White Ribbons and Broken Promises

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Adult content. If bondage, BDSM and graphic sex offends, please do not read any further.

 

This song was the inspiration leading to the title of this story. It also reflects the feelings that the guys have for each other – IMO.

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We’ve Only Just Begun – The Carpenters

We’ve only just begun to live
White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and we’re on our way
We’ve only begun

Before the rising sun, we fly
So many roads to choose
We start out walking and learn to run
And yes, we’ve just begun

Sharing horizons that are new to us
Watching the signs along the way
Talking it over, just the two of us
Working together day to day, together

And when the evening comes, we smile
So much of life ahead
We’ll find a place
Where there’s room to grow
And yes, we’ve just begun

 

 

Tuesday, July 18, 1983 – 9:30 p.m.

Hutch scanned both sides of the street as Starsky drove slowly along. It was a quiet evening, and their shift was due to end in half an hour. Glancing over at Starsky, he said, “hey Starsk, I think we might just get home on time tonight. How about we he…”

“Calling all units, 314 reported in the vicinity of the Paradise Massage Parlor,” dispatch interrupted.

“We’re only a couple of blocks from there,” Starsky said as he spun the car crazily to the left, heading for the specified place.

Hutch grabbed the microphone. “Zebra Three responding.” He put the mars light on top of the car. “Manny’s at it again. Won’t he ever leave those girls alone?”

Starsky grinned. “Regular as clockwork, Tuesday evening, nine thirty on the dot.”

Hutch cursed himself for having forgotten about their resident geriatric flasher. All hopes of finishing their shift on time disappeared.

Starsky pulled the Torino to a halt in the alleyway near the parlor. He jumped out almost before the car had stopped and ran down the alley toward the crowd of people gathering for the show.

Hutch followed him a little slower. There was no reason to run, Manny would wait until they got there. He wouldn’t cover himself up until he was told to. And he never tried to evade arrest.

“Hey, Manny. Come on, pal, put it away. These ladies don’t want to see your wedding tackle,” Starsky’s voice drifted up the alleyway.

By the time Hutch reached the group, Starsky had the cuffs on the old man and was frog-marching him back toward the car.

“Time to move on, ladies and gentlemen. Fun’s over,” Hutch informed the small group. Walking over to the two blonde women giggling by the fire escape, he said, “Care to tell me what happened, ladies?

The taller of the two had a Texan accent. “We was just walking to our car after finishing work when he jumped out in front of us with it dangling between his legs. Poor old bugger, he expected us to get excited. We see them all day, ain’t gonna do much for us.”

“Now, Mindy, don’t you go giving the nice officer the wrong idea,” the smaller woman said, smiling at Hutch. “She means we ain’t just got off the bus, you know what I’m saying?”

“I understand perfectly, ladies. Now if I can just take your names and addresses for the file,” Hutch said, taking his notebook out of his inside jacket pocket and writing down what the women had just told him.

“Oh, no need for that. We ain’t gonna press charges, are we, Yazzy?” said Mindy. “He’s just a harmless old man.”

Hutch looked up the alley, Starsky had already gotten Manny in the Torino and was waiting patiently for Hutch to finish his questions. “We’ve still got to take him in, a report has been logged. You sure you don’t want to take it any further?”

“No,” the women chorused.

Hutch walked up the alleyway to the Torino, climbed into the passenger seat and said, “Drive, James.”

“Huh?” Starsky asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hutch sat at his desk in the squad room, desperately trying to finish the arrest report for Manny Green. This wasn’t how he had planned to spend the past few hours. Their shift should have ended over a hour ago.

Starsky was fidgeting, and irritating the hell out of him. “Starsky, will you stop jumping around like a demented flea,” he sighed.

“I’m bored, Hutch,” he whined, fiddling around with the pens in Hutch’s red plastic pen holder.

“Well, find something to do,” snapped Hutch, turning back to the typewriter. Finger by finger, he pounded out the words. He might be a slow typist, but Starsky was worse. That’s why Hutch ended up doing the lion’s share of the reports, while Starsky messed around and annoyed him.

Standing up, Starsky walked away. A minute later, he bashed a mug of coffee onto Hutch’s desk, slopping liquid all over the place and just missing the sketchy witness statement that Hutch had typed from his notes.

“Be careful, for God’s sake. You nearly messed up the paperwork.” Hutch was on the verge of punching his partner.

“But, I…” started Starsky, mopping up the spilled coffee with a paper napkin.

“Don’t you dare say you are bored, again,” warned Hutch. “Do some filing, there’s plenty in the basket. I would like to get out of here before midnight.” He pointed at the overflowing wire basket on top of the metal cabinet.

“I do…” Starsky stopped talking when Hutch growled at him. “Okay, okay. Filing it is.” He stomped over to the cabinet near the coffee cart, noisily opening and closing drawers.

Hutch grinned. He knew Starsky hated that particular job. Finishing off the report, he bundled everything together and put it in the folder, then watched his partner slowly empty the basket of the offending paperwork. When it was nearly empty, he said, “come on, buddy, the rest can wait until Thursday. We’re free for a whole thirty six hours.”

Starsky grunted when Hutch threw the file in the basket he had spent twenty minutes emptying. “I bet Manny got out of this place quicker than us.”

“Without a doubt,” Hutch agreed. “He knows which girls to pick. They never press charges.” He snagged his jacket from the back of his chair. “He’ll keep flashing. We’ll keep going through the numbers and letting him go.”

Starsky just managed to grab his jacket before Hutch pushed him toward the double doors of the squad room.

“Home or Huggy’s?” Starsky asked, stumbling from the force of Hutch’s shove.

“Home, and bed. I’m beat,” Hutch said, catching Starsky’s arm to stop him falling over. “It’s been a long day, and an even longer month. I almost can’t remember the last full day we had off.” Checking that the hallway was as empty as the squad room, he pinched his partner’s butt.

Starsky thrust his hips forward in surprise. “Hutch,” he exclaimed. “Not here. We said not at work.”

Hutch laughed. “Couldn’t resist that sexy ass any longer. Don’t worry, there’s no one around, I checked.” He kept his hand on the soft denim for a few seconds more. Maybe he wasn’t that beat. He had a taste for some butt loving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday, July 19, 1983 – 8:00 a.m.

Hutch walked slowly from the bedroom. He didn’t feel like he had slept at all last night. He had almost reached the bathroom door when Starsky yelled from the comfort of their shared bed, “don’t forget the enema, Blondie.”

“What?” he shouted back. “I thought we were spending the day at the Municipal museum?”

“We are,” the disembodied reply floated through the otherwise quiet house. “But who knows what else might happen. You know you always like to be prepared, lover.”

That last word ‘lover’ had been purred so seductively that Hutch shivered. He felt like he had a million goosebumps. Starsky only had to use that voice and Hutch was putty in his partner’s hands. He decided to push curiosity, and doubt, aside and do as Starsky said.

Hutch spent a long time standing under the hot water before shampooing his hair and soaping his body. He completed the requested task last. He turned off the shower and clambered out of the tub.

Gathering up the enema kit, he sighed. Starsky, being his usual self, had managed to confuse him immensely. They hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and Hutch didn’t understand what the hell was going on. Why did Starsky want him clean so early in the morning? He could easily do it when they got back this evening.

Without bothering to dry off, he wrapped a towel around his middle to catch the drips and brushed his teeth, methodically flossing after brushing. He didn’t bother with a comb, just ran his fingers through the wet hair, leaving the tussled, windswept look that Starsky loved. Now that they were getting older, Hutch didn’t think it looked right with his lined face, but what Starsky loved, Starsky got. Hutch couldn’t deny him anything. Hutch loved making Starsky happy. He still felt like a lovestruck teenager every time his partner was near, even when Starsky was infuriating him. And he missed him like hell when he wasn’t around. It seemed silly after twelve years of friendship, especially since they had been a couple for three of those years.

His bathroom ritual complete, he stared into the mirror. The light glinted off the gold ball earring in his left ear. Hutch had pierced his ear about a year into their romance, because Starsky had thought it would look sexy. At first, he had thought Starsky was crazy, and that he was even crazier for going along with the idea. As the years had passed, he had to admit that he found the earring a pleasing addition to his appearance. He stroked the light stubble on his chin. He still didn’t have to shave every day, which was unusual for a middle aged man. His youthful facial hair had stayed exactly that throughout his life. Maybe he had never escaped puberty. It would explain why he still felt so much younger than his actual years. He had just assumed it was his new found love with his best friend.

That was another thing that had surprised him. His sudden love of men, actually only one man. After all those years of chasing women, and the broken marriages, one day it had all become clearer. He had realized that all he wanted was Starsky. And discovering that Starsky felt the same way had made his life complete.

What had marred their lives in the past was the lack of children. Neither of them had been blessed with little ones. Now they were grateful that there were no offspring to get caught up in their taboo lifestyle choice. As the saying goes, ‘things happen for a reason,’ and now that reason had been revealed. They could pursue their relationship freely, well not exactly freely, but there were no little lives that would be ruined should the world in general find out their secret.

Huggy and Captain Dobey knew, of course. But to their colleagues, Starsky and Hutch had pooled their money together and invested in a two-bedroom property instead of wasting money on two rented apartments. The tumble-down house Starsky had put their hard earned cash into had turned out to be the best thing they had ever done. Buying and selling two more fixer-uppers had given them enough cash to put a deposit on a nice canal side dwelling, quite close to Hutch’s old place.

Sounds of movement from the next room pulled Hutch out of his daydream. With one last look at his reflection, he walked into the living room, and started when Starsky appeared in his peripheral vision. He was dressed in black leather pants and a silk shirt.

Starsky took Hutch’s right wrist in a vice-like grip. “Drop the towel, now,” he commanded in a firm voice.

Hutch recognized that grip and tone. This time, however, he rebeled. “No! Not today! You promised we would go to the art exhibition at the Municipal museum.” He tried to pull his wrist away. “This is the only day we have free. Dobey expects us in early tomorrow. Com’on, Starsky.” He heard the whine in his voice, but he didn’t care. Starsky kept making promises to go to this exhibition and Hutch was damned if he was going to let him back out again.

Starsky ripped the towel from Hutch’s body and threw it back into the bathroom.

Hutch cussed when his traitorous cock responded to the action. “Damn you, Starsk. Why do you keep doing this to me?”

Obliviously mistaking the meaning of the question, Starsky replied, “because you love me, and you like it when I dominate you.” He grabbed the other wrist and twisted Hutch’s arms behind him. A quick shove propelled him in the direction of the kitchen.

Lately, when they weren’t working, Starsky would bring out his Dom persona. And, normally, Hutch wanted their playtime, embraced it with all his being. They had introduced bondage into their sexual relationship fairly early on. Starsky had visited Uncle Elmo’s Adult Toy Store, bought some stuff, and it had escalated from there.

“I don’t mean this,” Hutch spat. “I mean breaking your promises. How many times have you promised that we would do what I wanted to do on our next free day?” He tried to stop the forward motion that Starsky was forcing on him without success. For some reason, Starsky seemed stronger in this persona, or was Hutch weaker? He could never quite figure it out.

