When it Gets Personal

Starsky and Hutch mourn the loss of their friend and turn to each other drunkenly for comfort, prompting Starsky to try to analyze his feelings.

Author’s Notes: An extended tag to Manchild on the Streets. Written for the SHareCon 2022 zine.

The church was packed with mourners, and still more waited outside to find a seat or place to stand. The low sounds of women crying softly could be heard whenever the organist paused in his interlude. So many anguished faces, most of them black. The church bells tolled plaintively to lament the passing of Jackson Walters, Sr., at the hands of a trigger-happy young policeman — who happened to be white and was not receiving the discipline he deserved.

Starsky stood against the back wall. He tugged at the stiff collar of his dress shirt, perspiration trickling down his neck, but kept the navy-blue suit jacket buttoned over his matching slacks. He loosened his tie just a bit and looked to his left at Hutch standing next to him, handsome and tall in his dark brown suit, tan dress shirt, and striped tie. Hutch looked as hot and sad as Starsky felt.

“I really wish we could be sittin’ up there with the family,” Starsky lamented softly. ‘But I don’t think we should risk it.”

Hutch nodded in agreement. “Not with tension as high as it is right now,” he replied quietly. “We’re personae non gratae here, for sure.”

Starsky frowned at the unfamiliar term but knew it had to mean they weren’t welcome. It was a sad reflection of the times that their love and affection for friends of a different race – or the same sex – couldn’t be publicly celebrated and relied upon for comfort when needed the most.

Although Starsky and Hutch were close friends of the family, they stood in the back of the church, given the situation and the pervading animosity toward the police, especially white police. Mrs. Walters, Junior, and Sammie had asked them to sit up front near them, but the detectives had discussed between them that they did not want to mar the service to honor their friend in any way. They were afraid their presence so close to the family might cause a disruption by protesters, some of whom had gathered outside. Still, they needed to pay their respects to their dear friend and support his family in their grief. So out of deference, they stood unobtrusively in the background. They were aware of disapproving looks by some who passed by, which they did their best to ignore.

The service was filled with memories of Jackson, testimony by his friends, and a touching eulogy by his pastor. When it was over, the family exited first. Starsky held back tears as he watched Mrs. Walters, lines of grief etched on her face, Sammie with wet cheeks, and Junior, stoically supporting them, make their way out of the church to resume life without their husband and father. Junior was the man of the house now; no longer wanting to be called Junior. He was simply Jackson Walters. Tough times ahead but Hutch ‘n I’ll help you through it, thought Starsky, remembering his father’s death and funeral decades before and the cataclysmic effects of those events on his young life.

At the house, food, drink, and memories were shared. By the time Starsky and Hutch hugged and kissed Mrs. Walters and Sammie, and hugged Jackson, Starsky was exhausted.

Starsky tore off his tie the moment he left the driveway and had his jacket off and shirt open before he got to the Torino. He winced when he looked across the roof of the car at Hutch. “Buddy, that was rough.”

Hutch let out a huge sigh. “Really rough, partner. What do you say we go to Huggy’s and drink to Jackson?”

Starsky nodded. They got in the Torino and Starsky sat for a moment after he put the keys in the ignition. “I’m thinkin’ we could drive there, but we ain’t gonna be able to drive home. Let’s go to my place, get outta these stiff suits, and take a cab to Huggy’s.”

Hutch gave him a small smile. “Good thinking as always, partner.”

They opened the windows and drove silently through the unseasonably warm afternoon.

Starsky wondered if Hutch was feeling the same way he was. So sad for Jackson and his family, but so glad that he was still here to feel the breeze, drive his sporty car, order a pizza, drink beer, and live life. A little guilty that he had time left, and Jackson didn’t. And a little ashamed that just maybe he wasn’t living this life he had to the fullest.

But most of all, he was filled with gladness that he still had time to spend with Hutch. His strong, smart, handsome, loyal partner. His rock. Starsky’s heart swelled with desire to make the most of every moment they would have together. He reached his right hand out without thinking and squeezed Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch turned to him with a compassionate look. “What, Starsk?”

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s broad shoulder again, rubbed it, then reluctantly put his hand back on the wheel.

“Just thinking, Blintz,” he said softly. “About how glad I am that you’re still here, I’m still here.” He glanced sideways at Hutch, his eyes full of love, remembering. “There were a few times when…I thought we might not be.”

