat as his study partner.

Only they two knew why.

Three months into the academy semester, Starsky was in first place for weapon training, doing very well with physically restraining a suspect, and decently in the middle of the pack on the book-learning aspect. He owed the last to Hutchinson. It wasn’t that Starsky was a poor learner. He loved to read and compile facts. He simply detested memorizing the dry legalese of Bay City laws.

Charging ahead, Starsky scaled the climbing wall, tackled the hanging dummy, and dashed through the mud pit packed with old tires, passing Colby along the way. Hutchinson was braced against the side of the gym, sucking in lungfuls of air.

Starsky squatted a few feet away to catch his breath without taking his eyes off Hutchinson. Such beauty, such—not even sure how to describe what Hutchinson meant to him, Starsky still shied away from bond mate. Why did there have to be a specific definition? Couldn’t they be friends?

He and Hutchinson always studied in open, public spaces where there could be no chance of coupling. Hell, they generally stayed on opposite sides of a table or in chairs that faced each other but did not touch. It was safer that way.

While the initial overwhelming desire to bond had eased over time, especially because they maintained distant proximity, the underlying craving remained. Starsky felt starved whenever he wasn’t around Hutchinson, like a man in a desert, deprived of sustenance.

He’d never expected the potential for his bond mate to be so elemental.

“Beat you both!” John Colby crowed, stabbing a finger at the time sheet Sergeant Fong was posting on the bulletin board.

Every cadet was graded weekly on how quickly they got through the obstacle course, whether they could carry a fifty pound manikin one hundred yards, and a dozen other categories. The lowest scorers in all areas could fail.

“Starsky breezed past you just now,” Hutchinson pointed out, peering at the list. “That has to be wrong.”

“Sarge averaged our weekly overall scores,” Linda Baylor said.

So Prime she sparkled, Linda was good people. Starsky liked her unforced repartee and ability to get along with anyone, Prime or base.

She pulled the elastic band out of her red hair and resecured her ponytail more tightly. “Starsky can’t be in the lead every day.”

“Like you’re not hanging off my backside half the time,” Starsky teased, checking the speeds for himself. Sure enough, Colby had beat him by four seconds. He was second, Baylor and Hutchinson tied for third, and Nagosy fourth.  All Primes but himself. Starsky was not surprised to see Markus Shell teetering on the brink of being expelled from the academy. He was not cut out to be a police officer—being Prime was not an asset when you were a shit of a human being.

“I’ll graduate with honors, just you wait,” Colby boasted, chest puffed with pride. “Who’s ready for a few brewskis tonight at Yoko’s?”

Glancing at Hutchinson, Starsky didn’t even have to shake his head. They read each other effortlessly. While both had a good time hanging out with Colby when they were in the mood, Starsky found their fellow cadet’s rampant competitiveness off-putting. It was one thing to have fun on the playing field and another to constantly dangle it in everyone’s faces.

“I’ll pass, Colby,” Hutchinson said genially. “Lots of studying to do for the midterms. But next week, once this test is under my belt, I’ll pay, what do you say?”

“You got the rulebook up your butt, Hutchinson,” Colby snorted, heading to the locker room to change. “Linda and I’ll have some fun, right, babe?”

“As long as you let me challenge you to a game of pool.” Linda laughed, pushing open the door to the women’s changing area.

Falling behind the other cadets, Starsky and Hutchinson walked side by side. Starsky crossed his arms to keep from reaching out to pat his buddy on that long, flat, enticing abdomen.

Damn, this was difficult. Why exactly were they waiting?

Oh, yeah, to keep his freedom intact. He wasn’t going to be chained into his submissive status. Over his dead body.

And yet–

Hutchinson’s inner song called to him, every waking moment, and in his dreams most nights. He’d lie in bed, hand around his cock under the sheets and imagine it was Hutchinson bringing him to climax. Each morning, he vowed all over again that to live, he had to be free, and bowing to Hutchinson’s claim would wither his soul.

Right?

“Where d’you want to go?” Hutchinson asked, sounding as casual as possible as the two of them entered the testosterone infused locker room. It was as if, with fewer clothes on, the Prime-ness and base-ness of each man poured out for all to sense.

“Shower.” Starsky slid past, well aware that wasn’t what Hutch meant. The shower was the one place they could be naked together without giving in to biological urges and providing a show for their fellow cadets. He always took the last shower on the left, the one with wonky pressure, but also the hottest water. Hutchinson would duck under the one on the right where the heavy flow plastered his blond hair to his scalp.

Starsky was free to face a naked Prime without retribution or censor. They were in a shower, admiring was allowed.

There was generally at least one, or even two cadets washing between them, a safety zone to contain Starsky and Hutchinson’s urges. Usually.

Today, Starsky was not as lucky as he’d been of late. Colby, in all his glory, luxuriated under the spray. Waiting until Nichols left, Colby glanced over at Hutchinson, then directly at Starsky with a superior grin.

Thrusting his hips at Starsky, Colby mimed a sexual act with the soap that would have gotten him thrown out on his ear if he’d have tried it for real. Yet, because he was Prime, the intimidation was expected, and in some places, encouraged.

Bristling, Starsky stared at his rival. As a base, he could have been arrested if he’d shoved Colby against the tile wall, driving a fist into that muscled belly.

“Starsk,” Hutchinson said, voice so soft he could have been talking to a lover. “If we get to the library quickly enough, there won’t be a line at the microfiche viewer.” He toweled off, looking over his shoulder at Starsky with proprietary intent.