Starsky pulled him to a stop in front of the kitchen table and stood behind Hutch. “Because, babe,” Starsky whispered in his ear, “going out means I have to share you with others. Going out means I can’t touch you the way I want to. I don’t like the way women, and other men, look at you.” He used the same seductive voice as he had earlier. “I get so jealous. You’re mine, and only mine.”

Hutch quivered when Starsky blew into his ear. He couldn’t stop moaning with pleasure when Starsky probed every crevice of his ear with his tongue, then nibbling and nipping the lobe. His teeth clinked against Hutch’s gold earring.

Hutch shuddered as the familiar feeling of arousal washed over him, his erection jutting proudly from his body. He knew that his hopes of visiting the exhibition were dwindling fast.

He looked at the items on the table in front of him. The expected white collar. Starsky had offered to buy a red one to match the cuffs a while ago, but Hutch had refused. He liked wearing the livery that Starsky had chosen for his beloved car. It made Hutch feel on a par with that stupid Striped Tomato. Why this gave him joy and not annoyance was beyond him. He had stopped analyzing the reasoning a long time ago. Starsky loved his car, Starsky loved Hutch, Hutch loved Starsky, end of story. The other item on the table mystified him. Right in the middle was a pair of scissors and a pile of thick white satin ribbon, cut up into lengths. “Starsk?”

“Shush. No talking. We will go to your exhibition this afternoon, I promise. I just want you to myself this morning.” Starsky put gentle pressure on Hutch’s shoulders. “Now kneel down.”

Hutch complied, as he always did at this stage in the proceedings. The inevitable surrender to his partner’s will. The control Hutch happily allowed his lover to take whenever it was requested. Even today, when he would have liked to do his thing, Hutch offered his submission.

Starsky picked up the collar, advancing toward Hutch, holding it at neck level. His soft expression changed to that of Hutch’s Master. “When I put this collar on, you will belong to me, body and soul. I will be your Master,” he said, placing the collar slowly around Hutch’s neck. He bent over, kissing Hutch on the forehead, the tip of his nose and finally, his lips.

Moving Hutch’s hair out of the way, Starsky carefully buckled the back of the collar. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Starsky, always.” Hutch experienced the usual shift in his demeanor. The rigid leather of the collar hadn’t softened with use, and he was always very aware of its presence around his neck. He was truly owned by Starsky whenever he wore it. The collar symbolized Starsky’s everlasting power and love. Its meaning hadn’t diminished over the years, it had strengthened beyond comprehension. Hutch was vaguely aware of being pulled to a stand.

“See, Blintz. I know what you need better than you do,” Starsky said. “Now, what’s your safe word?”

That sentence dragged Hutch back to reality. “Buffalo.”

Starsky picked up a length of ribbon. “Hands behind your back. No talking, unless I ask you a question. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Hutch assumed that Starsky was going to use the ribbon to tie his wrists. He calculated it to be about three feet in length. He smiled. Why on earth was he even interested in the length of the ribbon?

“Don’t move your hands.”

Hutch watched, curiously as Starsky placed the ribbon over his cock. Checking the ribbon was even on both sides, Starsky wound it tightly around the base of the shaft, leaving a length dangling at each side. Then, taking the left piece, he wrapped it tightly around base of Hutch’s left ball. Starsky repeated the action with the right one, until he had two shorter ends of ribbon left over. He used the short ends to pull the balls towards the shaft and wound the excess ribbon snuggly around the base, finishing the whole ensemble with a neat bow on top. “That’s not too tight, is it?” he asked, looking up at Hutch.

Keeping his hands clasped firmly behind him, Hutch tested the binding, moving slowly from side to side. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. It felt very strange to be trussed up like that, but not unpleasant. Just like a soft, pretty jockstrap. His genitals definitely weren’t going anywhere. “No, it’s okay.”

Another length of ribbon was looped into a belt around Hutch’s waist. What Starsky’s plan was for all this ribbon and binding was a mystery, but he knew his Master wouldn’t do anything to damage him. Starsky turned away from Hutch and started fiddling around on the table.

Hutch stood motionless, watching the small movements of Starsky’s back and the muscles flexing slightly under the tight silk of the shirt. He drank in the sight of the firm, high buttocks in the straining leather pants. Time had been kind to Starsky. His figure was still very boylike, in a mature way. After Gunther, Hutch had managed to steer Starsky into a healthier diet, and a fitness routine that had transformed his partner’s previously muscular body into an amazingly powerful structure. This was the only way Hutch could think of describing Starsky’s physique. He himself wasn’t as sinewy and athletic as he had been, but his body was still taut and well defined. Middle-aged spread was something that, thankfully, they had been spared thus far.

Starsky turned to face him, and Hutch stared at the item in his hand. He held a large red butt plug with two ribbons hanging from the slit in the flat end. It looked huge.

Hutch hadn’t seen that on the table. Starsky must have hidden it under the pile of ribbon. “Starsky, you know I don’t like those things.” His muscles clenched against the memory of the last one.

“Ahhh, my pretty boy, remember pain becomes pleasure.” Starsky fingered the rounded end of the plug, stroking sensually up and down the length. He put the whole bulbous bit in his mouth, sucking greedily. When he provocatively pulled out the butt plug, it was covered in his saliva, lubricated and ready for its final destination.

Hutch nodded. He knew he would allow Starsky to push that thing inside him. Because that was what Starsky desired. The first time Starsky had produced a butt plug, Hutch had flatly refused to let him use it. But, after a long conversation, Hutch had agreed to try it just once. After the initial pain of the insertion, the hurt had receded and Hutch felt a degree of satisfaction from the plug. Seeing the pleasure that Starsky got from Hutch being plugged had added to Hutch’s fulfillment and he’d agreed to use butt plugs once every three months.

His grousing about the scheduled plugging had become part of their ritual. Silly as it seemed, voicing his opinion reinforced Hutch’s position in the hierarchy, even though he would never use it to stop a session. And Starsky had said how deeply touched he was that Hutch accepted the procedure even though he wasn’t totally enamored with it.

“Come on, Hutch. You know the drill, assume the position.” Starsky pointed at the table.

Hutch slowly lay his upper body on the wooden tabletop, causing his butt to stick up in the air. He spread his legs as widely as he could, opening himself up to Starsky. He heard further suckling. Starsky was once again preparing his toy.

Starsky gently stroked and caressed Hutch’s buttocks, circling his anus with a delicate touch. Hutch moaned, loving the feel of Starsky’s fingertips. He thrust his ass up into Starsky’s palms, eager for more. He gasped as a finger entered his hole and the sphincter tensed against the intruder. Carefully, Starsky pushed further in, stretching Hutch’s colon by adding a finger at a time, until all four fingers were inside. His middle fingertip found the prostate and massaged the gland.

Hutch purred as pleasurable sensations ran through his body. He felt the familiar beginnings of earthly detachment wash over him. “Starsk!” he protested when the fingers were abruptly removed and the plug inserted in their place. His interior muscles tightened around the new invader. The further stretching of his muscle ring made Hutch cuss inwardly. He hated that initial feeling of being ripped apart. He had assumed it would get easier over time, but he hadn’t reached that point yet. He gritted his teeth, and moaned softly, as he pressed his pelvis into the table top.

Starsky stopped pushing against the plug and allowed Hutch to ride through the pain.

Hutch breathed deep and fast, slowly adjusting to the burning in his butt. After a short while, he said, “Okay, do it,” trying to relax as best as he could.

Starsky grunted as he eased the offender into his buddy. Quickly, he shoved the last few inches into the tight space.

Hutch hissed as the plug filled his ass. Starsky had developed a liking for plugging Hutch about a year ago, and had used a slightly larger one each time. This one was the biggest one yet.

Starsky kissed Hutch’s buttocks. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to be that rough. It’s over now, it’s in.” He rubbed his hands in circles on Hutch’s back. “Didn’t realize it was so big. I was sure that you were ready for the big league.” Starsky nipped the soft ass cheeks in between kissing and licking the skin. All the while, he continued stroking Hutch’s back.

Hutch thought he heard Starsky whisper, “forgive me”, but when he strained his ears, all he could hear was Starsky’s giggles. Starsky often commented that Hutch’s butt was as soft as a baby’s, and that the tiny silky hairs always tickled his nose.

“Thank you, Master,” Hutch said, gritting his teeth. The fullness was slightly uncomfortable. He enjoyed that feeling more when Starsky was inside him. That felt all warm and pliable, this was more solid.

“Stand up, babe.” Starsky maneuvered him carefully to his feet. Grabbing two ends of the ribbon attached to the butt plug, he tugged them taut up Hutch’s crack and lower back, securing them to the belt. Coming around the front of him, Starsky reached through his legs and snagged the other ends of the ribbon. He placed them on either side of Hutch’s genitals and attached them to the belt at the front. Starsky tightened the ribbons before securing them. He took two shorter lengths of ribbon and looped one through the ribbon on the front and back of Hutch’s left side and tied it on his hip. He mimicked the tie with the other ribbon on the right side. This pulled Hutch’s cheeks apart slightly.

Hutch was worried that the plug would slip, but it held fast, kept firmly in place by the ribbon.

The ribbon was soft, but Hutch could feel its presence on the delicate skin of his lower body. The plug was now cocooned in his asshole and didn’t move an inch as he shifted position. He winced at the slight pressure on the walls of the canal, but knew that would subside once his colon had stretched sufficiently to accommodate the girth of the plug. Despite the minor discomfort in his butt, he was extremely turned on by the ribbon binding that Starsky had done so far. And curious about what Starsky had planned for the pile still on the table.

Starsky stood up in front of him. “Oh, Hutch. I love you so much.” Taking Hutch’s face gently in his hands, he kissed him hard and urgently. Thrusting his tongue through the teeth, he probed the inner cavern of his mouth.

Hutch matched his movements with his own tongue, keeping his arms held limply by his sides. He knew better than to touch Starsky when he hadn’t been given permission. That only lead to punishment.

Pulling back, Starsky ordered, “fold your arms behind your back. Hands clasping opposite elbows.” Caressing Hutch’s torso, he circled around behind him, reaching for yet another piece of ribbon.

This one was the longest so far. Hutch struggled a little to comply with Starsky’s wishes. He wasn’t as flexible as he used to be and the positions that Starsky managed to get Hutch’s body into never ceased to amaze him. He stood, arms in place, his chest and cock thrust forward and displayed proudly for his Master.

Hutch could feel Starsky knotting the ribbon around his forearms, holding them exactly where Starsky wanted them.

Hutch couldn’t move his arms an inch either way. Not even outwards, because Starsky had integrated the belt into the binding.

Starsky ran a finger down Hutch’s spine, and kissed his right shoulder. “How does that feel, babe? Is it comfortable?”

Hutch shivered at the gentle touch. “Yes, Master.” Not only was it comfortable now that the ribbons were doing the work of keeping his arms in place, but Hutch found the immobility very arousing. He still wasn’t sure what Starsky had in mind. The pile of satin on the table didn’t seem to be getting any smaller.

