Story #10: Precious Things

The old lady pushed the shopping cart along the sidewalk, the wheels groaning and squeaking stiffly under loads of clothing and an odd assortment of junk. Starsky idly took a look at the contents as he approached and identified a yellow lamp shaped like a duck, a bunch of cookie tins, corroded and stacked together, a broken guitar, and a ping-pong paddle, cracked and weathered, lacking its mate. He wondered what possible impulse had prompted her to collect such garbage. Just as he was passing, out of the corner of his eye he caught an unexpected object propped up on the pile:  a large, pale yellow teddy bear.

The rusted old cart had passed him before the image registered and recognition hit. He spun quickly and backtracked, jogging up beside the cart. Casually, he turned his head to confirm what he had seen.

It looked like Ollie, but somehow different. This bear was more soiled and threadbare than Terry's beloved stuffed animal. And yet...it had the same comically bent left ear and a worn spot on his chest, just like Ollie had.

Suddenly, Starsky realized the cart had come to a stop, and he along with it, still staring. Embarrassed, he looked up at the old woman's face. She smiled vaguely at him with a gap-toothed grin. Her watery eyes were the thin blue of a cloudy summer morning.

"Did you lose something, sonny boy?" she asked in a quavering voice.

"Me, ma'am?" Starsky said politely. His eyes dropped back to the bear in the basket. It looked so much like Ollie. A picture flashed in his mind's eye of Terry standing by the window hugging the bear fiercely to her chest, her chin dropping against the blond fur, and a small, square bandage marring her forehead.

"No," Starsky said, pulling himself out of the memory to answer the expectant silence, "I don't think so."

"Are you sure?" the woman pressed. "I have so many things here. Precious things, lost items looking for their owners."

There was something in her voice, something papery like dried snake skins slithering against each other. It filled Starsky with a sudden unease, and he shook his head violently.

"Then you don't want it?" she asked. "You are relinquishing your claim?"

Okay, this is getting weird, Starsky thought, and shook his head again, turning away from the strange gaze. He hurried off, still feeling her eyes upon him until at last he turned the corner.

He was halfway down the block when he realized he had never heard the squeak/rattle of the shopping cart continuing on its way.

ooOoo

Starsky succeeded in pushing the eerie incident from his mind while he ran his Sunday errands. It was unusually hot for mid-February, and Bay City was enjoying its first Smog Alert of the year. His eyes were red and his chest ached by the time he arrived at Venice Place.

Hutch had invited him to dinner; not an unusual event, but there had been something weird in Hutch's voice when he called Starsky this morning to ask him over.

"So do you have something planned for tonight?"

"Nope. What you got in mind?" Starsky asked, still playing with the idea of tracking down his current on-again, off-again squeeze, Tilly. Tilly was British and good for an occasional 'romp' as she liked to call it.

"Dinner, at my place. Nothing special," Hutch had replied, his voice oddly hesitant.

Starsky sighed and watched Tilly disappear in a puff of smoke.

"Okay, Blondie, you're on."

Starsky pushed open the apartment door after a brief knock. The place smelled like a symphony of meat and spices with garlic as the grace note. Smells like heaven. Hutch had gone all out. Starsky wondered, again, what was up with his unpredictable partner.

"Blintz, you'd better have a cold one ready for me," Starsky said as he walked in. Even his throat was tight and sore, and taking a deep breath felt like padded knives digging into his lungs.

"Got it right here for you, buddy." Hutch walked over and handed him a beer and a bottle opener. "Dinner's about two minutes away."

Starsky sagged down on the couch with his beer and watched Hutch as he moved around the kitchen area.

"Hutch, you're a good pal." Starsky wanted to ask what the occasion was, but he knew Hutch would tell him in his own good time. Instead, he leaned back and took a sip of his beer, feeling the coldness ease the smog-ache in his chest. "Bad smog today."

"Bad, yeah," Hutch threw over his shoulder as he stirred something on the stove, "but it will make for a fantastic sunset. Let's see if we can catch it after dinner." He started setting things on the table, and Starsky hoisted himself up from the couch to help out.