Starsky snarled, turned his back on Colby and grabbed his own towel. That, too, could have gotten him in trouble in some places. Colby had far more rights under the law. If he wanted, he could have ordered Starsky to his room. Taken him physically, just to prove he was Superior.

Except not here. Not at the academy, and supposedly not in the police department—but that remained to be seen.

Starsky jerked his jeans up over wet skin, too infuriated to be naked in front of either Colby or Hutchinson. Not to mention Michaelson and Ling who’d been waiting for their chance in the showers. He pulled his sweater over his head and grabbed his leather jacket to cover himself completely. The dampness felt distinctly uncomfortable, causing his clothing to cling to his body, but Starsky ignored everyone and everything, donning socks and shoes far more quickly than Hutchinson.

He escaped out of the locker room, waiting beside the gym.

~~**~~

“Hey.” Hutchinson walked outside, standing the prescribed distance away. Over the months, he and Starsky had determined that approximately two feet was enough space to preserve dignity as well as a respectable friendliness.

He was doing his damnedest to hide it, but every single molecule of his Prime craved to claim Starsky publicly to prove who had the Upper hand—especially to Colby. Starsky was his.

Forever.

Far, far different than the doomed relationship he’d been pushed into to produce a Prime baby from two prominent Prime families. Procreation had been the goal, not love nor even desire. He and Vanessa Nancy Coleman had never meshed, and hopes of offspring were dashed fairly quickly. Prime though they both might be, they couldn’t conceive and were now in the process of a divorce.

Once of the most obvious distinctions between Van Nan and Starsky was that he respected Starsky as a person. As a friend who could stand on his own two feet and prove his self-worth. Van had simply shoved Ken aside and gone her own way without a single thought for them as a non-bonded couple. Some people did have simple love and could live a happy life, but that had not been for either of them.

He could admit now that Van was a bitch.

His inner self whispered maybe he could introduce her to Markus Shell. They had the potential to be a perfect match.

“We gotta talk,” Starsky ground out, shoulders hunched inside his leather jacket.

“Not Yoko’s,” Ken said, evenly. It would take so little to cross the barrier between them, pull Starsky down in front of him and ejaculate onto his face. Claiming at its most primal. A rutting that established domination as well as ownership. Then officially mark him with the Hutchinson sigil.

Except Starsky would resent him forever. He’d never be able to live with himself for such heinous, brutal behavior. He’d always looked out for his friends, been kind to lowers and unfortunates. He could not, in good conscience, violate the man he loved. “What about that little bar on San Sebastian?”

“Too dark and intimate.” Starsky shuddered. “Gotta be bright and—”

“Impersonal.”

“Plenty’s,” they said as one, and laughed. Starsky’s was brittle, but looser than Ken had expected for someone who had almost been raped.

Plenty’s was one of those ubiquitous chains that popped up in every city. Ken had gone to one in his college days in Minnesota with buddies from high school and college. It was not the place to take a date or special friend, unless one was destitute or a fool.

“Perfect.” He walked across the campus to the parking area, feeling as if he had invisible whiskers like a cat that sensed the air around him, Starsky’s presence flitting in and out of his personal space like a flame in the darkness.

“Meet you there?” Starsky flashed an enigmatic expression, getting into his dark blue Mustang.

~~**~~

“He could have—” Hutchinson said tightly after they’d ordered a plate of French fries.

“You were there.” Starsky focused on the wheel of condiments in the middle of the table. Plenty’s were all identical: white tile with stripes of blue and yellow at regular intervals. It gleamed, chrome tables and chairs. There wasn’t a single dim booth where lovers could canoodle undisturbed. “It’s like—” He toyed with the catsup bottle to keep himself from caressing each of Hutchinson’s long, elegant fingers. “A pain inside me, Hutch.”

“Sometimes, I can’t breathe,” Hutch admitted on an exhale, fingers flexing as if reaching for something he couldn’t touch. “It’s getting harder to think of anything else—”

“Thank you,” Starsky whispered, feeling like an addict forced to go cold turkey. “Colby knew I was base. Hardly anyone can tell, usually.”

“Starsk.” Hutch cocked his head, his eyes ever on Starsky, bluer than the sky in August.

Starsky accepted the evidence of their closeness—nicknames. He could feel Hutch’s gaze like a physical thing, holding him upright.

“We’ve all known each other since July. We’ve read each other’s statuses and slotted them into place, no matter what,” Hutch said. “Colby’s a predator—he’s nice enough but he goes after weakness like a tiger on the prowl. You usually don’t let that get to you.”

Waiting until the teenaged, base waitress had delivered the fries and left, Starsky ate one. It was too hot on his tongue and he had to drink half his soda to cool the burn. He raised his eyes to Hutch’s, feeling the stroke of his hand even when the man hadn’t touched him.

“Not sure how long I can keep this up,” he muttered, propping his head on one fist and stuffing the cooled fries into his mouth.

“You’re strong, Starsk.” Hutch tapped his longest fry against one Starsky had just picked up.

Even without actual contact, Starsky’s fingers felt as burned as his tongue. “Don’t,” he said irritably.

“Don’t hold back your feelings.” Hutch narrowed his eyes, obviously on edge. “I’d—”

“Did you think it would be a man?” Starsky accused. “What went through your head that day?”

“That I was late for class,” Hutch said. “And that you—” He heaved a long sigh. “Didn’t expect it happen then.”