Hutch’s pondering was answered when Starsky took the next piece of ribbon. The whole pile disappeared. It had consisted of just one extremely long strip. Starsky attached the length of satin to Hutch’s bound forearms, bringing it over his shoulders.

Hutch stood–mesmerized–as Starsky silently looped, knotted, and bound Hutch’s arms and body until there was no more ribbon left. The last free end was coiled around the head of his penis, just under the bulbous crown and secured.

Every time Hutch moved, he could feel the knots poking his skin. The sensation was very stimulating. Where had Starsky learned to do Japanese rope tying?

A tweak on his right nipple brought him back to earth.

“Hey, Hutch, do you want to see what you have so patiently allowed me to do to you?” Without waiting for a answer, Starsky steered him to the bedroom.

Hutch flinched. He had forgotten about the plug while Starsky had been binding him. His body had adjusted to the size, but walking reminded him it was inside his ass.

“Close your eyes,” Starsky said as they approached the bedroom door.

Hutch obeyed, screwing his eyelids tightly together, trusting Starsky to ensure his safety. Just as he trusted Starsky with everything else in his life. There was no one else he trusted that much. Loved that much.

Starsky guided him around the bedroom and brought him to a stop. “You can look now.”

Hutch opened his eyes and faced his reflection in the full length mirror. He gasped at the beauty in front of him. The fruits of Starsky’s labor was stunning. Teary eyes stared back at him and a lump formed in his throat. “It’s beautiful, Starsk, really beautiful,” he choked.

He examined the spectacle that was his body. The ribbon looked pure and innocent against his tanned skin. The intricate weavings and knots made diamond patterns all over his torso and arms. He was swathed in a lacy body harness. The rich ruby red of his gift-wrapped balls and cock looked like expensive ornaments adorning his groin. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

Starsky grinned. “Well, I tried to read a book on Japanese bondage, but I didn’t really understand it, so I went to evening classes.”

Hutch should have felt ridiculous standing there with a bow on his dick, but he knew that Starsky hadn’t done it to humiliate him. It even enhanced the overall look of the artistic knotting. Every swathe had been done with love for the man who gave his body and soul to his Master. “Evening classes, they have evening classes in this type of thing?” he asked incredulously. He watched Starsky’s adoring reflection in the mirror.

Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders. “If you know where to go, yes. Sweet Alice put me in touch with an ex-Dom who was happy to show me the ropes.” He grinned at the awful pun.

Turning to check out the back, Hutch was similarly impressed with the detail on his bound arms and back. Again, there were decorative knots and diamond patterns. His butt cheeks were plumped by the tight ribbon bindings. Even the red end of the butt plug looked pretty, like a big red gem shoved up his ass and housed in an attractive white and tan setting.

“Sweet Alice? Oh, Starsk, no. Please say you didn’t tell her about us.” Hutch was horrified that someone out on the street knew their secret. Even if it was Sweet Alice. He remembered the times she had offered herself to him, and her disappointment every time he had abstained. He had felt an absolute heel every time her hopeful expression changed to acceptance of what would never happen between them.

“Don’t worry. Alice isn’t about to rat on her Handsome Hutch. She knew about us before we did,” Starsky said, hugging his bound slave.

“Huh?” Hutch asked confused. He backed out of Starsky’s bear hug. “What? How? Who?”

Starsky laughed. “Nobody told her, they didn’t need to. Remember when we busted into that brothel and Alice was in one of the rooms?”

“When you sneaked her out and let her go?” Hutch remembered his shock when they had found Alice tied up in one of the rooms.

“Yeah. Your marriage to Sabrina had just ended.”

Hutch’s stomach flipped. Sabrina! He hadn’t thought about her since he and Starsky became a couple. She had been Starsky’s physical therapist after the Gunther shooting. Hutch’s emotions had been all over the place and, after a whirlwind romance, he had married her. And almost as quickly realized he didn’t love her. They had divorced six months later. Shaking his head, he concentrated on what Starsky was saying.

“Alice said to me that that was your second and last marriage to a woman,” Starsky continued. “When I asked her what she meant, she just said that you had already met your lifetime partner, you just hadn’t realized it yet. Then she winked at me and ran off.” Starsky stroked Hutch’s cock.

Hutch jumped at Starsky’s touch. His bound cock was so sensitive that he whimpered at the gentle caresses from Starsky’s fingers. Hutch’s nerve endings screamed in ecstasy. His skin prickled with excitement. His erection hardened even more, sending waves of pleasure through Hutch’s groin. He could hardly hear Starsky’s words over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

“Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about at the time. None of it made sense then. When I saw her a few weeks ago at Huggy’s, she said I looked happy and had Handsome Hutch finally opened his eyes to Starsky love.” Starsky grinned and winked mischievously, toying with the satin bow adorning Hutch’s cock. “She asked me to tell you that she understood why you never wanted to sleep with her, because I was standing right next to you, pulling your love right into my soul.”

“I always did think that Sweet Alice was far too smart a cookie to be a hooker. What is she doing now?” Hutch fidgeted. His legs were going numb from standing.

“I just told you,” Starsky said. “She and this ex-Dom are running a school. Teaching people about BDSM, how to stay safe on the street and educating the girls in birth control, as well as making them aware of the alternative lifestyles they could be leading. Sort of like teachers cum social workers.” Starsky pushed Hutch down onto the bed. “For a set fee, you can choose from a long list of subjects. I have learned a lot from Dominique.”

Hutch gasped as he hit the mattress. The bounce jammed the plug up into his prostate gland. The movement caused a weird sensation of pain mixed with pleasure. Hutch embraced the feeling hungrily. Silently willing his Master for more.

Starsky shoved him onto his back and then flipped him onto his stomach, moving him to the middle of the large bed.

“Ouch,” Hutch cried as his erection jarred between his body and the mattress. Pain shot through his middle and he tried to lift his hips off of the mattress. “I can’t lay on my stomach with my genitals bound. It really hurts.” His cock and balls were so sensitive and tender that he thought they were going to explode on impact. His safe word flashed into his head.

“Sorry, buddy. I didn’t think this through very well, did I?” Starsky quickly pulled Hutch on to his right side. “It should work with you on your side.” He grabbed two pillows and put them against Hutch’s torso for support.

“Thank you, Master,” Hutch said gratefully. “I apologize for my insubordination.”

“Quiet,” Starsky said gruffly. Hutch’s apology seemed to snap Starsky back into his Master persona. He grabbed Hutch’s ankles and buckled the leather cuffs in place, clipping them together.

Hutch heard him rummaging around inside something. His ankles were pushed toward his butt and he felt Starsky fasten something to the bonds on his arms. When he tried to straighten his knees, he found he couldn’t move. His ankles were secured to his arms. Suddenly, his world went black. He panicked. “Starsk?”

“Hush, babe. You just lie there quietly. It’s your time. One hour. Will you do that for me? I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” The bed dipped as Starsky sat next to Hutch. He covered Hutch’s neck and shoulders with small, delicate kisses, and licked the smooth skin. “You are my world, my universe, my reason for living.”

Hutch nodded and settled the right side of his head onto the cool pillow that Starsky had just placed there. He smiled and slid gradually into his submissive head space. He heard Starsky talking to him, but the words didn’t register. The sound gradually moved further away from his inner world of peace and tranquility.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The feeling of something moving through his hair roused Hutch from his trance. Lips covered his as he lifted his head from the pillow.

“Hey, lover, how you feeling?” asked his partner in a soft voice.

Hutch tried to move. “A little tied up,” he joked.

Starsky snickered.

Gentle strokes ran from Hutch’s temple, down his face to his neck. He shivered. Starsky’s touch was more delicate than some of the women Hutch had slept with. He relaxed into the sweet tingles that ran through his body with every line Starsky traced on his skin. The caressing continued all over his body. His nerve endings screamed in delight. He shuddered with excitement. His skin prickled and he tried to move away from Starsky’s questing fingers, suddenly too sensitive for much more.

“Starsk. Take me, now. Please.” He jumped as a hard slap stung his left buttock. The butt plug dug into his prostate gland again. He twitched. The impact delivered a sensation that wasn’t unpleasant, but he preferred Starsky’s delicate touch to a lump of rubber. Damn, damn, damn. When is Starsky going to take the alien out? He knew better than to ask the question out loud. If he did, Starsky was sure to leave the plug in longer. He had accepted the pleasure/pain ratio at the beginning of their involvement in the scene, but it still scared, and excited, him to think of the punishments that Starsky could, and did, dish out. And Hutch didn’t want to change any part of their play.

“You don’t make demands. I decide when I’m ready to fuck that gorgeous ass, not you. What do you say?” barked Starsky.

“Sorry, Master. I beg your forgiveness. I forgot my place,” Hutch said contritely. It never failed to shock him how Starsky could slip so easily from being his sweet lover to his Master. They had tried role reversal a couple of times, but neither enjoyed the swap and they always ended up with Starsky as the Master, and Hutch his slave. It had started that way, and it remained the only way that felt right, for both of them. Hutch’s belly rumbled, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten. He didn’t even know what time it was.

Starsky laughed. “Sounds like I should feed you, buddy boy. It’s well past breakfast time. Let’s get you a bit more comfortable.”

Hutch felt a tug on his back and his feet sprung free from their position by his buttocks. He groaned as he slowly moved his stiff knee joints. The muscles screamed stop, but he gradually straightened his legs. He closed his eyes when the blindfold covering them was abruptly removed. Starsky had a habit of doing things without warning.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, allowing them to adjust to the brightness of the room. The red display on the bedside clock read 11:18. His belly rumbled again.

With a snort, Starsky bent over and released one ring on the ankle cuffs. The clip hung loosely from the other. “Come on, let’s get some food started.” He dragged Hutch upright. “Kitchen. You watch, I’ll cook.”

“You going to untie me?” Hutch asked hopefully. He glanced down at his hard on. The pretty ruby red ornaments had been replaced with purple swellings that tingled now that he was moving. The butt plug was making its presence known again. How much longer? It didn’t hurt, he just wasn’t thrilled about being plugged.

Starsky shot him a look that said, ‘you even have to ask that question?’ “Follow me,” he replied curtly, leading the way from the bedroom to the kitchen.

Hutch followed obediently, wishing he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He knew that would be added to the silent toll that Starsky was keeping of his misdemeanors. Hutch hadn’t been disciplined in their last three sessions. He suspected that would change today. Early on in their relationship, he and Starsky had agreed a total amount of black marks he had to reach before he was corrected for his inappropriate actions.

Starsky pulled a wooden chair out from under the kitchen table. “Sit, and put your feet around the table leg.”

Hutch lowered himself carefully onto the chair, trying to decide which would be the best way. He couldn’t sit with his back against the upright because of his arms, and the position of the chair meant he couldn’t reach the table leg if he sat square on his butt. In the end, he slouched on the chair, his shoulders resting on the back, body almost straight and his legs outstretched.