Hutch’s eyes were warm, shining back at him with the same love. Hutch reached out his hand and gently grasped Starsky’s forearm.

“I know,” he said, sliding his hand down to cover Starsky’s on the wheel. “But we’re still Me and Thee, Starsk. Always.”

Their joined hands slipped off the steering wheel and came down between them, resting on the center console.

Starsky relished the warmth, the touch, the strength of those long, beautiful fingers laced through his. He felt the comfort flowing through them, knew Hutch did too. He didn’t want to let go.

They didn’t let go until they arrived at Starsky’s place. With the easy familiarity they shared from spending so much time at each other’s homes and keeping clothes and sundry items at both, they washed up and changed into their normal jeans and t-shirts.

“Ready, Blondie?” Starsky asked as he put his wallet in his pocket.

“As I’ll ever be.” Hutch smiled.

“No guns tonight,” Starsky remarked. “I’ve had enough guns for a while.”

Hutch nodded his assent as they heard the honk of the cab waiting outside to take them to the Pits.

**************

Huggy’s place was jumping on a Saturday night. But Huggy found them a reasonably quiet booth in the back. Starsky had clued him in about Jackson and was glad that Huggy seemed to realize they needed some privacy to drink their sorrows away.

As usual, rather than sit across from each other, they sat side by side on the bench, thighs and shoulders touching in silent strength and comfort.

“Thanks, Hug,” said Starsky appreciatively. “Two beers. And keep ‘em comin’, please.”

It wasn’t long before the foamy beverages were delivered, with a complementary bowl of pretzels. They raised their glasses, clinked them together in a toast.

“To Jackson,” Hutch said reverently. “May he rest in peace.”

Starsky nodded. “Amen. To a good friend. A good man.”

Starsky took a long pull from his glass, set it down on the table, and looked at Hutch. “How are we going to help Mrs. Walters? How can we help Junior?”

Hutch took a large gulp of his own beer. “Well, we can help her financially if need be. And Junior, we just need to be there for him. Be the men in his life. He is so close to going the wrong way; this may just send him over the edge.”

They discussed ways to help the family, expressed dismay at what they considered leniency in the handling of the officer who had shot Jackson, and broached a few trivial subjects, as Huggy honored their request by bringing beers to the table almost as fast as they could drink them. The pretzels were consumed and more arrived. The conversation turned to helping the Walters family by bringing the real perpetrators to justice.

“Maurice will have his day in court for drug dealing and theft,” Starsky mused. “I hope the DA will get a conviction.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed. “But the biggest problem in this case is the prejudice within the department.”

“The gift that keeps on giving,” Starsky said mournfully, a hiccup escaping him before his next breath. “Black men die when they shouldn’t. Then it spreads to the public not trusting the police, more crime not being reported, and danger for the good guys like us, too.”

They were silent for a few moments, the sobering thought heavy in the air. Starsky shook his head, realizing that the bowl of pretzels was alternately morphing into two bowls, then one again.

Hutch slid down in the booth, his body relaxing although the topic was so serious. He took another sip of his beer. Starsky wondered how many both of them had already put away, but quickly dismissed the thought.

“Starssk,” Hutch said slowly. “There’s only…sso much we can do anything about. Have you ever thought… maybe…we’re jush gettin’ too old for this shit?”

Starsky suddenly felt the welcome rush of alcohol dilating his blood vessels. “Plenty a times. Speshully lately,” he lamented, leaning his head on Hutch’s shoulder.

They sat companionably, still touching along their sides.

Hutch took another sip of beer. “One a these days, Starsk,” he slurred. “One of us, or botha us, are gonna buy it.”

Starsky clutched Hutch’s arm. “Blintz. We…can’t let that happen to ush.” He tried to focus his eyes on Hutch. “We’re Me and Thee.”

“Well at least we could go out together,” Hutch surmised, attempting owlishly to study a speck in his beer glass. “Like Butch and Sundansh.”

Hutch leaned his head on Starsky’s. They closed their eyes and Starsky enjoyed the hazy warmth of Hutch’s strong, musky presence.

Huggy came by the table and gave them a knowing look as he cleared their empty glasses away. “I do believe that you two are done,” he announced. Starsky attempted a feeble protest, but Huggy was insistent. Hutch simply remained with his head resting on Starsky’s, eyes closed.

“All right, dudes. I don’t even think I could shovel you into a cab. The place is closing down soon. Come on upstairs to Huggy’s casbah. You can sleep it off up there.”