“But you expected it at some point,” Starsky continued. “I tried to resist for so long.” He had to look away from Hutch before he climbed over the table into his lap. His whole body was on fire, or maybe he was coming down with something and had a fever. That made sense, and meant he should stay even farther away from Hutch. “I could make my own way. Wasn’t about to kneel before some Upper.” He gulped the remainder of his soda. “Betrayed by my own—”

“Biological predestination,” Hutch said in exactly the same inflection as the narrator in the Our Bodies, Ourselves film every thirteen-year-old school child was required to watch. “I had a friend when I was a senior. I hoped….it would be him.”

“So you knew it would be a guy.”

“All my life I wished that I was…not expected to act in a certain manner.” Hutch shook his head absently, a lock of blond hair falling onto his forehead. “Prime, privileged, somehow superior. So I could be myself and not who my parents expected me to be.”

They’d never discussed any of this, usually sticking to their studies, or safe subjects such as recent movies and baseball scores. Personal feelings about status were fraught, especially between the two of them. He and Hutch had gone to great lengths to stay separate to achieve their careers. Starsky assumed that most people liked or at least accepted their organic structure—but what happened to the ones who fell into the cracks in between? Those who were not quite one thing or the other? He’d never felt completely comfortable as base. Now Hutch was confessing to the same feelings of otherness.

“You wanted to be base?” Starsky asked incredulously. Who would want to be lower? No matter how many times authorities stated that their way of life could not function without the base members of the population, he didn’t believe it.

Hutch shrugged, embarrassment writ across on his face.

“You’re Prime, Hutch.” Starsky raised his hand to grasp Hutch’s and froze. He couldn’t touch the man he craved and yearned to refuse, at the same time. “Mine. I’ve never met anyone else like you, who gave me…” How did he say what was in his heart? “I am your base.”

“We fit.” Hutch selected a French fry and put it into his mouth as if it were the most important thing he had ever done. “We both agree this has to happen?”

“Yes.” Starsky bit his fried potato like he was chopping wood in half.

“What if we…” Hutch spread both hands, palms up. “Set a date?”

Enthralled, Starsky watched him move. Memorizing Hutch’s mouth, the raise of one eyebrow, the way he touched his chest when thinking. “But when? Can’t be—” His brain reeled away from the idea of a claiming. He’d heard that it could be violent, aggressive. And then the marking afterward.

For Hutch, it was the ultimate success of a Prime. His badge of honor, proving his superiority to the other of his status.

For Starsky, it meant the loss of his independence. He would forever be linked to Hutch. His property. Not a commodity, since once claimed, a base could not legally be sold or exchanged—and who would want to? But never solely his own person ever again.

Releasing the tension in his chest, Starsky took a long look at Ken Hutchinson. That man filled his heart, and he couldn’t have explained why if he tried for a year. Could he be happy living with Hutch? Would claiming give him a sense of completion?

He’d shied away from asking others any details about the process involved. He’d valued his separateness, and taken his ability to partially mask his own nature as proof that he didn’t need a Prime to exist. The last thing he wanted to admit to Hutch was that the idea scared him.

Was that why society encouraged kids barely out of their teens to claim? When they were too young to be scared of such a commitment to one person?

On the other hand, would it be so bad to spend a lifetime getting to know Hutch intimately?

“Starsk?” Hutch asked tenderly.

Made him crave kissing those lips and being enveloped in that strong embrace. Wanted to hear Hutch pronounce his name, without the Y, forever.

“The night we graduate,” Starsky said in a rush. Three months from now. Not so long, and yet far enough away that he could get used to the idea. Plus, they wouldn’t have any obligations to attend to in the next few days afterward.

“Good.” Hutch licked salt off his bottom lip and drank some soda. “I’m getting a divorce.”

“You’re married?” How was he finding out about that now? “Were you bonded?” he asked belatedly. He’d always heard it was impossible to bond to two different people. That after a bond mate died, any other coupling could bring love, but not the deep connection of a true bond.

 “No. It was solely for procreation,” Hutch said ruefully, “My parents—and hers, hoped for a Prime baby to prove their…I don’t know, ultimate success in the social strata. But it didn’t work. My wife is…not fertile, as far as can be determined.”

He hadn’t been aware that Primes could be barren. “And you didn’t have feelings for each other?” Starsky felt adrift, unmoored from so many conventions he’d had hammered into his brain as a child. Primes mating with Primes was the ultimate goal, but having a Prime baby out of a base female was common, and, as long as the Prime child was raised in the right way, his or her base inheritance was negligible in the long run.

But to subvert that process all together? He’d assumed Primes didn’t resort to such tactics.

“I didn’t really like her.” Hutch shrugged. “Van went back to Minnesota the day I started the academy. That’s why I was so flustered—”

“Kinda thought that was your normal state,” Starsky teased. Felt good, like they were part of a team.

“Or that bumping into you caused such sensations…” Hutch definitely sounded flustered now, downright out of breath and fighting certain urges.

“We got this, Hutch,” Starsky said, despite his own trepidations. He itched to take Hutch’s hand in his. Not doing so shredded his soul. “We just don’t touch each other—”

“Until December tenth.” Hutch nodded with such hope in his blue eyes.

~~**~~

Three months seemed to be eons in the future and yet pass by in an instant.

There was so much to absorb in police training. Not only how to respond to dangerous situations and assess crime scenes in a few moments, but how to behave responsibly as a cop and support one’s fellow officers of the law.

Hutch merely had to glance across at Starsky to ground himself. Where ever they were, whatever training session they were attending, he would gaze at his intended and achieve a sense of contentment. Not the entitlement and success of a conqueror but the pure joy of someone in love. The desire to touch Starsky was a burning hole in his guts every day, every hour.