Once Hutch had settled, Starsky bent down and clipped the cuffs together around the table leg, effectively trapping Hutch from further movement. Starsky turned his back to Hutch, and began cooking.

Hutch watched with interest as Starsky poured pancake batter into one of the pans and threw bacon into the other. Both pans had been heating up on the stove while Starsky had waited for Hutch to arrange himself. He breathed in the mouthwatering smell of sizzling bacon. He loved watching Starsky cook. There was a time when he wouldn’t have let Starsky near a stove, but since Starsky’s enforced leave after the shooting, he had spent a lot of time in the kitchen. He’d even taken classes to learn the basics.

“Okay, Hutch, spill it.” Starsky turned and looked at him. His eyes traveled the length of Hutch’s bound body. He licked his lips, leering at the rod pointing toward the ceiling.

“Huh?” Hutch followed Starsky’s gaze. His crown jewels sat proud on his body, like food on a platter waiting to be eaten. His cock twitched as if embarrassed at the scrutiny. Hutch was immensely turned on by Starsky’s hungry expression. Forget the food, he wanted, needed, Starsky’s mouth around his cock.

Starsky shook his head. “I said, “spill it”. You asked earlier, “why do you keep doing this to me?” Turning back to the stove, he poured more batter into the pan. The stack of pancakes next to him was growing steadily. “What promises do I keep breaking?”

“Not now, Starsk.” Hutch knew that it never ended well when they had discussions during sessions.

“Yes, now. I’m the Master. Talk to me.” Starsky waved the spatula around in the air. He poked at one of the pans and then put the cooked slices of bacon on a plate next to the one holding the pancakes. He added more uncooked bacon to the pan.

Hutch sighed. “Okay, if you insist. You promise we’ll go somewhere, like this exhibition I want to see. But, when the time comes, you change your mind or we end up doing THIS.” He inclined his head toward his body. “We always end up spending our free time doing whatever you want to do. I know I agreed to you being the Master and I the slave. But I do want a life outside of work and sessions. I am sorry if this is disrespectful, and I understand that this rebellion is punishable under our agreement.”

“Hey, I asked you what was wrong. I won’t punish you for telling me the truth,” Starsky said sadly. “I didn’t mean for us to become just this. I thought you liked it.”

“I do. I love you being my Master. But I like to do other things together, too.” He looked at his partner’s distressed expression. “I love you. I love us. But I want to be in control of my needs sometimes. Now let’s eat, I’m starving.” He spotted something behind Starsky. “Starsk, the pan!”

Starsky turned quickly and shoved the smoking pan off the stove. “Damn, nearly burned that bacon.” Flicking the stove knobs to off, he scurried back and forth, loading the table with pancakes, bacon, chocolate sauce and orange juice.

Hutch waited patiently for Starsky to free him. But Starsky just picked up the bottle of chocolate sauce. “Um, I can’t eat like this.”

“You don’t need to. I’m going to feed you, Blintz.” Starsky held the bottle over Hutch’s legs and squeezed.

“Starsky, what the…? Aaahhh,” protested Hutch, as the sauce landed on his legs and genitals. “You could warn a guy, that’s cold.”

“Pancakes and chocolate sauce,” Starsky grinned as he broke off a bit of pancake and dipped it in the sauce on Hutch’s balls. He ate the dripping morsel and licked his fingers. He dipped the next piece and put it into Hutch’s mouth. Then Starsky lay the bacon strips down Hutch’s legs.

“Ow, damn, they’re hot. If that leaves a mark,” he threatened.

Starsky laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not hot enough to scar. I made sure that I used the cooled bacon.” He bent over and skewered some bacon with his fork.

“Shit. Careful with those prongs, buddy. I’m not a plate, that hurt.” Hutch wasn’t sure about this particular game. Starsky silenced him with a piece of bacon. Every time Starsky speared a slice, he pricked Hutch with the fork. At least the prongs weren’t leaving any marks, and the pain went away rapidly. Hutch soon realized this was his punishment for being disobedient. Fork stabs to his legs. That was a new one, and it wasn’t that bad. He was enjoying the food, and he liked Starsky feeding him. That was worth a few quick stings on the skin.

Starsky held up the glass of orange juice with a straw for Hutch to drink from. They shared the tall glass, each sucking the straw in turn. Eventually the table was empty.

Hutch breathed a contented sigh. His belly was full, and he was happy to be Starsky’s slave.

Starsky bent forward and licked the remaining sauce off Hutch’s body. His tongue was hot, teasing the bound genitals. Removing the soggy brown ribbon from around Hutch’s crown, Starsky sucked Hutch’s throbbing shaft clean, running the tip of his tongue up and down the prominent, pulsing vein. He took each ball fully into his mouth, chewing gently on flesh and satin, one by one. Easing Hutch’s knees apart, he cleaned every last trace of chocolate from the inside of each thigh.

Hutch writhed and groaned as his lover doled out sweet torture with his tongue. Every stroke sent Hutch spiraling higher, the ecstasy building until he thought he was going to burst. Stars danced across his vision, and he screamed, “yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes.”

“Don’t come yet!” Starsky stood up and pulled Hutch’s upper body toward him, thrusting his hard penis into Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch took the full length and suckled greedily. He darted his tongue up and down Starsky’s engorged member, teasing and licking, circling the circumcised head. Finally, he flicked his tongue across the slit.

Starsky growled and tensed, ramming harder into Hutch’s throat, forcing Hutch to deep throat him.

Hutch gagged briefly, nipping at the base of Starsky’s shaft with his teeth. Starsky backed off slightly, letting Hutch take a quick breath. One last suckle, and hot, thick liquid gushed down his throat. He swallowed, feeling Starsky’s hardness soften in his mouth.

Starsky pulled out with a grunt. He stood, head back and eyes closed.

Hutch could see Starsky trembling from head to toe. He could almost feel the force of the orgasm ripping through Starsky’s body. Hutch adored watching the aftermath of Starsky coming, and felt a certain pride knowing that he was responsible for that gratification.

Starsky slowly raised his head, opened his eyes and looked down at Hutch, smiling. “Your turn, slave,” he said huskily. He knelt next to Hutch to untie the bound genitals. Dropping the ribbons on the floor, Starsky stroked the swollen cock.

Hutch groaned, both from the rush of the previously restricted blood and the sensitivity of his erection. “Starsk, please.” He purred when Starsky sucked Hutch’s tender balls, kneading the flesh until Hutch couldn’t hold it any longer and his entire world exploded.

Starsky swallowed the cum, just as Hutch had swallowed his. He reached up and kissed Hutch full on the lips, their mouths becoming one, sharing the taste of each other. Starsky broke the kiss first. He sat on his feet, staring at his spent partner.

Hutch was almost falling off the chair. His eyes were closed, his energy gone, sapped by his orgasm.

Starsky leaned over to the table leg and unclipped Hutch’s ankles. “Come on. I think I’d better untie you. You’re starting to turn a funny color.”

Hutch opened his eyes, and stared. He felt dazed. He heard, but couldn’t quite grasp what Starsky was saying to him.

Starsky manhandled him up to a stand and started to unravel the ribbon, layer by layer. Gently, he lowered Hutch’s crossed arms to his sides, massaging each body part as the ribbon dropped away.

Hutch groaned, his arms and legs tingling painfully. He swayed and felt strong hands steady him. Then he became aware of movement.

“Lie down,” someone said from a long way away.

Slowly coming back to reality, Hutch found himself being lowered, front first onto the bed. His body felt heavy, he couldn’t focus. What’s happening?

“Hey, buddy. Are you with me? Hutch?” asked the same voice.

Gradually, the fuzziness cleared and he saw Starsky next to him, a concerned look on his face. Hutch smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Starsky smiled back. “You okay? You really scared me there. I think you passed out.” He pulled Hutch toward him.

Hutch scrambled closer to Starsky. “Yeah, I’m fine. God, that was one hell of a ride. You surpassed yourself there, pal.” His butt was tender. He wiggled. “How about you take this thing out of me now?”

“I’ve taken the plug out. I did it while you were out of it. Thought it’d be less painful that way.” Starsky stroked Hutch’s chest, making a diamond pattern.

Hutch looked down at what Starsky was doing. He saw red lines on his body where the ribbon had been. His legs were striped pale pink. “You said the bacon wouldn’t scar me.”

“It won’t. The marks are disappearing already. You won’t know where they were. I promise.” Starsky tweaked Hutch’s left nipple playfully.

“I know what your promises are like, Starsk.” Hutch pushed himself away from Starsky. “Think I need another shower.” He was sticky from the chocolate sauce. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was 12:44, “I think we can still make that exhibition. It’s the last day of the exhibit.”

Starsky groaned and reached for a pillow. “I can think of better things to do,” he said, swinging the pillow at Hutch’s head.

Hutch grabbed his wrist. “I don’t want to do this now, but no matter what, I still love you, Starsk,” he stated, meaning every word.

“What don’t you want to do now, my little one?” Starsky levered himself off of the bed with his free hand, and stood astride Hutch’s legs.

Hutch kept his hold on Starsky’s wrist, and looked up. The position Starsky was in meant that Hutch was unable to stand up and meet him eye to eye. Hutch swallowed. God, Starsky was even more desirable in his alpha male prowess. Hutch could feel his resolve crumbling. Do not give in, he told himself sternly. “I really want to go to this exhibition,” he said firmly. “I won’t have the chance after today.”

Starsky twisted his wrist, attempting to free his hand that still held the pillow. “And if I say no?” Starsky sat on Hutch’s knee, his flaccid cock jutting from his open pants.

Hutch’s gut tightened with lust when Starsky’s penis touched his naked groin. There were still remnants of semen on Starsky’s crown. He grasped Starsky’s wrist harder. Backing down now wasn’t an option. Even more determined, he stuck his chin out. Pointing his finger at Starsky, he said in a level tone, “Starsky, I could use my safe word, but that is not the point here. I do have a say in what we do, and I am going to the exhibition. I would really like you to come with me.”

He searched Starsky’s face for a reaction, seeing nothing but an impassive mask. “This morning was amazing, more than amazing. I don’t want the day to end like this. I want you by my side, always.” Starsky jerked his own arm up, causing Hutch to tighten his grasp on his partner and go with the motion.

After a quick tussle Starsky pulled his wrist free and threw the pillow over Hutch’s head onto the bed, “Okay, Blondie,” Starsky said. “Clean yourself up and get dressed. I’ll lay your clothes on the bed for you.” He stroked Hutch’s chest. “Then we’ll go to your exhibition.”

“Yeah?” Hutch asked warily. He had expected more of an argument.

“What are you wearing?” boomed Starsky, standing up so that he towered over Hutch once more.

Hutch started at Starsky’s roar in his ear. “Huh?” When he realized what Starsky meant, his hand automatically went to his neck. “Your collar, Master,” he answered meekly, fingering the hard leather.

“And what does that mean?” Starsky scowled at him.

“That I have no control. I do whatever you tell me to do.” Hutch closed his eyes, unconsciously slipping back into his submissive self. Now he had really upset his Master.