There was a leg of lamb roasted with garlic and rosemary, and a side dish of some sort of cold cucumber salad in a yogurt sauce. And yellow rice that looked like it had at least a cube of butter in it. Starsky's eye glanced over and ignored the healthy plate of steamed dandelion greens to settle on the roasted potatoes, crisp and oily and sprinkled with oregano.

"Wow," Starsky said, inhaling the smells. "This is something else, Hutch." He put a question in his voice, and lifted his eyes reluctantly from the feast to find Hutch looking at him with an odd expression.

"Well, dig in, partner," was all he said, and Starsky dismissed his curiosity in favor of sitting down and heaping the good food onto his plate.

The next half-hour was devoted to single-minded munchings and groanings, interrupted by occasional sips from the glasses of the good red wine Hutch poured generously. Starsky didn't usually go for wine, but he was enjoying it tonight, in combination with the bite of the garlic and the slight sourness of the yogurt salad. Finally, he sat back, his belly pushing insistently at his wide leather belt. He surreptitiously eased it out a notch, and caught Hutch's observant smile.

"That was terrific. I think I busted something loose trying to fit it all in."

"I'm sure we'll work it off tomorrow. Dobey's got us on double shifts for the rest of the week," Hutch reminded him.

"Crap." Starsky had forgotten all about that. "How come we're always the first ones he tags for double duty?" he groused.

Hutch looked amused. "You have to ask?  'Cause we're the best, buddy. You know that."

"Yeah." They shared a look of satisfaction. "I guess it means I should lay off of this stuff, though," Starsky said, pushing his glass away. "Got any root beer?"

Hutch wrinkled his nose, obviously offended at the thought of following the fine wine with a root beer chaser, but Starsky just gave him his best winning look.

Hutch sighed, "I suppose there might be a root beer or two in the fridge," and fetched him the requested beverage. Starsky hid a grin as he rose to take his soda over to the couch. Hutch did a little cleaning up and then joined him.

"So, what you wanna do tonight?  Catch a game on the tube?" Starsky put his foot up on the coffee table. It slipped a moment later to thud on the carpet when he saw the troubled expression of on Hutch's face.

"I thought...well, I just assumed--" Hutch stopped and sat in the armchair opposite, still drying his hands absently with a kitchen towel.

"Thought what?"

Hutch made a concerned sound with his lips and then said, haltingly, "I just assumed you'd want to play a game of Monopoly. This being the twelfth, I mean."

Even as Hutch said it Starsky heard a roaring in his ears, the vague disquiet that had been tugging him all day finally making sense. February twelfth. Starsky didn't have much use for watches or calendars, but you'd think he would have remembered a little sooner the anniversary of Terry's death.

He came back to himself to the sound of Hutch's concerned voice saying his name, close by. Hutch had risen to sit next to him on the sofa, his hand on Starsky's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Terry. Oh, Terry, I'm sorry, sweetheart." Starsky put his head in his hands, deeply grieved and ashamed. He felt Hutch squeeze his shoulder gently.

"I know, buddy," Hutch said, his voice gruff. "I know you still miss her."

But a moment later Starsky was distracted from his guilt and grief by a flash of memory. "The old lady," Starsky muttered. "Ollie!" The coincidence of the bear in the shopping cart now seemed too improbable, and a chill overtook him.

"Who?  Ollie?" Hutch sounded disturbed, and Starsky turned toward him, grabbing his arm anxiously.

"Hutch, where's Ollie?  Can you go get him?"

He wasn't reassured by the sudden shifting of Hutch's eye.

"Hutch?  Where is he?" Starsky asked, feeling a jolt, almost of fear.

"He's around here, somewhere, I guess," Hutch said, and promptly sneezed, a quick explosion of air.

"What the hell is that?"

"What's what?" Hutch asked.

"That sneeze, partner," Starsky said, growing angry.

He saw Hutch's face go blank as he tried to prevaricate. "You know the smog messes with my sinuses."

"Yeah, I know that. Just like I know the only time you give a little sneeze like that is when you're trying to bluff at poker. Or when you're trying to put one over on me."

Hutch winced. "Uh. Well, it's like this, Starsk." He took his hand from Starsky's shoulder and turned away a little. "I don't know how to tell you...Ollie's...missing."