He’d been given the morning off to deal go to court for the final signing of divorce papers. Explaining to his instructors that attending court would be beneficial to his understanding of legal procedure had been the clincher. Proving that he could finagle with the best of them if he tried. Starsky had given him the courage to do so, and supplied the words to convince Sergeants Fong and Garvey.

The one element Hutch hadn’t factored in was that Vanessa Nancy didn’t come. She’d sent her brother, the imperious Zachery, a lawyer Hutch would not have recommended to a serial killer. Zachery dripped insincerity. He held Van’s power of attorney with a caustic smile.

“Never understood why Papa allowed such a travesty to occur,” he sneered while a base notary authorized, stamped, and filed the divorce decree. “She’s already found her bond mate—did you hear?”

He had not. Which was exactly the point. Zachery wanted to rub her triumph in Hutch’s face. He wasn’t about to give his ex-brother-in-law the satisfaction.

“I hope she gets what she deserves,” he said sincerely. “Do we know him?” Probably not or she would have been claimed by a Prime in their circle long before.

“A cousin of one of the Mitchells. You remember Jack.” Zachery bent to sign the notary’s book on the designated space.

That hurt far more than anything he could have said about Van. Ken Hutchinson had dreamed of mating with Jack, sure his high school classmate was his future. Van wasn’t bonding with Jack, but hearing his name opened the barely healed gash in Hutch’s heart. He’d thought that Starsky would have sealed up every old scar, but no.

“Good luck to both of them,” he said faintly, ducking over the notary’s book to sign his own John Hancock. Would she be a Mitchell? Would Jack be at their wedding? Two of many questions that would never pass his lips. It was doubtful he would be invited to the wedding, but he still had allies in Duluth who could gossip. His mother and sister Melinda, at the very least.

Steeling himself, Hutch stood, topping Zachery by an inch, if not two, and shook his hand. “Don’t write,” he said with a slight smile and left the courtroom a free man.

Walking into the academy exactly on time for the one p.m. weapons training felt amazing. He grinned at Starsky in the next practice bay, adjusted the ear protection, and raised the large pistol he favored. The longer barrel and thicker grip fit his hand perfectly.

Starsky laughed, pointing his finger like a gun before picking up his own pistol. They both fired shots at the targets simultaneously. Hutch’s shot hit the paper outline of a man direct center. He inhaled, accepting his personal accomplishment, and looked over at Starsky’s outline. He’d duplicated Hutch’s exactly.

They were truly in sync.

Sergeant Fong walked through, examining each cadet’s target before releasing them to the next class.

“Your score is far improved, Hutchinson,” he congratulated with a slight rise of one eyebrow. Gave him a weird resemblance to Star Trek officer Spock.

“Starsky’s been coaching me,” Hutch said.

“And it shows.” Fong nodded at Starsky’s target. “He hits whatever he is aiming at.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Hutch felt like Starsky was aiming directly at him every time their eyes met. And he’d been pierced through the heart by Cupid’s arrow.

“Get to Principles of Procedural Tactics,” Fong urged the cadets, a wicked smile on his face. “There’s only a few more weeks of classes before you’re all rookies!”

“Like he has to remind us,” Starsky muttered, shedding his ear protection. He watched the rest of the group hurry past, lingering beside Hutch. “Hey, where’s Colby?”

Because he’d had the morning off, Hutch hadn’t noticed their fellow cadet’s absence. Most of the cadets had partied at Yoko’s Saturday night after they’d all successfully passed the practice exam. Colby had joined in the revelry with his usual bonhomie and said nothing about missing Monday’s classes.

“Maybe he’s got that bug that laid Linda, Shell, and Volonski low last week?” he said, but he didn’t entirely believe his own suggestion. Wasn’t like Colby not to tell everybody and his brother what he was going to do.

The mystery deepened on Tuesday when Sergeant Garvey informed the class that Colby had dropped out of the academy—with only three weeks remaining.

“Just plain weird,” Starsky said, shaking his head over the cafeteria lunch offering. “Colby was doing great in every course. I mean, Shell is still around…” He glanced over his shoulder to check for their classmate.

“He’s already eating,” Hutch said sotto-voce, shuffling one step farther along the line so his sleeve didn’t come in direct contact with Starsky’s. Made Starsky back up slightly, bumping Lydia Nagosy. How Hutch longed to be her, just for a moment.

“Dave,” Lydia said good-naturedly, rolling her eyes. “Give me some room.”

Hutch grabbed a bowl of salad with pallid red tomatoes and a small ham sandwich, watching Starsky order the cheeseburger and fries with fervent longing. It wasn’t the food he wanted so badly. It was that compact body, those blue eyes and dark curls.

He’d run his fingers through Starsky’s hair, pull his base into his arms and kiss every inch before…

“That’ll be two fifty,” a voice insisted. Clearly it wasn’t the first time she’d told him the price.

“Sorry!” Hutch pulled himself out of his daydream, shoving the cash at her. That only went to prove that he and Starsky were on a collision course with destiny. He could barely concentrate on common tasks with that one all-consuming bond mating that would change the both of them forever. Would being connected to Starsky in such an intimate way seem different than what he felt now? How did others walk around every day tethered to that one special being that was their base or Prime?

He’d thought he was lucky before, unburdened by biological construct. That his weak Prime-ness had somehow bestowed him with something special. Something ordinary that passed him under the radar.

Hutch carried his tray over to the table he and Starsky took most often. Starsky followed him, Linda Baylor and Shoemaker right behind. While he adored spending time alone with Starsky, it made lunch period so much easier when there were other cadets around to buffer their connection.