“Well, be a good little boy and do as you’re told. Move that sexy ass of yours, partner,” ordered Starsky.

Jumping immediately to attention, Hutch replied, “Yes, Master,” and ran toward the bedroom door.

Starsky slapped his bare butt hard as he jogged past. “Quickly, lover. We haven’t got all day.”

Hutch scurried into the bathroom, rubbing his sore left butt cheek. He decided that he didn’t need another shower, and picked up the wash cloth from the side of the sink. Grabbing the bar of soap, he got the washrag wet and slathered it with soap. He quickly washed and patted himself dry with a clean towel.

When he returned to the bedroom, Starsky had changed into his usual blue jeans and t-shirt. He pointed to the pile of clothes on the bed. “Put those on. Leave the t-shirt off for a minute.”

Hutch quickly stepped into the briefs, socks and black pants. The pants had a multitude of zippers all over them. “These aren’t mine. Where did you get them?” They fit him like a glove. His tackle was bulging out of the snug crotch. The waist-band of the pants came halfway up his hips, finishing nowhere near his waist.

“I bought them ‘specially for you. If people are going to stare at my property, I want them to see exactly what belongs to me.” Starsky grinned.

“You expect me to go out in these?” Hutch sputtered. “They…they’re not decent. I can’t…” He gestured at the offending lump.

“You can, and you will. I said we would go to the exhibition, but I didn’t say the session was ending. Kneel down.” Starsky stepped forward when Hutch complied with the command. He unbuckled the collar slowly and set it ceremoniously on the chest of drawers next to the closet door.

Hutch remained on his knees, waiting for Starsky to release him from his slavery. What the hell did Starsky have in mind? The collar had been removed, that was the end.

“Stand up.” Starsky waited until Hutch was standing, then looked into his eyes. “I’m going to leave the ankle cuffs on. You are still under my control, and will do as I say at all times while we are outside this house. Do you understand?”

Hutch was slightly taken aback. They had never conducted a session in public before. “Starsk, I am not sure about this. What if someone notices?”

Starsky put his left index finger on Hutch’s lips. “Shush, babe. The only people who will know what you are wearing will be me and thee. I will be subtle, no one will realize what’s happening.”

Hutch laughed. Oh God, Starsky being subtle, that was a good one. “Okay,” he said apprehensively. His mind running on overtime, he irrationally imagined the sniggers from passers-by as they saw a six foot tall man being lead around the Municipal museum on a leash like a little puppy.

“Come on, daydreamer, put the t-shirt on. Time to go. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Starsky struggled into his sneakers and snagged his jacket from the hook on the back of the door. He left Hutch alone to finish getting dressed.

Pulling the t-shirt over his head, Hutch glanced quickly at the collar sitting proudly in the middle of the chest. Pulling open the closet door, he perused the selection of shoes and decided to wear his running shoes. Wincing at the pinch of the tight fabric when he sat down, he pushed his feet into the shoes and laced them up. Quickly peeking at himself in the full length mirror, he was horrified to see that the t-shirt wasn’t long enough to cover his crotch. It just skimmed the bottom side of the waistband. Shaking his head, he grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. With brave resolve, he walked slowly out of the house.

Hutch had expected Starsky to be sitting in the driver’s seat and revving the engine, waiting impatiently for him. But Starsky was standing by the passenger side with the door open.

“Get In. Careful, now,” he said, pushing down gently on Hutch’s head as he folded himself into the car.

Starsky slammed the car door and ran around the hood to the driver’s door. Gracefully, he lowered his butt onto the seat, tucked his legs under the steering wheel and closed the door.

Hutch watched every movement with lustful thoughts of the things he had done to that body, and the things he wanted to do.

Leaning over, Starsky kissed him full on the lips and smiled. He flicked his palm over Hutch’s groin, grinning as Hutch raised his hips to meet his touch. “It’s a good thing no one can see us here,” he said. “It was worth losing some of the yard to have our own private parking lot.” He brushed his hand over Hutch’s eyes. “Close ’em.”

“Huh, why?” Hutch asked, suspiciously. He shook his head, trying to move the hand away.

“‘Cause I said so. Close ’em, and don’t open them until I say you can.” Starsky lowered his hand, placing it on the bottom of the steering wheel.

Hutch looked into Starsky’s face and knew immediately that he was serious. “Okay,” he said, closing his eyes. This was turning into a weird trip. What was Starsky up to? He heard the engine start, and pull smoothly away, crunching up the dirt track to the road.

“We’re just going to stop somewhere on the way. Little surprise for you, babe,” Starsky said cheerfully.

Hutch hunkered down in his seat. He knew that they had turned toward the city. Mentally, he tried to plot their route. He calculated they had traveled about four miles before Starsky turned left. He took a right next, then another right. When Starsky turned left, and took another left, Hutch began to feel dizzy. The car went left once more, and after a second, yet another left. What? That made a full circle.

“I know what you’re doing.” Starsky’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Don’t. I’ll keep driving in circles if you insist on trying to figure out where we’re going.”

“How’d you know?” Hutch asked, feeling his face flush,. Only Starsky could make him blush for being curious.

“‘Cause I know you. And I can tell by the look on your face. Now stop it,” Starsky said firmly. “All you need to know is that we will end up at the Municipal museum before it closes.”

“Yes, Master,” Hutch answered obediently. He smiled. Never could get one over on Starsky. He settled his head on the seat back. Might as well have a nap. He’d had a restless night and a tiring morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday July 19, 1983 – 1:20 p.m.

“Hey, Hutch, we’re here, buddy. Keep those eyes closed,” Starsky said cheerfully, rousing Hutch from his slumber.

Hutch became aware of a weight on his arm. The car had stopped. He was tempted to open his eyes, but he had to wait until his Master said he could. “Where’s here?” he asked in the hope that he might actually get an answer.

“All will be revealed soon. I’m just going to put this on you,” Starsky informed him.

“Put wha…” Hutch’s question was halted by pressure on his eyes. “Blindfold!” Hutch was getting a little ticked off at whatever game Starsky was playing. “Where are we?”

“Shush,” Starsky soothed. “I want you to wear the blindfold for a few minutes. This is special, Hutch, real special.” He massaged Hutch’s groin until he purred. “There’s more of that to come later. Stay there, I’ll get you out.”

Hutch heard scurrying noises around the car.

“Swing your legs out of the car,” Starsky instructed.

Starsky gently pulled him up to his feet, placing his hand on Hutch’s crown as he guided Hutch out.

“I don’t think…” Hutch started.

Starsky cut him off mid sentence with a curt, “no, you don’t think. Not unless I tell you to, which I haven’t. Just walk.”

Hutch tentatively stepped forward, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, relying on Starsky to be his eyes. He stumbled, falling over his own feet.

“Careful, there’s a step here. Up you go.” Starsky’s strong hands pushed Hutch’s body up the stairs.

Hutch raised his foot to the next riser and was pushed forward again. What was that smell? It smelled like antiseptic or disinfectant.

Starsky stopped him, turning him ninety degrees. “Sit down.”

Hutch complied. He felt a thick pad under his backside. Someone, he assumed Starsky, grabbed his wrists and rested his forearms on metal slats. His right wrist was strapped to the metal. “What the hell?” He struggled to pull free.

Starsky stroked his face. “Shush, babe, it’s all part of the surprise.”

Hutch had had enough. Anger boiled up from the pit of his belly. Usually he loved Starsky’s games. He never failed to come up with some new way to dominate Hutch. And Hutch enjoyed every minute of the pleasure and the pain. But today, Starsky had been erratic in his domination. If Hutch wasn’t sure about something, they talked about it. Well, he had gone along with Starsky for too long. Wherever they were, it sure as hell wasn’t the museum. What was it with Starsky lately? Why didn’t he just say he really didn’t want to go to a stuffy exhibition?

“Buffalo,” bellowed Hutch. He ripped the blindfold off with his free hand, and blinked. The first person he saw was Sweet Alice, standing a few feet away from him.

“Hi there, Handsome Hutch,” she said warily.

Ignoring her, Hutch looked sideways at Starsky. “Get this off my wrist, and tell me just what the hell is going on,” he snarled, the latent anger he’d been nursing all morning rearing up with sudden ferocity.

Starsky quickly unbuckled the strap securing Hutch’s wrist to the chair. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Well?” Hutch demanded, staring at Starsky. “I expect an answer to my question, Starsk. And it had better be good.” Hutch wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep control of his temper. He was very close to punching Starsky.

Starsky swallowed. He looked like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. “I wanted to give you a present,” he mumbled.

Hutch glanced around the room. There were small bottles of colorful inks on a shelf and a display case full of small silver rings. “This looks like a tattoo shop or something. What kind of present were you going to give me? I am not getting a tattoo!”

“No.” Starsky stood up and held his hand out to Sweet Alice. She put something in his palm. “This,” he said, squatting down and pushing his hand under Hutch’s nose.

Hutch saw a gold ‘S’ in Starsky’s hand. “An earring? I can’t wear your initial in my ear. And why the blindfold, the secrecy? You could just have given it to me.” Hutch poked at the jewelry in his lover’s palm. Gritting his teeth, he could feel his face getting hotter as he tried to control his mounting rage.

“It’s not an earring. It’s a belly bar,” Starsky said hesitantly, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“You were going to have my belly button pierced without asking me!” Hutch said incredulously, going cold and hard. “You’ve gone too far this time, Starsk.” Hutch slapped the back of Starsky’s head. “There are limits. I let you do whatever you want to me, but defacing my body was never part of the agreement. Pain, yes. Pleasure, yes. And to a certain extent, marks that take a while to fade. I accepted all of them, but I never consented to body piercing.” He wagged his finger at Starsky. “Apart from that, you know it’s illegal to do piercings without completing the necessary forms.” Hutch glared at Sweet Alice.

“I know. Don’t blame Alice. I signed the forms in your name.” Starsky shuffled around the chair so that he was kneeling down between Hutch’s legs. “I told Alice you wanted it to be sort of a surprise.”

Hutch shook his head. “I ought to arrest you for forgery and false imprisonment.”

Starsky looked up at Hutch with the hurt puppy dog expression that always hit Hutch right in the gut. “I just wanted you to wear my mark when we were off duty,” he explained.

“What do you think the earring is for? I had my ear pierced because you wanted me to. You said you liked it,” growled Hutch.

“I do like it. I love it, but I wanted you to wear my initial. And as you just said, you can’t do that in your ear” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of jewelry. “I’ve got a matching stud you can wear at work.”

Hutch looked at the gold glinting in Starsky’s hand, and saw a belly stud that perfectly matched the earring nestling in his ear. “You should have asked me. A session is the wrong place to pull this kind of stunt.”

Starsky lowered his head onto Hutch’s knees. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I abused the power you gave me. Betrayed your trust. It won’t happen again.” He looked up at Hutch. “I just wanted to walk around that exhibition with you knowing that you are wearing my S on your belly. I know you’re angry, and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Surprises are meant to be nice, Starsky.” Hutch looked around. They were alone in the room. “Where did Sweet Alice go?”