Huggy helped them to their feet and took them one by one up the stairs. He sat them down on the bed and removed their shoes.

“Hussh.” Starsky put his arms around his partner’s lanky body. “I won’ let nothin’ happen to you. Couldn’ make it without you.”

Hutch leaned into Starsky’s embrace. “No way, buddy. Need you.”

Huggy rolled his eyes. “Hate to interrupt this love fest, but let’s get you two into bed. I’ll bring up some water and towels and big bowls to put by the bed, if you get my drift. I think you may need them.”

Huggy pulled off their jeans and left them in their t-shirts and underwear, plopped them into the bed, pulled the covers over them, closed the blinds, and turned out the light.

“Sweet dreams, fellas,” he said. “I’ll be back with the goods after we get the place closed down.”

They lay in the darkness quietly for a while. Fuzzy thoughts clouded Starsky’s head.

Starsky rolled over, poked Hutch in the side. “You ‘sleep?”

“Almost,” Hutch complained drowsily.

“I was thinkin’, Hush.” The initial rush of alcohol was wearing off, leaving melancholy. “Whadif it was one a us. Not Jackson.”

“Oh Starsk.” Hutch sighed, and turned to face his partner. “Don’ even wanna think about that.”

Starsky was filled with angst and fear. “But Hush. S’already so dangerous out there. Now with ev’ryone hatin’ on us. Gonna be worse.” His voice cracked. “Hush, I can’t lose you. Was thinkin’ about that today after the service. Needa tell you…shoulda tol’ you…”

“Shhh.” Hutch reached over, put his arm over Starsky’s chest. “We got each other’s backs. It’ll be ok.”

“No.” Starsky was getting worked up. “I mean…s’over, just like that, inna second, a minute. We don’ live life like we should, cuz it could be over jush like that. Hush, I needa tell you.” He moved over next to Hutch, reaching out for him. “Shoulda tol’ you what you mean to me. Should preshiate you more.”

“Aww Starsk. I know you love me.” Hutch reached out to hug Starsky. “An’ I love you. You know it.”

Starsky snuggled up to Hutch in cozy warmth, their arms around each other. “So speshul, pardner. What we got.”

“Mmm hmm,” Hutch mumbled dreamily, nuzzling Starsky’s curls.

They drifted off to sleep, only the sounds of their gentle snores and the ticking clock filling the room for some time. But then Starsky became restless, and agitated by a dream, threw the blankets off them. Half asleep, he began to whimper. His hands clutched Hutch’s back, his face pressed into Hutch’s chest.

Hutch had been falling into deep sleep, but seemed to become dimly aware of Starsky’s movements, and sense his distress.

“S’ok, Starsk,” he mumbled. “I’m here. S’all right, buddy.” He fell back into a sleepy stupor.

Starsky burrowed against Hutch, making strangled sounds in his throat. Hutch drew him nearer and held him close, giving comfort that seemed to flow from him instinctively. But Starsky needed more. His inhibitions subdued by the alcohol, he was overflowing with love and need for this man he adored, who he hadn’t given the devotion and gratitude he deserved. He needed to show him how much he cared before it was too late.

“Ohmigod Hush,” Starsky breathed into Hutch’s long, golden neck. “Please! Don’t go, don’t…don’t do it…need you! Hafta tell you…want you…love you!”

Starsky squirmed up against Hutch, their bodies pressed together. Hutch didn’t appear to be fully aware, but his body was responding as though he was enjoying the sensations of the wriggling warmth against him, and he moaned softly as Starsky’s moist lips sought his sensitive neck. The two half-conscious men rubbed and caressed each other, sexual need rising. In his sleepy and distraught haze, Starsky pushed his hardness against Hutch’s groin. He was so aroused that he helplessly clenched Hutch’s body against his as erotic desire coursed through him.

“Hutch!” Starsky moaned passionately. “Love you..”

“Starsk!” Hutch groaned softly. “Starsk…God!”

They grappled, searched for each other’s underwear, fumbled until it was off. Starsky crooked one leg over Hutch’s firm ass and pressed their groins together as their cocks rubbed against each other, slippery from pre-come.

Starsky kissed and licked Hutch’s neck, ran his hands up and down Hutch’s back under his t-shirt, and relished the feel of his hard muscles. He was totally immersed in the wild joy of finally loving, touching, caressing Hutch’s sexy body. Sensual moans of pleasure and the wet sounds of Starsky’s kisses and their sliding together filled the room. The writhing escalated to thrusting that became steadily more rhythmic and urgent. Starsky’s kissing and licking turned to enthusiastic sucking as he left his mark on Hutch’s succulent neck.