“Maybe Colby bonded with someone outside the police department and had to drop out?” Shoemaker said, munching his cheeseburger.

“You are such a gossip, Shoe.” Linda laughed. “He’d have told the world if he’d bonded. I know, when I found my other half, Minnie, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”

“You said Minnie was thinking of joining the force, too?” Hutch asked to move the conversation away from more Colby speculation.

“She’d be great,” Starsky added, grinning straight at Hutch. “She’s always fun at Yoko’s.”

Storing up that ebullient smile against the long Starsky-less nights ahead, Hutch sipped his cup of coffee. Only three more weeks until their destiny. He couldn’t care less about what happened to John Colby, only what would happen between David Starsky and himself.

~~**~~

Graduation was a party from beginning to end. Once exams were finished, there was only the planning of the ceremony, trying on stiff, formal police uniforms, and welcoming relatives—if there were any.

Starsky’s friends, John Blaine and his wife Maggie, had intended to come but both succumbed to bad cases of the flu and couldn’t make it. Starsky had mixed feelings about that. Blaine had been one of the few people who’d championed him to join the police force where Blaine worked. However, if they’d come to the ceremony, Starsky would have been invited to dinner afterward. Which would have been awkward since he was so primed to be with Hutch he could not concentrate on anything else.

In order to pass the exit exams, he’d had to compartmentalize his brain: One section for the information crammed in there from the police academy lectures and training sessions, and the other three quarters for Hutch.

Tonight would be it, after six agonizing months. Months spent fearing that an accidental touch could trigger their lust and bring on—what? He wasn’t sure anymore. Why had they waited? What had been the original point?

They already spent nearly every waking moment together. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner sitting opposite one another, careful not to brush knees or reach for the salt at the same moment. So conscious of the other’s movements, anticipating a cataclysmic spark that would toss them into a clench.

If they’d just done the deed that first day, they could have avoided all this built-up tension and been able to enjoy July through December. Yet, they’d had fun. Starsky had never spent time getting to know someone the way he had with Hutch. They’d talked, for hours, discussing every subject under the sun after that awkward discussion about being Prime and base. They’d become friends.

He hadn’t expected that. Had assumed that he’d cleave to his bonded mate, but never thought about sharing the jokes and special times. He’d honestly never had a friend like Hutch.

Which made it all the more special that Hutch was his intended. His own Prime.

He pulled on the dark, long-sleeved shirt of the Bay City Police Department and the official slacks, watching Hutch across the locker room. Dressed exactly the same, Hutch’s blond hair shone in the overhead lights, highlighting the blue-black outfit.

Starsky had to inhale to slow the rapid-fire dance of his heart. They’d planned their escape already. One celebratory drink at the reception put on by the Academy alumni, and then Starsky would go take a leak. In reality, he’d head straight for his car and drive to the ritzy Bay City Hilton. Hutch had declared that they deserved the very best for this most auspicious of nights.

Hutch would say his good-byes a short time later, and depart for the same destination.

“Congratulations, Cadet Starsky,” Hutch said with a sweet smile. Wearing the spotless white gloves required for graduation, he gave a snappy salute.

“And right back at you, soon-to-be Officer Hutchinson,” Starsky replied, touching his fingers to his forehead. “Sutter Precinct is lucky to have you.” They’d already been assigned departments for their rookie days. Starsky was destined for Metro, in the heart of Bay City. Sutter was about ten miles away, on the edge of the city. “Gonna rain tonight. Don’t slip in a puddle with those big feet.”

“See you in the auditorium.” Hutch ducked out, the abject desire in his eyes giving him away.

He was anticipating this claiming as much as Starsky was.

Walking down the hallway, Starsky greeted several of their classmates. Excitement was high—they had succeeded. Only Colby and Shell were missing. Colby who knows where, and Shell had been a wash-out. Another myth busted. Starsky always assumed that Primes got what they set out for. In the Army, Primes were automatically lieutenants or above, bases filling out the rank and file. Starsky had served for three years. In his opinion, a crappy Prime officer fit right in. But to have a Prime expelled? That was a surprise.

“Never worn a tie before, Starsky?” Linda Baylor grinned, delivering a salute that bordered on an obscene gesture.

“I dunno, it gives him a certain flair that way.” Her pretty, base bond-mate, Minnie, laughed.

“Hey! I have…once in a while.” He glanced down at the narrow piece of cloth under his chin. He’d tried the complicated over, under, and through maneuver Hutch had coached him on, but the fabric didn’t cooperate. Instead of a long, smooth tie, the two ends flapped freely, one to the right and one to the left.

“C’mere.” Linda grabbed him by the tail end of the tie. Once she’d reeled him in, she loosened the knot, expertly flipped, inserted, and tightened to perfection. “There you go. Leave it that way until that Prime of yours can unwrap you tonight.”

“W-what?” Starsky stammered. “How’d you—”

“Know?” Linda snickered, exchanging glances with Minnie. “Dave, the entire cadet class knows you and Hutchinson are bonded. It—shines out of you like a force of nature.”

“I thought we could hide it better than that,” he said, aghast. Just another tick mark on the side of why-had-they-waited?

“You two are pretty deep, I’ll grant you that.” Linda nodded, walking with him to the doors of the auditorium. “Min, I’ll see you after, babe.” She leaned in for a kiss from Minnie, watching her go around to the entrance for friends and family.