“She snuck out a few minutes ago. I think you scared the poor girl. She’s never seen the ugly Handsome Hutch before.” Starsky smirked, and ducked as Hutch reached up to smack the back of his head again.

“So what happens now?” Hutch asked, running his fingers through Starsky’s hair.

Starsky pushed away from Hutch’s legs. “You used your safe word, session over. You can do whatever you want. You might as well go to your exhibition.”

Hutch grabbed Starsky’s arm and pulled him into him. He tilted Starsky’s chin upward, and kissed him full on the lips. “We need to talk first, buddy. What’s going on with you? I can’t seem to figure out what you are thinking any more.”

Starsky twisted his chin away from Hutch’s finger, and looked down at his feet. “What do you mean? Nothin’s going on with me.”

Hutch moved so that his butt rested on the edge of the chair, and Starsky was sitting between his thighs. “Look at me. Something’s wrong. You have been instigating sessions when we have made other plans.” He grabbed Starsky’s hair, gently pulling it backward to force Starsky to look at him. “And now this piercing business. We always plan things together, what’s changed that?”

Starsky tried to lower his head. “Ow. Hutch, let go of my hair, please.”

Hutch released his hold. This wasn’t like Starsky, he didn’t keep secrets. Hutch had always been able to read him like an open book. He shook his head and sighed.

Starsky immediately jumped up, pacing up and down in front of Hutch. “I start a session so we don’t have to leave the house. I don’t want you to go out unless we’re working.”

Hutch stared at him. “Why don’t you want me to go outside, Starsky?” What the hell was going on in Starsky’s head? “Stop pacing and tell me what you are thinking. I don’t understand.”

Starsky walked over to a table and stood with his back to Hutch. “I get jealous.” He started fiddling with something that Hutch couldn’t see. “Everybody stares at you. You’re beautiful, Hutch, and I’m scared that one day you’ll change your mind about us.”

Hutch stood up, and walked over to his buddy. Standing behind him, Hutch folded his arms around Starsky’s waist. “That’s just silly.”

Starsky pulled away. “Oh, thanks, partner. It’s nice to know that you think my feelings are silly,” he spat, flinging his arms in the air.

Hutch grasped Starsky in a bear hug, pining his arms by his sides. “Hey, babe,” he said in a soothing voice, “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course your feelings aren’t silly. That came out wrong.” Hutch gently nuzzled the left side of Starsky’s neck, kissing the soft skin lightly. “You are beautiful, too, buddy. And I will never change my mind about us. I love you.”

“I love you so much that it hurts,” Starsky said, leaning his head against Hutch’s shoulder. “I keep thinking that one day soon, it’s all going to come crashing down on my head. You’ll leave, and…and…I don’t know what I’ll do…”

Hutch hadn’t realized that Starsky was so insecure about their relationship. Why hadn’t he questioned Starsky’s actions earlier? Had he really listened to a word that Starsky had said during their last few sessions? He’d thought he was being a good slave by not challenging his Master’s behavior. This was as much his fault as Starsky’s.

“Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, “I’m sorry. Let’s get out of here.”

“Hey, not so fast.” Hutch rubbed Starsky’s back. “I still don’t fully understand how we ended up here.” Hutch pushed Starsky away from him so that he could look him in the eyes, “Have I done something to make you doubt my commitment to us?”

Starsky looked upset. “It’s…just…” He pulled away from Hutch, sitting on the chair Hutch had vacated. Starsky leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

Hutch squatted down in front of Starsky. “It’s just what?” he asked softly. “Talk to me.” He stroked Starsky’s forearms with his fingertips.

“I saw you, heard you,” Starsky said, clenching his jaw as he spoke. “I know,” he said angrily, pushing Hutch away.

Hutch landed on his butt. “What, why? God, you are not making any sense at all.” He stood up, rubbing his ass. “You know what? Tell me, partner. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Jessica.” Starsky wrinkled his nose like he smelled a bad odor.

“Jessica? I know a couple of Jessicas.” He walked over and sat on the work bench opposite Starsky. “You are going to have to give me more information here.”

Starsky sighed. “Don’t play the innocent with me, Hutch. It don’t work.” He looked at Hutch, pain etched on his face. “The new recruit in Records. You’ve been flirting with her since she joined the precinct. And I heard you and her making a date for today. At the museum, in fact. 10 a.m., I believe you said.”

Hutch stood up. “Jeez.” He had planned to grab Starsky, hug him, and tell him not to be such an idiot. But something in Starsky’s expression froze him in place. “I thought we agreed to behave the same as always in public. You flirt all the time.”

“With Minnie, yeah.” Starsky’s eyes blazed. “But not with every female who crosses my path. And I don’t make dates with them.”

“I didn’t…” Hutch cast his mind back to Monday, the last time he had spoken to Jessica. “Oh.” He laughed. “You got it wrong, buddy. You only heard half the conversation.” He walked toward Starsky. “She said that she wanted to see the exhibition, but didn’t want to go on her own.” Hutch stood in front of Starsky, his hands resting on his partner’s tense shoulders. “I said that we were going to see the exhibition, and she asked if she could tag along. I told her we were going to the museum around 10 a.m. on Thursday, and I would see her there if she could make it.”

“Oh, God. I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry, Hutch.” Starsky leaned his head against the back of the chair. “I wanted her to think you’d stood her up. That’s why I planned a session for this morning.” Starsky slammed his palm against the arm of the metal chair.

Hutch’s anger dissipated slightly. “Hey, don’t worry. She left a message with Minnie saying that she couldn’t make it on Thursday. No harm done.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Starsky stood up and wrapped his arms around Hutch. “I just can’t help wanting you all to myself.” Squeezing hard, he said, “you’re turning me into a possessive jerk.”

Hutch struggled out of Starsky’s tight grip. “And you thought that if I wore your initial in my belly, it would make you feel better?”

“Now you put it like that, it sounds really pathetic.” Starsky grinned sheepishly. “See what you do to me? I can’t think logically.”

Hutch smirked. “And that’s a new thing?” He looked around the room. “What exactly is this place?”

“It’s a tattoo and piercing parlor. Alice worked here for a while doing piercings. The brothel was upstairs.” Starsky laughed. “There’s a lot of money to be made from sex, you know. Far more than a cop makes. The property’s owned by Dominique. You remember? I told you about her earlier.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Hutch smiled at the memory of the beautiful ribbon bondage that Starsky had done on him that morning. “Where do you think Sweet Alice went?” He frowned when he thought about how rude he had been earlier. He had been too angry with Starsky to be nice to anyone.

“Upstairs, I think.” Starsky pointed to a door in the corner. “She and Dominique live in the rooms above. There are two rooms out back for their business, and they rent out this shop area to a tattoo artist.”

Hutch looked over to where Starsky was pointing. “Go and see if she’s up there, and ask her to come down. I want to apologize for my bad behavior.” Hutch cringed at the way he had treated Sweet Alice in his rage.

Starsky stood up. “Uh, Hutch. She doesn’t like being called Sweet Alice any more. It’s just plain Alice.” He gently stroked Hutch’s cheek, mouthing ‘I love you.’ Turning his back on Hutch, he walked over to the door.

“Love you, too,” Hutch whispered, as Starsky disappeared from view.

Hutch saw something glinting on the floor by the chair leg. Bending down, he picked it up. It was the belly bar. He traced the shape with his finger. S for Starsky. His Starsky.

Just thinking about his lover twisted his gut. He realized that he was fondling the bulge in his pants. Quickly moving his hand away from his groin, he looked around with a flush of guilt, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he was alone. How long had he been standing there with the piece of jewelry in one hand, and touching himself with the other? Starsky wasn’t the only one in this love affair who was behaving out of character.

He twirled the bar in his fingers. Examining it closer, he saw how exquisite the workmanship was. Had Starsky been planning this for a long time? Seeing Hutch with Jessica must have been the catalyst that pushed Starsky over the edge. Or had he been feeling like this for a while?

Whatever the reason, Hutch hated that Starsky was feeling unhappy in their relationship. Since making the commitment to Starsky, he hadn’t even thought about women in a sexual way. Yes, he flirted with them, just like he always had.

So did Starsky. No, wrong. Starsky only flirted with Minnie these days. Why hadn’t he noticed that Starsky no longer showed much attention to the fairer sex? Minnie was safe. She and Starsky were never destined to be more than good friends.

“Oh, Starsky. Why did you keep something this important to yourself?” He shook his head, and sat down in the chair. He wrapped his hand around the S bar and closed his eyes, trying to decide what to do next. He had a strong urge to reaffirm his commitment to Starsky, even though he wasn’t the one in the wrong. He hated uneasiness between them. He made a decision that shocked him.

A noise coming from the other side of the room startled Hutch.

“Hutch, you falling asleep in that chair?” joked Starsky, leaning over Hutch’s shoulder. “Got someone to see you.”

Hutch turned around in the seat.

Sweet Alice was standing quietly behind Starsky. She half smiled, as if she was unsure of how Hutch would react.

Hutch stood up, and walked over to her. Reaching for her hand, he smiled. “Hi, Sw… I mean…Alice.”

She looked at him coyly. “You can still call me Sweet Alice, because I’m not going to stop calling you Handsome Hutch. Starsky may have stolen your heart, but you’ll always be my Handsome Hutch.”

“B-but,” sputtered Starsky. “You told me that Sweet Alice was a thing of the past.”

Before Sweet Alice had a chance to answer, Hutch said, “Shut up, Starsk. The adults are talking.” He smirked at his partner. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Sweet Alice.” Hutch took her hand and kissed the back. “Please forgive my rudeness earlier. I didn’t mean to ignore you, or to upset you. I was angry with the buffoon here.” He nodded his head toward Starsky. “None of this was your fault.”

Alice simpered, melting under Hutch’s gaze. “Apology accepted.”

Hutch sat down again. He couldn’t quite believe what he was going to do next. “Now where were we?” He opened his hand. “I believe you were going to do something with this little ornament.” He glanced first at Sweet Alice, and then at Starsky, dropping the jewelry into Starsky’s hand.

Starsky looked confused. “Seriously?” he asked incredulously. “You’re gonna have your belly button pierced?”

Hutch peered up at Starsky. “I must be nuts. But seeing that it means so much to you, I’ll give it a try. I can always take it out if I don’t like it.”

Walking around the front of the chair, Starsky took Hutch’s face in his hands. Tilting Hutch’s head upward, Starsky french kissed him. “Thank you,” he said humbly.

The stupid Cheshire cat grin on Starsky’s face hit Hutch right in the groin. It was worth a little pain to see the old Starsky. He hadn’t seen Starsky this happy for weeks. Why hadn’t he noticed what was happening right under his nose? “Okay, do this before I change my mind.”

Sweet Alice walked over to a metal cabinet. Opening the top drawer, she took out a piece of paper. Turning to Hutch, she said, “You need to sign the agreement.” Glancing over at Starsky, she added, “seeing that it wasn’t your signature on the first one.”

Hutch took the paper and pen. With a flourish, he signed the document required by law. “All legal,” he said, handing it back to Sweet Alice, and raising his eyebrows at Starsky.