Hutch alternately whimpered and groaned his pleasure, his erection providing ample evidence of the heat rising in his loins.

Starsky plunged his frenzied tongue into Hutch’s mouth, to have it met by equal passion.

Just then the door opened.

“Sorry it took so long,” Huggy started. And then he stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was dark, but the streetlamp shining through the cracks in the blinds, and the noises coming from the bed, left no doubt as to what was transpiring.

“Uh…sorry, dudes. I’ll just…leave this…here…”

Huggy hastily put the tray with the pitcher of water, glasses, and towels on the table, and the bowls by the bed on the floor, and fled, locking the door behind him.

Starsky didn’t even notice Huggy’s arrival and departure, and if Hutch did, he showed no reaction. They were too deep in their inebriated fog, too wrapped up in one another.

Starsky’s insistent tongue roamed the inside of Hutch’s mouth. “Hutch, Hutch,” he panted against those flawless lips. Their moans were overcome by the sounds of flesh working against flesh in a rising tide. The two beautiful, muscular male bodies, golden and smooth entangled with bronzed and furred, writhed, and danced together in perfect sensual cadence.

Suddenly Starsky clutched Hutch and cried out Hutch’s name as his essence coated Hutch’s belly and straining cock. Starsky’s mind exploded into unfathomable bliss. I’m in heaven, in love with you forever! My beautiful Hutch! Hutch followed soon after with his own ecstatic moans as he orgasmed against Starsky’s body.

“Babe,” Starsky sighed deeply as they floated back down from the dizzying crest into a blissful trance. “Hutch,” he murmured, over and over. “Love you…love you…”

Hutch kissed Starsky’s lips. “Love you…”

They fell asleep again almost immediately, arms and legs intertwined, bodies warm against each other, faces aglow with sweat and satiated, hazy contentment.

**************

The morning light shining through the cracks in the lowered window blinds played across Starsky’s face. Before he even opened his eyes he was aware of incessant pounding in his head. Licking his dry lips, he found there was no moisture to coat them.

He felt the warmth of the body next to him and opened his eyes to see Hutch’s muscular arms wrapped around him. He was just starting to wonder where they were and why they were tangled together when nausea rose urgently in his throat.

Panicked, Starsky disentangled himself from the warm cocoon of Hutch’s body, stumbled out of bed, and tripped on the bowl Huggy had left by the bed. Looking at how far away the door to the bathroom was and how near the bowl was, he realized the better of the two options. He vomited into the bowl, miserably clutching his churning stomach.

Hutch slept on, oblivious to Starsky’s agony.

Starsky carried the bowl to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and held it in his lap, still retching painfully. When there was nothing more to empty out of his abused stomach, he stood slowly and poured the contents of the bowl into the toilet, urinated, and flushed. Stumbling to the sink, he washed his face and rinsed out his mouth, and then left the bathroom to sprawl in the chair by the table in the room. He sat, hand holding up his still-throbbing head, while the room spun.

Too miserable to think for long, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and try to go back to sleep. He stood up weakly and made his way back to the bed. Reaching to pull the covers down, he realized that while he had his t-shirt on, he was naked from the waist down except for his socks.

Holy shit. We must’ve really tied one on. What the hell happened?

He looked around the room. No lady or ladies, no womanly clothing. Only his and Hutch’s shoes on the floor, and jeans laid across a chair. Where was his underwear? And – oh my God – did Hutch-?

Lifting the sheet, he saw that Hutch’s boxers were missing too.

Starsky’s heart hammered. As he lowered the covers, his hand touched his abdomen and passed over dried sticky residue.

What the fuck did we do?

Hutch stirred.

Starsky looked at Hutch’s tanned arms thrown over his head on the pillow, his strikingly attractive face framed by adorably disheveled flaxen strands curling into little wisps at the ends. His breath left him.

Hutch.

So much of his whole world wrapped up in that one word.

He sat on the bed next to Hutch, desperately trying to remember the night before. Images and feelings began flashing through his mind.

He thought back to Jackson’s funeral, being so glad there was still time to live life, to spend with Hutch. Holding hands in the Torino. The cozy, long talk at the Pits. Huggy dragging their drunk asses upstairs and tucking them in.