“When you bonded with Minnie, was it instant? Like a bomb going off inside?” Starsky asked, immediately seeing Hutch seated in the first row of the graduating class, alphabetical, so he that he was situated between Tom Grovner and Lin Jung. Felt like Hutch was his North star, that he oriented himself to Hutch wherever his Prime was in a room.

“Oh, yeah.” Linda tapped her heart. “Between one moment and another, we knew. At a Lakers’ game, of all things. Never met the one for me at those stupid match-up parties. We left before the last basket and went to her place. Like finding my home.”

“That’s it exactly.” Starsky closed his eyes and inhaled. His new life was about to begin.

~~**~~

Rain battered the windshield as Hutch drove over to the hotel. Thunder, rare in the Bay City area, rumbled low and unsettled, exactly how he felt without Starsky. Lightning flashed bright, jagged bolts, only accentuating his desire.

Leaving his battered ‘65 Chevy with the base parking valet, Hutch ignored the man’s disdain for his car, every molecule of his being focused on his base. He could tell—somehow— that Starsky had already entered the hotel. Reminded him of a science lecture he’d attended in college, just out of interest since it had nothing to do with criminology. There was something called Entanglement. The idea was that once two particles experienced a shared state, they were no longer separate entities but existed as one. And as in the weird theory, Spooky Action at a Distance, they were linked to each other even if far apart.

He hadn’t even claimed Starsky yet, but could feel him, sense his presence. His cock was as hard as a nail he’d pound into his mate’s pliant flesh, claiming him as his own.

Hurrying to get under the overhang of the porte-cochere, raindrops splashed on his head. His hair was soaking wet and the once pristine uniform with its new silver police badge was clinging damply to his skin. Damn He’d wanted to look his best.

“Reservation for Kenneth Hutchinson,” he told the desk clerk.

“Your mate is waiting in the room, sir.” The clerk, a Prime, had a bland expression that probably covered his contempt for every base on the planet. He pushed the paperwork over for Hutch to sign. “We don’t usually allow bases up to a Prime’s room—unless instructed ahead of time, which you did.”

“Good thing, huh?” Hutch raised an eyebrow. “Send up some champagne and chocolate cake, but don’t knock, just leave it outside the door.”

“Of course, sir.”

So excited that he could have dashed up the twelve flights of stairs to the penthouse, Hutch seized his inner calm and waited for the special elevator to the top-most room. Only the best for his Starsky.

The elevator doors opened into a private hallway with another door opposite. Hutch fit the key into the lock and was almost thrown to his knees when Starsky pulled the door open from the other side.

“Would you mind announcing yourself?” Hutch demanded, his pique withering at the sight of Starsky alone and ready for him.

“I opened the door for you, didn’t I?” Starsky retorted. He looked at Hutch, eyes going suddenly wide and dark, and hitched a breath. “It’s time.”

“Yeah.” Ancient, primitive urges took over, his Prime ancestors directing this claiming. He grabbed Starsky’s tie, pulling his prey close to kiss him. Their teeth collided before they melded, lip to lip, Hutch sure he was ingesting some magical elixir. “Starsk,” he growled. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Hutch, you’re wet.” Starsky breathed out, rib cage heaving. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned his shirt as Hutch loosened the tie and shoved it over Starsky’s head. His slacks followed the shirt to the floor, and the tight little briefs he’d been wearing were tossed away.

They hadn’t moved more than a foot inside the room—or closed the door.

Irritable at the delay, Hutch slammed the door shut and peeled off his wet clothes. Thunder boomed outside, the sound running up his spine, the sudden brightness of lightning highlighting Starsky’s nakedness.

Hutch slid both arms around his base. Touching Starsky was the culmination of dreams, his circuit complete, like being plugged into a socket. And they were still standing in the foyer.

Starsky was a potent aphrodisiac, the yin to Hutch’s yang.

He spared one moment to admire his base’s body, the musculature over his upper torso honed from the last months of training. Hutch spread his hand over Starsky’s flat belly, feeling him inhale, and watched Starsky’s penis swell even more, the thick length rising up as if reaching for Hutch’s embrace.

Hutch put both hands around Starsky’s neck, registering the racing pulse against his fingers. Their hearts synced, cleaving their atoms and molecules into one. Starsky had barely moved, allowing Hutch to take the lead, not compliant but complacent—a co-conspirator in his own pillage. But Hutch could sense his desires so very easily. That he wanted more kisses, to explore Hutch’s body, and was only quiet because his base instincts required submission to the act.

He oozed sex, an intoxicating aroma Hutch had never encountered before: all Starsky, all his own. Specialized, the way a nursing mother made milk for her infant. Starsky’s sex, his scent, and most of all his love, were bespoke for Hutch.

Shoving Starsky against the wall, Hutch flipped him around in the classic arrest pose they’d practiced so often at the academy.

~~**~~

Starsky vibrated, there was no other word for it.

Hutch’s kiss had ignited a fire inside. He burned, hot and needy for his Prime. All the while, his base elements guided him to accept this claiming. The exact thing he’d feared for so long was now about to occur. He was ready.

“Take me,” he begged when Hutch pushed him to the wall, squashing his erect cock into the woodwork. He’d have scrapes up and down the sensitive flesh in seconds.

Hutch bit down on the taut skin between the side of Starsky’s neck and his shoulder, inflicting sharp pain, but no actual wound. Starsky cried out, arching against Hutch, his head tipped back so that he could rest his cheek against his Prime.

“Don’t move,” Hutch snarled, pausing to grab something from his clothes before plunging a finger into Starsky’s opening.

Hutch had obviously come prepared. His digit was slick and greasy, soothing the inside of Starsky’s anus, leaving it receptive to the next assault.