Starsky blushed, and moved to the side of the chair. Bending over, he fingered the hem of Hutch’s t-shirt. Hutch tensed under Starsky’s touch. “Relax, Hutch,” Starsky said softly in his ear. “I’m just going to lift up your t-shirt. I want a look at that sexy belly of yours.”

Hutch shivered when the cool air hit his exposed skin. He watched Sweet Alice walk over to the counter a few feet in front of him. He licked his lips nervously, following her every movement with his eyes. He had a fluttery feeling deep down in his belly. If she didn’t hurry up, the old Hutchinson sense switch would flick back on and he would change his mind.

Sweet Alice snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up the piercing needle. She squatted down in front of Hutch. Pinching the skin above his belly button, she cleaned the area and pierced a hole.

Hutch jumped. “Oww. Shit, that hurt,” he exclaimed when sharp pain ripped through his belly. His eyes watered.

Alice carefully inserted the bar through the newly punctured skin.

Hutch breathed deeply, closing his eyes and concentrating on breathing in and out slowly. He gritted his teeth as she put the bar in place.

“I tried to be as gentle as possible for Handsome Hutch.” She lowered her eyes and looked at Hutch’s exposed midriff.

Hutch followed her gaze, taking in the raised t-shirt, his tanned torso and the gold ‘S’ above his belly button. Well, Sweet Alice finally got her hands on Handsome Hutch’s bare skin. He snickered at the thought.

Starsky knelt down beside Hutch. “You okay, buddy?” Starsky inspected the new piercing. “Looks perfect.”

Hutch nodded, unable to stop staring at his navel. He watched Starsky’s finger circling his abdomen, thankfully not too close to the new adornment on his belly.

Sweet Alice touched Hutch’s shoulder. “Don’t get straight up. Take all the time you need. Starsky knows how to care for the piercing until it’s healed. See you boys later.” She walked to the door. “I’ll come down and lock up when you’ve gone.”

“Bye, Sweet Alice,” said Hutch, leaning his head against the back of the chair. He suddenly felt a little lightheaded now that the piercing was done and he could relax a little.

“See you later, Alice.” Starsky ran over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And thank you for everything,”

She giggled, and closed the door behind her.

Hutch stood up, pulling his t-shirt carefully down to his hips. He turned to Starsky. “Don’t you dare assume that I will allow further piercings. This is it, Starsky. No more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, perfectly,” said Starsky contritely. “Won’t happen again. Now let’s go. Next stop, Municipal museum.” Starsky grasped Hutch’s right hand and towed him to the exit. “Race you to the car. Last one there buys the tickets, and dinner.”

With much pushing and laughter, Hutch managed to stagger out of the doorway first. He reached the Torino ahead of Starsky, thankful for his longer legs. “I win, you pay,” he gloated when Starsky finally caught up with him.

Starsky said, “I was going to anyway. You ain’t got any money.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I have,” Hutch took his wallet out of his back pocket and waved it in Starsky’s face.

“Check inside.” Starsky looked down at the ground, and shuffled his feet.

Hutch opened his wallet to find it bereft of both cash and credit cards. “What the…? I’ve been robbed. Where’s all my cards, my money?” He looked from the empty wallet to Starsky.

“In your bedside drawer. I…ahh…I’ll explain it to you later.” Starsky mumbled and climbed into the drivers seat. “Are you coming or not?”

Hutch got into the car and closed the door. He wasn’t even going to ask. Today had been difficult enough. He didn’t want to start another argument with Starsky right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday, July 19, 1983 – 2:25 p.m. – The museum

Hutch stood to one side of the ticket booth, waiting for Starsky to pay.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you?” the cashier asked.

Starsky dug his hand in his back pocket. “Two tickets for the exhibition that’s ending today.” He took a bill out of his wallet.

“Certainly, sir.” The cashier handed two tickets to Starsky. “That’s seventeen dollars and fifty cents, please.”

Starsky blanched, and looked at the ten in his hand. “How much?” he asked, his voice rising an octave. He took another bill out of his wallet and handed both to the cashier.

Hutch laughed. “Hey, Starsk. Don’t forget to buy an exhibit guide.”

The cashier heard Hutch. Without waiting to be asked, he picked up a brochure from a nearby stack and handed it to Starsky. “The guide’s five dollars, so I’m going to need another two dollars fifty, please.”

Starsky looked at Hutch, his mouth opening and closing silently. Pushing his hand into his front pocket, he pulled out a handful of change, counting out the required amount.

Hutch held up both hands, and turned around, grinning. “Don’t look at me, buddy. I haven’t got any money, remember?” He patted his pants pockets, and made a big gesture of opening his empty wallet. Payback was sweet!

Two attractive women–one blond, one red head–looked Hutch appreciatively up and down, smiling as he pirouetted.

Hutch grinned back at them. Then he remembered how tight his pants were and looked away. He could feel the color creeping over his face at the scrutiny of his bulging pants. Damn. Why hadn’t he gone home and changed first? He’d forgotten that he was wearing the clothes Starsky had chosen.

Starsky tucked the tickets in his jacket pocket, snatched the guide off the cashier and walked over to Hutch. Glaring at the women who were openly undressing Hutch, Starsky propelled Hutch toward the entrance of the exhibition. “See what I mean about everybody wanting you,” he hissed in Hutch’s ear.

Hutch jerked his arm away from Starsky’s grasp. “Starsky, just stop it. You picked out my clothes, remember? It doesn’t matter who looks at me. I want only you,” he whispered, putting a hand on Starsky’s arm. “Let’s just enjoy the exhibition. I have been waiting so long to see these paintings.”

“Your exhibition just cost me twenty two dollars and fifty cents. Daylight robbery. They ought to be arrested.” Starsky glared at the cashier in the ticket booth.

“Well, I would have paid if I had any money.” Hutch took the guide book. “Now let’s see where we start.” He sat on a nearby bench and studied the information. “It says here that they have a painting from each period of Van Gogh’s creative life.” He tugged at Starsky’s jacket sleeve. “Come on. The first one is just inside the door, on the right.” He walked eagerly toward the ‘Impressionists Suite’.

Starsky stood up slowly and followed Hutch, still mumbling about how much it had cost him.

Hutch stopped in front of the first canvas, and consulted the guide. “Look at this, Starsky. This painting is called Scheveningen Beach in Stormy Weather. This was one of his early works, painted in August 1882.” He stepped back from the painting reverently, drinking in the artistry. It was incredible to make out the individual brush strokes, knowing Van Gogh had painted this nearly 100 years ago. “Just look at the depth, the anger in the sky color, and the poor little boat being savaged by the relentless waves.” He looked at Starsky. “See the women waiting on the beach for their men to land safely?” He sighed. “Beautiful, just beautiful.”

Starsky glanced at the picture in front of him. “Yeah. It’s okay, I suppose,” he agreed sullenly.

Hutch frowned. He wasn’t going to let Starsky ruin this visit. He would rise above Starsky’s sulking. “Okay, let’s see if you like the next one any better.” He walked the few steps to the second work of art, stopping suddenly.

Starsky walked into Hutch. “What’d you stop for?”

“Next painting.” A pair of haunting eyes stared back at him. Still focused on the work of art, Hutch shuddered. Something about the picture made him feel very uncomfortable, but he couldn’t fathom out what it was. “Now what do you think of this one?”

Starsky studied it for a while, tilting his head first to one shoulder and then the other. “Ugly guys, aren’t they?”

Hutch nodded. “With you there, buddy.” He turned the page, reading the narrative to Starsky. “The guide says, “The style of The Potato Eaters painting is most unconventional. In his desire to create “a true peasant picture” Van Gogh eschewed sentimentality, emphasizing instead the coarseness of the peasants’ features as a way to suggest the harsh reality of their life.”

Starsky made a face. “Glad I ain’t got their life.” He shivered. “Let’s move on. There’s something weird about their faces.”

Hutch waited a moment for a short, bearded man in front of him to move, then shuffled a few feet to his left. “Oh, I think you will like this one, Starsky.”

Starsky’s face lit up. “Will I? Is it a nude?”

“You could say that. There’s definitely no clothes on the subject,” Hutch teased. He was finding it hard not to laugh out loud at Starsky’s reaction to the promised nudity.

Starsky fell over his feet in his haste to see what Hutch was talking about. “Oh, very funny. And what’s this turkey called?”

Hutch consulted the guide for a third time. “This is from what they call his Holland to Paris time. The painting is titled Skull Of A Skeleton With Burning Cigarette, painted in the winter of 1885-86.”

“That’s original. He really thought about the names of his pictures.” Starsky circled around Hutch, examining the painting from different angles. “You know, I like this one. He’s got character.”

Hutch smirked. “You would.” He turned around and noticed a mature couple watching them. The man looked toward Hutch, said something to the woman, and they both laughed. What were they laughing at? Was it his and Starsky’s banter? Then a thought popped into his head–his clothes.

They were probably laughing at the aging guy, with his thinning hair tussled like a teenager, and wearing clothes so tight that they were almost cutting off the circulation. This visit had been a bad idea. He looked to his side, and saw that Starsky had already moved onto the next frame.

Starsky waved over at him. “Hey, come and look at this one. It’s the man himself.”

Hutch glanced over at Starsky. He was studying the painting intently. Hutch looked over at the couple who were still staring at him, then back at Starsky. Starsky seemed to be taking an interest in the exhibition at last. To hell with what people thought. Today was about him and Starsky.

Making a rash decision, he shouted “Coming, lover,” deliberately focusing on the couple as he said the words. Hutch stood up straight, and pushed his hips forward in blatant defiance of their disapproving glares.

Starsky peered at Hutch when he walked up beside him. “Did you just say what I thought you said?” he asked, a shocked expression on his face.

“Yep.” Hutch was surprised that he had just publicly declared Starsky as his lover. Fortunately, the only other patron, the bearded man, had left the room, and Hutch hadn’t recognized the couple. “Now, how do you know this is the man himself?” Hutch glanced quickly at a rendering of a bearded man with a rough bandage over one ear.

Starsky pointed at the wall. “‘Cause the tag says Self Portrait Of An Artist. Doesn’t take a genius to work it out.” Starsky side stepped to the next painting. “Now, I like this one.”

Hutch flicked the pages of the guide. “Ah, yes. The Seine With The Pont De La Grande Jatte. That’s from his Paris period. Summer…”

“1887,” finished Starsky. “I can read the tags. You don’t have to read out every single bit of information in that thing. I can read it later. Let’s just look at the paintings.” Starsky looked around the room, and finding it empty, he caressed Hutch’s face for a few moments. “I wish we were at home. I just want to ravish your delicious ass,” he whispered seductively in Hutch’s ear.

Starsky touching him, and the warmth of his breath on his neck, turned Hutch on. He felt his pants get far too tight as his cock responded to Starsky’s closeness. He leaned into the delicate touch. “Let’s go home now, Starsk.” Hutch turned to walk toward the door.