The dream. That dream, he thought.

He remembered now. Hutch was going undercover, a dangerous cover in a drug sting being run through a warehouse. Dobey wanted Starsky to back Hutch up. Starsky thought it was way too risky and begged Hutch not to do it. The psychic, Collandra, had told Starsky about a vision he had, a premonition that something bad was going to happen to Hutch in some big industrial building. Starsky had been terrified. He remembered thinking, not now, not now, just when I’ve realized how much I want to spend time with him, how much he means to me, how much I want to tell him that –

I love him. Oh, my God! I’m in love with Hutch.

He swallowed and looked down at his abdomen, at the unmistakable remnants of their drunken passion.

He studied Hutch’s face. When his heart skipped a beat at the sight of his partner’s handsome, peaceful features, he knew it was true.

How had he not realized the depth of his feelings for his partner before? Too easy to stuff inside, given the ramifications for their jobs, their safety, their relationships with their families and friends. The alcohol must have taken away his fears and inhibitions.

As he called up the memory of their passionate, foggy encounter, dim as it was, he was both shocked and delighted by the powerful emotions rioting inside him. It had been sensual, erotic, exciting, loving – fantastic.

“Ohhhhh,” groaned the object of his desire. Hutch put his hands over his face. “What the – oh God. Ohhh.”

Starsky panicked. He grabbed a pillow and put it in his lap.

“Mornin’ Hutch,” he said self-consciously. “You feel as bad as I do?”

Hutch blinked. “God. Worse.” He covered his eyes with his forearm. “Somebody shut the blinds.”

“’Fraid they already are,” Starsky lamented.

Hutch groaned again. “My head.”

Starsky really wanted to just crawl back in the bed, wrap himself around Hutch, and go back to sleep. But he reeled not only with pain, but anxiety about how to handle what had happened between them. He decided to take a safe route.

“I know,” he said sadly. “Mine too. I’ll go get us a couple cool washcloths and see if I can find some aspirin. You just stay right there.”

While Hutch still had his eyes covered with his arm, Starsky took the opportunity to grab his jeans, go in the bathroom, wash his abdomen, and put his pants on. He found a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and filled a glass with water.

“Here, Blintz,” he said, holding the glass out to Hutch. He shook two aspirin out of the bottle and held out his hand.

Hutch sat up slowly, eliciting another groan. He took the aspirin and the glass, swallowed the pills, and handed the glass back to Starsky.

“Thanks.” He laid back down. “Shit. Remind me never to drink that much ever again.”

Starsky swallowed two aspirin himself. He went back to the bathroom and returned with two washcloths soaked in cool water. He put one on Hutch’s forehead, laid down on top of the covers next to Hutch, and put the other on his own forehead.

“That should help,” Starsky moaned softly. “But I don’t think I wanna move.”

Starsky closed his eyes and fell back into a fitful sleep.

He didn’t hear Hutch, sometime later, get up, go into the bathroom, and empty his own bladder and protesting stomach. He also didn’t hear Hutch put his pants on, open the door and go downstairs in search of some Seven-Up to soothe his nausea and dehydration.

Huggy was in the kitchen, getting ready to open for lunch. He gave Hutch a look Hutch had never seen before from his cocky friend. A look of uncomfortable embarrassment.

“Well, well, Blondie,” Huggy said, trying to recover from the awkward moment. “I’m guessing you’re -uh-uh- “ He shrugged and gave up. “Shit, Hutch. I’m not even gonna guess. Can I help you with something?”

Hutch looked at him strangely. “Just a Seven-Up, please? I’m not – feeling too well.”

Huggy went to the bar, filled a glass with ice and the requested soda, and brought it back. “There you go, big guy. After everything you two put away last night, I’m not surprised you’re under the weather. Although…you were up to the task when you got upstairs. Both of you, from what I saw.” He turned abruptly and went back into the kitchen.

Hutch’s blank look showed that he didn’t understand Huggy’s odd vibe, but he was too miserable to pursue it. He trudged upstairs with his drink, opened the door to the upstairs room, and sat at the table, slouching down in the chair.

Starsky turned over on the bed. “That you, Hutch?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Yep. I think so, buddy.” Hutch sighed. “But my body isn’t so sure.” He held his head. “Gawd. What the hell happened last night? I woke up without…” Color rose in his pale cheeks.

Starsky was wide awake now. “Uh…what do you remember?” he asked apprehensively.