Moaning, Starsky abruptly panicked, sure he was about to die. Thunder detonating in the heavens only exacerbated his latent anxiety, spikey lightning recreating an eerie British film directed by Hammer. Starsky thrashed, attempting to break free of Hutch’s hold and run. Where he did not know.

Hutch jammed into Starsky’s back passage hard and fast, taking full possession, slamming him flat into the wall again.

Shuddering, Starsky stilled, base yielding to Prime. He became Hutch. They became whole. The pain of Hutch’s taking transformed into an intense craving for ever more violent penetration.

Clenching both of Starsky’s wrists, Hutch imprisoned him, and thrust endlessly. As his dominance increased, Starsky’s surrender rose to meet him. Paradoxically, the submission set Starsky free and gave him strength. They were not Prime and base, they were equals in this claiming.

Finally exhausted, Hutch sagged against him, his club softening and slipping free. Starsky twisted around, catching him. Hutch wasn’t a dead weight against him, but it was close.

Starsky didn’t mind. Supporting this man, his Prime, felt vital.

“Come on into the bedroom,” he murmured, helping Hutch walk across the plush carpet. Starsky’s whole body ached, and he was sure there’d be dark bruises in the morning. But he’d expected that. What was a revelation was the that instead of feeling confined—restricted into a prescribed role—he felt liberated. This was where he was supposed to be, with Hutch. Always.

~~**~~

Holding Starsky’s wrist while he rested, it only took a few minutes for Hutch to revive. “Check outside the door,” he suggested, feeling remarkably frisky after the ferocious claiming. Would it be like this every time? Or would the tumultuous fervor decrease after a while? He couldn’t wait to find out. “I have a few things to prepare and then we can celebrate.”

The rain had slowed, thunder and lightning retreating, moving north.

“The marking comes next?” Starsky asked. There was a certain amount of apprehension in his voice, although he gazed at Hutch with such adoration and love.

Exactly what Hutch felt watching Starsky walk across the carpet to the door. He didn’t blame Starsky for any nervousness about the procedure. The small metal seal with the sigil of the Hutchinsons looked vicious. There were a dozen half inch needles forming an H on one side. The kit his father had given him years ago included the special ink all Primes carried to their claiming. Once a Prime had taken his base as a bonded mate, he was to dip the seal into the ink so that the needles infused the thick, black liquid.

“You know very well it is,” Hutch replied matter-of-factly, even though the idea of pressing those needles into his beloved unnerved him. “Then we’ll—”

“Play hide the sausage again?” Starsky grinned impishly at him, hand on the doorknob.

He must be aching, Hutch thought, noticing the bright red teeth imprint on Starsky’s shoulder, and finger bruises already blossoming on his wrists. But Starsky didn’t complain or comment, he actually wanted more. Only proving how synchronized their emotions were.

“There’s cake!” Starsky bent to retrieve the tray outside the door, giving Hutch a fantastic view of his rounded ass. Exactly where the ink would be injected. “And champagne.”

Setting the tray on the coffee table, he padded back into their bedroom.

“That’s for our graduation party. For a job well done.” Hutch grinned. “Come over here.” He looked down at the seal before taking Starsky’s hand. “I am now yours and you are mine.”

Starsky’s eyes were wide and intense, glistening. His Adam’s apple slid down the column of his throat as he swallowed. He nodded. “Forever.”

“You have any misgivings?”

Blowing out a huge breath, Starsky shrugged with a quirky grin. “Lots of’em before, but now…not a one.”

Hutch kissed him, sucking in his tongue, luxuriating in their closeness. Their bodies, their very molecules, fit together. They stayed wrapped around one another, playfully kissing each other’s lips, cheeks, eyes and throat.

“I used to think that I somehow wasn’t Prime enough—which made me unbondable,” Hutch whispered into the curve of his base’s ear. “I was Upper, but…now I have you. You are my base.”

“And you are my Prime,” Starsky finished, resting his chin on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Do you want to be tied for the seal, or will you be able to stay still?” Hutch asked seriously, rubbing his cheek against Starsky’s springy curls.

“Heard from others that it hurts,” Starsky said with a nod. “But I can do it.”

“Knees on the bed with your butt up and head on the pillow,” Hutch instructed, taking the chance to stroke the soft skin on his rounded ass. Such a gorgeous, sensual man.

~~**~~

Starsky curled up, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. He wasn’t scared—this was simply part of the ritual that all bases went through. Some had to go to a piercing center if their Prime didn’t have his own kit, so, in that regard, he was lucky.

But there were no two ways about it—it would hurt. The ink was specially made to absorb deeply into his skin and meld with the elements that made him base. It would never fade. Yet, he would never see it, hidden in the dip where his butt met the top of his thigh.

Feeling Hutch’s breath against his flesh when his Prime kissed him on the exact spot where the sigil would go, Starsky shivered, a thrill going up his back. He could hear the thunder, although farther away, wrapping a charmed circle around their bonding that would never be duplicated. The rain continued to lash against the windows, tucking he and Hutch into this private, personal space.

Hutch touched the seal with its needles to Starsky’s body, not pressing them in. A minor pricking foretelling more. Starsky waited, afraid, as well as accepting his place in this fundamental part of their identity.

With a small movement, Hutch shoved the seal home.

The pain was indescribable, horrible and pure, rebirthing him into another existence. Starsky wanted to cry out but didn’t. Millions of others had endured this procedure long before. He was only one of many. Desperately clutching the silky bedspread, he panted while the inky dark pain permanently embedded into his flesh. Such a tiny wound, not as big across as a twenty-five cent coin. He’d heard the agony could last for a couple days, making it difficult to focus on anything but one’s Prime.