“Hey, not so fast, Blintz.” Starsky grabbed the collar of Hutch’s t-shirt. “We haven’t finished yet. We’ve still got…” He plucked the guide from Hutch’s hand and scanned the remaining pages. “five left to look at. You were the one who wanted to come here.”

Damn. Hutch hated it when his protestations came back and hit him in the face. “Okay. Next painting. The Courtesan, 1887.” He waited for Starsky to have a quick look, then went onto the next one. “Field With Flowers near Arles, 1888.” He grabbed Starsky’s arm and hurried him on. “The Yellow House, also 1888.” Rapidly moving to the next work of art, “Pieta, 1889.”

“Hutch, slow down.” Starsky sat on the bench nearest to The Yellow House painting. “What’s the rush?”

“Don’t want you to get too bored, buddy,” lied Hutch. The room had suddenly filled up and there were too many people around for him to tell Starsky the truth. “The last painting is called Wheatfield With Crows, 1890.”

Hutch had been bugging Starsky for ages to come here, and now all he wanted to do was go home. He was more interested in the art of Starsky’s body than in Van Gogh. He snickered. No woman had ever turned him off his cultural interests. What was it about Starsky that made him so wanton?

Starsky stood up, clutching his stomach. “How about Huggy’s next? I could eat the menu and then some, I’m so hungry.”

“How about a hotdog from the stand outside, and me for dessert,” Hutch said in the sexiest tone he could manage. He turned, striding away from Starsky, very aware that his partner wouldn’t be able to resist that invitation.

Starsky scurried after him. “Wait for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday, July 19, 1983 – 4:50 p.m.

“Still don’t really see the fascination. Van Goch, what sort of name is that?” Starsky said, unlocking their front door.

“it’s Van Gogh, Starsky,” Hutch corrected. “Admit it, you found the paintings interesting.”

“Whatever. Give me photography any day.” Starsky shrugged out of his jacket and spun around as Hutch kicked the door closed behind him.

Hutch found himself pinned up against the wood, Starsky’s weight holding him firmly in place. He winced as the pressure disturbed the raw piercing.

Starsky ground his body hard into Hutch’s. “What you said in the museum turned me on so much.”

Hutch gasped. He could barely breathe, and the belly bar was ripping his skin, or that’s what it felt like. But, as usual when Starsky took the lead in their relationship, Hutch felt the familiar stirrings of passion and submission rising deep inside him. He bit his lip in the hope of transferring his focus from the burning emanating from his belly button.

Starsky nuzzled Hutch’s neck. Releasing his hold, he ordered, “get naked, lover.” Hutch’s response was silenced with a kiss. Disappearing into the bedroom, Starsky left Hutch alone to obey his order.

It was a command that Hutch was only too happy to follow. With a sigh of relief, he peeled off the tight pants, t-shirt, and the skimpy briefs. A quick glance at the labels confirmed what he had suspected, the clothes were a size smaller than he usually wore. No wonder they were uncomfortable. Hutch liked his clothing loose fitting. Starsky was always nagging him to buy clothes that hugged his body.

Totally naked, except for the ankle cuffs, he waited for Starsky to return to the living room. Fingering the ‘S’ stud, he twisted the bar, assuming that a belly piercing was maintained the same as a pierced ear. He winced at the tenderness of the hole. He had to remember to ask Starsky what Sweet Alice told him about caring for a belly piercing. The skin around it was still pink, but the pain wasn’t bad.

“Hutch.”

Starsky’s single word distracted him from his twisting. He looked up to see Starsky standing in front of him, holding the collar and wrist cuffs. “Starsk?” They had discussed the consequence of Starsky’s actions further in the car on the way from the museum, and Hutch had agreed that he wanted their sessions to continue.

Starsky’s expression softened. “Only if you want to. I know I have no right to demand your submission after my behavior.” He bowed his head. “I just thought that we should get straight back on the horse, as they say.”

Hutch didn’t answer, he just knelt down in front of Starsky and nodded. He allowed Starsky to collar and cuff him again.

“Thank you,” Starsky said, his voice cracking with emotion. He twirled a lock of Hutch’s hair around one finger. “I promise never to abuse my power again, elsker.”

“I know you won’t.” Ever since Hutch had told Starsky that elsker was Norwegian for love, he had used the word when he felt Hutch was unhappy with him. “I trust you with my life. All I ask is that we talk about whatever is troubling us, and never start a session with a dark heart.”

“Agreed.” Starsky pulled Hutch up to a stand. “Next time I get jealous or insecure, I’ll tell you.”

Standing behind Hutch, Starsky pulled Hutch’s hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists together. Gently pushing him forward, Starsky steered him toward the big greenhouse that spanned the back of their property.

Starsky had had it built for Hutch before they even moved in. It was his Christmas present that year. Starsky had said that he didn’t want Hutch to lose any of his beloved plants, and the house was too small to take the jungle from his Venice Place apartment. No matter how much Starsky protested, Hutch knew that he had done it out of love, nothing more.

“Stand there, babe,” Starsky said when they reached the middle of the greenhouse. Starsky hugged Hutch, tweaking his right nipple. “I want you, buddy, right here, right now.” Starsky knelt down in front of Hutch. Holding his hips firmly in place, Starsky licked the end of Hutch’s cock, his tongue darting expertly around the swollen head, teasing the slit with the tip.

Hutch stood, feet slightly apart for balance. He groaned as his whole length was engulfed by Starsky’s mouth. Oh. God. The ecstasy built as Starsky sucked and nibbled Hutch’s throbbing member. Hutch threw his head back, arching his body, pushing his penis further into Starsky’s mouth, giving way to wanton abandon. Yes, yes, yes. Good, so good. He was on the verge of coming when Starsky stopped. Nooo, don’t stop.

Turning him around to face the day bed in the corner, Starsky said, “Kneel down, babe.”

Hutch complied gratefully. He wasn’t sure that he could have remained standing much longer. His legs felt too weak to hold his weight. He was half way between heaven and earth, floating on a soft cloud of ecstasy.

“Bend over, rest your chest on the cushions,” Starsky ordered softly. The brash persona of earlier had disappeared.

Hutch bent forward and winced, the movement jarring the sore pierced skin. His butt cheeks parted, and he tensed at the burn of Starsky’s erection assaulting his sphincter.

“Relax, elsker. Du bety så mye for meg. Jeg lengter etter deg,” Starsky cooed, when Hutch’s muscles tightened around his hardness. He massaged Hutch’s ass as he spoke.

“Huh.” Starsky’s words confused Hutch enough to distract him, causing him to ease his grip on Starsky’s cock.

Starsky pushed his hard rod quickly into Hutch’s anus, thrusting in and out with short, quick movements.

The force nudged Hutch’s torso further up the bed, and the belly bar caught on the covers. Hutch grunted at the tug on his belly.

Starsky gripped Hutch’s pulsating fullness and pumped in time with his own gyrations.

Pressure built inside Hutch’s body and head. Everything else was forgotten. He floated away from the solid tiles beneath his knees and onto a carpet of white blossoms. A weightless mass of happiness. His soul playing the music of a thousand harps. Hutch’s orgasm exploded at the same time as he felt Starsky’s. His scream harmonized with his Master’s. He lay, still and spent, slowly becoming aware of a weight pressing his cuffed arms into his back, and a sharp pain in his stomach.

“Starsk, buddy. You’re going to have to move,” he croaked. “My stomach’s really painful.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Starsky put his hands either side of Hutch’s ribs, and pushed himself up.

Hutch breathed deeply, trying to alleviate his light headedness. He wasn’t sure if that was the effect of his orgasm, or the lack of oxygen getting to his brain.

Starsky quickly unfastened Hutch’s wrists, and turned him over. “Oh, shit. Hutch,” Starsky exclaimed, looking at Hutch’s midriff. “You’re bleeding. That damned piercing. I forgot all about it in my passion.” Starsky looked as if he was about to cry.

Hutch shuffled upwards, so that he was lying on the day bed. “It got caught on the covers,” Hutch said, still feeling a little dazed. He hadn’t quite made it back to earth yet.

“Stay there, I’ll get something to clean you up.” Starsky walked over to the small sink next to the bench. Grabbing a cloth, he wet it and rushed back to Hutch’s side. Very gently, he dabbed at the swollen skin around Hutch’s belly button. “Doesn’t look like it’s ripped the skin, just made the hole bleed. Let’s get the damn thing out.” He held both ends of the bar and started to unscrew the ball at the bottom.

“Starsk, stop,” whispered Hutch. “Leave it.” He clutched Starsky’s wrists to stop him pulling at the bar.

“Am I hurting you? I didn’t mean to.” Starsky held his hands up in surrender. “You take it out.” He was obviously distressed that he’d caused Hutch pain. “It was a stupid idea. What was I thinking?” He frowned, biting down on his lower lip.

Hutch pulled Starsky toward him. “No, I mean, leave it in. I’m sorta getting used to it.” He kissed Starsky gently on the forehead. “It turned me on, too. In the museum, knowing that you were on my belly. Even if no one else can see it, we both know it’s there.”

“Hey!” Starsky beamed. “That’s terrific!” He kissed Hutch enthusiastically.

“You were right, it is special,” Hutch said, looking down at the gold bar skewering his flesh. He felt oddly proud of the decoration. He actually liked the look of the gold S against his flesh. “I’ll just have to be careful when I shower at the precinct and the gym. The guys ribbed me enough about the earring. Took a while to convince them that I was going through my midlife crisis. This one will be harder to explain. I suppose I could say I did it for a woman.”

Starsky pushed up and sat on Hutch’s thighs. “I’ve got the stud in my pocket. Do you want me to change them over?”

Hutch shook his head. “Not yet. I think I should leave it to heal before I change bars.”

Starsky screwed his face up in concentration. “Yeah, I think I remember Alice saying something about not messing around with the piercing too much, except to clean it. She wrote the care instructions down for you. I left the paper in the car.”

“Tomorrow shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Dobey wants us to go through some cold cases. We are going to be office bound all day.” Hutch grinned. There was something very erotic about the thought of wearing Starsky’s initial in the presence of his colleagues. Shoot me now, I’m turning in to as much of an exhibitionist as Starsky is.

Starsky’s face lit up. “Seriously? You wanna wear the S until it heals?”

“Yep, as long as it takes, elsker.” Hutch laughed as Starsky victory lapped around the room. “By the way, what did that mean earlier? Those words, you said.”

“You are not the only one who knows some Norwegian, professor. I said, ‘Relax, love. You mean so much to me. I long for you’.” Starsky shot a triumphant look at Hutch.

Hutch couldn’t have loved Starsky more at that moment. “Where did you learn Norwegian?”

“Dominique. She had a regular client who used to come over from Norway on business four times a year. She’s got a notebook full of phrases in different languages. And I’m working my way through it.” Starsky turned his back to Hutch, and walked toward the living room. “I’m going for a shower.”

“Um, Starsky. Have you forgotten something?” Hutch prompted, balancing on his butt and wiggling his arms and legs in the air.

Starsky looked back over his shoulder at Hutch. “Oh, yes, so I have. You want to join me?”