“Not much,” Hutch muttered. “But –“ he looked around the room. “Did we- did we hook up with some ladies or something? Huggy was – acting weird.”

Starsky thought back to the previous night. Did Huggy know? What had he seen? Heard? Then he remembered the water, bowls, and towels. Had Huggy brought them when…. Had Huggy walked in when…? Shit.

Starsky sat up, his head and stomach protesting the movement. Better to talk about this when they were recovered from their massive hangovers? When Hutch remembered himself what they had done? Or now, before Huggy spilled the beans?

Better to take it slow, he decided. In their own time. When they could think straight. Although he suddenly had the absurdly amusing thought that nothing about this was straight.

“Hey Blondie. That Seven-Up looks like it might help my poor stomach. I’m gonna go down and get one for myself. You want anything?”

Hutch laid his head down on top of his folded arms on the table. “Sure. Maybe I can choke down some toast. Dry, but not too brown.”

“You got it, partner.”

Starsky fled downstairs as quickly as his aching body would allow and anxiously sought Huggy. He found the proprietor engaged in conversation with a customer at one of the booths. He made eye contact and as soon as Huggy was done, he motioned for Starsky to meet him at the bar.

“He lives,” said Huggy wryly.

“Just barely.” Starsky sighed. “Hey – uh – Hug – can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure, Kemosabe,” Huggy replied. “Or should I say, Casanova?” He winked, poured Starsky a Seven-Up, and motioned for Starsky to follow him into his office.

Starsky’s heart plummeted as he trailed behind Huggy into the office.

Huggy closed the door, sat down at his desk, handed the drink to Starsky, and pointed to the chair.

Starsky sat uncomfortably. The two friends surveyed each other across the desk.

“You wanna know what I saw,” said Huggy. “I saw – and heard – enough.”

Starsky winced. “Hug – please – “

Huggy leaned forward, and suddenly smiled. “You don’t think for a minute that I was surprised, do you?”

Starsky’s astonished expression made Huggy laugh.

“Dude. You two’ve been in love with each other for years. I’m just flabbergasted that y’all weren’t discovered sooner.” He got up, put his hand on Starsky’s shaking shoulder. “But for those who ain’t seen the obvious signs already – your secret is safe with me.” He looked down at Starsky, who was still sitting silently, his eyes huge in his face.

“Whatsamatter? Why d’you look so shocked? Like you didn’t think anybody knew?”

Starsky swallowed, looking up at Huggy fearfully. “Hug. That was our first time…really. We were both so out of it…not sayin’ I didn’t want it, didn’t enjoy it. But Hutch…he doesn’t remember it!”

Huggy frowned. “You’re shittin’ me!”

Starsky stood shakily. “No! He wonders what happened. I realized it after I woke up. But – he doesn’t seem to recall any of it.” He started pacing around the office, running his hand through his hair in distress. “What do I do? Do I tell him? Or do I wait until he…? What if he never does?”

Huggy watched him thoughtfully. “Well…odds are he’ll remember at some point. Are you sayin’ – he’ll regret it?” He looked at Starsky through narrowed eyes. “Hell…do you regret it?”

Starsky looked back at him beseechingly. “No,” he said softly. “I do…I do love him, Hug. I just never realized how much until…this thing with Jackson… We were so upset, so drunk…the tension on the streets…” He shook his head. “Hug, I had to tell him. I just can’t lose him. I dreamed I might lose him, and all my feelings just poured out of me. He means so much to me!”

“And you don’t think he feels the same?”

“Yes – well, I know he loves me, but – I’m not sure it’s – like that!”

Huggy smirked. “I’d say he wouldn’t have been doin’ half of what I saw him doin’ to you last night if he wasn’t into you like that!”

“God, I hope so, Hug.” Starsky clutched Huggy’s sleeve. “Please…don’t say anything to him. I don’t know how to handle this yet, but I know I’m the one that needs to tell him if he doesn’t remember. OK?”

“You got it,” Huggy agreed. “You can stay up there as long as you like. Need anything else?”

“Hutch asked for some dry toast, not too dark,” Starsky replied. “Please?”

“Go on up there with your big blond hunk. I’ll bring it up.” Huggy patted Starsky’s arm. “It’s gonna be ok. You two – you’re meant to be.”

Starsky smiled at him gratefully, took his drink, and went back upstairs.