As it should be.  And that when the pain decreased to a mild ache, he would miss the original crescendo.

Hutch was chanting. Starsky took up the verse, one schoolchildren sing-songed on the playground with their jump rope and tag games.

“Prime and base,
Two halves of a whole,
Merging into a single soul.”

Whenever Hutch extracted the seal from his thigh, Starsky wasn’t sure. He only registered Hutch gathering him into his lap and kissing his chest with a fierce possession.

“This is the way it should be, always,” Starsky whispered into that fine, blond hair of his Prime.

“Together,” Hutch agreed, resettling them against the pillows.

Starsky shifted slightly to allow Hutch to pull the coverlet over them. The back of his thigh burned hot, as if the spikes had remained implanted in his leg. Except he could see the little seal, the needles tipped with a few drops of blood, on the bedstand.

“Do it again?” he asked softly, aware it sounded like he wanted the seal ground into his body again. Elsewhere, possibly, until he was covered with miniature H’s.

A gruesome idea. He’d never actually seen a sigil on any other lower. That was kept special and personal between bond pairs—unless required to be shown to governmental authority figures or police. Most people considered it vulgar to allow such a private symbol to be displayed in public.

No, he wanted to hold Hutch inside his body once again.

“Climb onto my lap,” Hutch said sweetly, running his fingers through Starsky’s hair.

That sounded fine. In spite the pain under his right buttocks, Starsky settled across Hutch’s thighs, his penis erect with anticipation. He hadn’t actually orgasmed the first time around, although he’d experienced some ghostly reciprocal petit mort from Hutch’s climax.

“What to do with this?” Hutch teased, his eyes twinkling with delight. He traced his finger up the length, tapping the circumcised tip of Starsky’s cock. “Standing so prettily at attention.” He leaned down, taking it in his mouth.

So good. So right.

Starsky nearly swooned. He might have come there and then but Hutch poked a finger into the newly injected sigil, sending bright pain tunneling through Starsky’s groin. Impossibly, it heightened his arousal but prevented him from orgasming.

He trembled, clutching Hutch’s torso. Lapping Starsky’s cock a few more times, Hutch released it, clasping Starsky around the waist.

“Rise up onto your knees,” he said, his mellow voice like a bell inside Starsky’s head, compelling him to defer to the command. “And sink down on—”

Didn’t need any more instructions. Starsky laughed, kissing Hutch’s mouth, sucking on his bottom lip as he centered himself on the shaft directly below his anus.

It was so easy to impale himself. His inner walls stretched and formed around Hutch’s thickness, recognizing its shape and size from their earlier joining. His belly cramped sharply until he moved slightly, easing the internal soreness.

Hutch sighed, his face going slack with need. He rocked forward, shoving deeper inside Starsky’s body, activating a sudden bliss so powerful that Starsky cried out with joy.

~~**~~

The chocolate cake was the best Starsky had tasted in a long time. He relished every fudgy bite, although not as much as the chance to sit so-very-close to Hutch in the huge hotel bed, playing footsie under the sheets. He swallowed champagne, the bubbles going up his nose.

In truth, champagne was not his favorite beverage. Hutch seemed to delight in the sparkling wine, sipping with the pure appreciation of a connoisseur. He had not eaten the entire slice of cake and left the pure sugary goodness of the red frosting roses untouched.

“Not gonna eat that?” Starsky wagged his fork in the direction of Hutch’s discarded plate.

“You eat the icing?” Hutch asked incredulously, downing the rest of his bubbly. He grabbed the bottle to pour more into his glass.

“And you don’t.” Starsky smirked, popping the entire rose into his mouth. Tasted fantastic. He licked his lips, kissing Hutch. The sugar and champagne was all wrong together, in his opinion, but Hutch’s mouth continued to be an erotic treat.

“Mmmm,” Hutch murmured. “I guess that being bonded doesn’t mean we have to love the same things.”

“My pop loved liver, mom couldn’t stand it.” Starsky nodded, licking more frosting off his fork. “She still made it for him every Friday night.”

“Part of what makes this so…” Hutch sipped more champagne, thinking. “Miraculous is discovering something new about you every day.”

“For the rest of our lives.” Starsky leaned into Hutch, satiated of both hunger and lust—for the moment, anyway. “We’ll be separated for the next six months, though.”

“I’ve been assigned a mentor named Luke Huntley,” Hutch said lazily, arms around Starsky’s waist to pull him even closer. “At Sutter Precinct. Fong told me yesterday. You?”

“John Blaine requested to partner with me while I was a rookie.” Starsky closed his eyes, suddenly very sleepy. “I’ve known him since I was fifteen.”

“Starsk.” Hutch buried his nose in Starsky’s hair as if breathing in his essence. “I’m happy—and I didn’t expect to feel like this.”

“Thought bonding was an obligation?” Starsky curved against him as they both slid down to lay their heads on the pillows. Starsky could look directly into those gorgeous blue eyes. If he had one wish, he would remain here, suspended in this moment. The wretched pain in his upper thigh didn’t diminish the perfection of being with the man he loved.

“Primes must procreate, to preserve our status, and support the lowers,” Hutch recited with a trace of disgust, clearly something he’d heard far too many times. “The intimacy, the love, is second place when it should be first and center.”

“It is with us,” Starsky vowed. Didn’t matter who was Prime and who was base as long as they were together.

FIN

 

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together
  — Eric Lowen and Don Novarro