He found Hutch where he had left him, head on his arms on the top of the table, asleep. He sat down on the bed and was preparing to lay down again when he remembered they hadn’t found their underwear. Quietly, he lifted the sheet and searched under it. Scrunched at the bottom of the bed were his tiny black bikini briefs and Hutch’s white boxers. Flashing back on the frenzied scene when they were removed, his face burned. He retrieved them and stuffed them in the back of his pants, then lay down.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. Huggy called, “Toast delivery. I’ll just leave it outside your door.”

Starsky went and got the toast and set it down on the table in front of Hutch. “There you go, Blintz,” he said, shaking Hutch’s arm.

Hutch sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Guess we should thank Huggy and get home.”

“Roger that, partner,” Starsky agreed. “See if this goes down okay. I’ll call a cab.”

Hutch took a nibble of the toast and washed it down with the Seven-Up. “I might live,” he said morosely. Standing up, he went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the sink to wash his face.

“Starsk!”

At Hutch’s urgent tone, Starsky hung up the phone and went quickly to the bathroom. “What? What’s wrong?”

Hutch was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. On his face was a frown of confusion and dismay. He was staring in the mirror at his neck, where a large hickey was prominently displayed.

“How the fuck did I get that?”

Starsky froze.

Hutch turned one way and the other, inspecting the blotchy mark.

“It’s huge! What the – I didn’t have that when we came here! I haven’t been with anyone for –“ Hutch whirled to look at Starsky. “What the fuck happened last night?”

“You don’t – you don’t remember anything?” Starsky hedged.

“Would I be asking you if I did?” Hutch retorted, his voice rising. “I wake up half naked, with a giant hickey on my neck. Something happened, obviously!”

Starsky just gaped back at him.

Hutch shook his head. “Shit, I’m sorry, Starsk. You probably don’t remember it any better than I do. Damn, I hope it was worth it and I wasn’t so stupid as to – “ He suddenly looked panicked. “Maybe Huggy knows. That’s why he was acting weird.”

Starsky shrugged. He was doubly glad he had gone downstairs to make sure Huggy kept quiet.

“Cab’ll be here soon,” he said, changing the subject. “We’d better get downstairs.”

They put their glasses on the tray and made their way downstairs. Starsky prayed silently that Huggy would be unavailable.

Hutch asked Dianne where Huggy was when they dropped the tray off at the bar, and she told him he had gone to pick up produce.

Bullet dodged for now, Starsky thought. All he wanted to do was get home, sleep some more, and then figure out with a clear head how to talk to Hutch about this new turn in their relationship.

They rode in the cab with very little conversation, both of them closing their eyes in their fatigue and misery.

Hutch was dropped off first.

“See you tomorrow,” he said to Starsky as he left the cab. “God, I hope this has worn off by then. We have to work.”

“Sleep tight.” Starsky smiled. “I’ll pick you up at the regular time.”

When Starsky got home, he wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed. As he removed his jeans, his and Hutch’s underwear fell out onto the floor.

Starsky stared at them for a few moments, reminders of what had happened in Huggy’s loft. That really happened… Slowly, he bent and picked up Hutch’s boxers. His memory flooded with the intensity of the feelings that had coursed through him as he desperately clasped his partner, kissed him feverishly, urgently professed his passionate love, came dizzyingly against him. He pressed the boxers to his cheek, inhaling Hutch’s sweet, musky, male scent. Hutch. You are my life. My God. What are we gonna do? What’s gonna happen if we can’t…

The thoughts jumbled in his pounding head, his heart aching. He laid down and fell into a fitful sleep.

At about dinnertime he awoke, feeling somewhat better. He made himself a can of chicken noodle soup and sat at the kitchen table. How to deal with what had happened between him and Hutch? How to process the emotions he was feeling? How to handle the conversation he knew he had to have with Hutch?

Normally Starsky acted on instinct. He tended to respond quickly to situations, even stressful ones. But this was a dilemma of bigger proportions; the most important relationship in his life was at stake.

What would Hutch do? He would take it apart, piece by piece, analyze the situation, and organize his thoughts.

Starsky found a notepad and pen. He began with listing the potential problems he needed to solve.

Problems

Hutch and I had sex
I’m in love with Hutch
We still have to work together
We can’t work together anymore
Hutch rejects me

As he studied the list, he realized that the first three were only problems if they led to numbers 4 and 5. So he zeroed in on numbers 1 through 3 to find possible solutions, and what the potential outcomes might be.

Problem 1: Hutch and I had sex