Starsky absorbed the statement for a moment. "Missing?  What the hell does that mean?" He felt a whisper of unease travel up his spine, seeing the old woman's face in his mind's eye. 'Lost items, precious things...'

"I'm...I'm sorry, Starsk. I just don't know what happened to him. I always kept him in the same spot, right on top of my bureau..."

Hutch drifted off when Starsky looked away, clenching his jaw. Lost. Ollie is lost. Suddenly he was righteously pissed. He stood up, pacing a few steps before turning to look down on Hutch.

"That's just great. You lost him. She entrusted him to you, and you lost him."

"Starsk--" Hutch started, his voice appeasing, but Starsky cut him off.

"Forget it, Hutch. You know, I remember being surprised when I saw she gave him to you, instead of me. I was almost jealous. Then you read the note, and I thought I understood. But I guess she made a mistake, huh?" Even as he said the hurtful words, he knew part of his anger was directed at himself for forgetting what today's date was. The look of guilt on Hutch's face only made it worse.

"I gotta get out of here." Starsky grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door. He felt Hutch trailing up behind him but didn't stop. He pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.

"Starsky, wait."

He waited. There was silence, and finally he turned to face his friend.

"Maybe...don't take this the wrong way, but maybe this happened for a reason. I mean, I didn't try to lose him, but maybe it's a sign, somehow. That it's time."

Starsky looked into his partner's earnest face, listening to the pained voice.

"'Time,'" he repeated.

"Yeah," Hutch said, his gaze pleading. "Time, maybe, to...to let go."

Starsky turned and left without a word.

ooOoo

The next few days were pretty screwed up between them. Starsky knew he should apologize, but didn't know how to bring it up, exactly. And his heart still hurt knowing Ollie was lost. Just like Terry was. And he hadn't told Hutch about the old lady, knowing that Hutch, in his current mood, would probably just dismiss it as a coincidence. But it didn't feel like a coincidence.

Five days of double shifts and the continuing smog wave made matters worse, leaving them both sniping and irritable. Starsky often felt the pressure of Hutch's gaze, as if he was about to say something, but he always looked away when Starsky glanced at him.

When they hit their weary beds in the small hours Starsky was too exhausted to think much, but his dreams were filled with bad scenes. Of Terry, struggling to say his name while lying on the gurney, the blood still fresh on her head wound. And once, he dreamed he held his gun, was cleaning it or something, and it was aimed dangerously at Hutch, but he couldn't seem to point it away. And then the gun finally went off, hitting Hutch in exactly the same place Terry had been shot. The despair and grief weighing on his chest when he awoke was beyond belief. He had to get up and walk around until the nightmare faded.

Finally, it was Friday night. They had the next day off completely. Hutch had driven himself into work that morning, so at end of shift they logged out and headed toward their own cars. Hutch mumbled good night, not seeming to notice Starsky's hesitation before he walked over to the Torino.

I'll try him tomorrow. We'll both be in better moods, Starsky thought. Restless, and not wanting to go home just yet, he drove around, looking for a likely bar. He didn't want to go to The Pits and face Huggy's inevitable questions about his blond shadow, and he didn't feel like cruising for some pointless lay while Terry was still so much on his mind.

So he finally settled on a little tavern called 'The Parting Glass' in West Sunset. The neighborhood was kind of iffy, but the bar itself was solid. He ordered a beer and talked to an old guy named Ralph, a regular who started going on about how the neighborhood had gone to shit since all the 'fruitloops' had moved in.

Ever since Johnny Blaine had died and Starsky had learned about his mentor's secret life, he had found himself reacting negatively to the bad names other cops used for gays. But Starsky wasn't going to tear into a bitter old man, so he just moved away from the bigot and turned his eye toward the football game on the big TV in the corner of the bar.

After the game, feeling pretty relaxed from the two beers and the side-bet he'd won from the morose bartender, Starsky decided to call it a night. He'd had to park the Torino around the block, since a space had failed to magically appear right in front of the bar, and he was just turning the corner when he heard a sound, the distinctive squeaky rattle of a shopping cart. He reacted without thinking, turning quickly to try to identify the origin of the sound and moving hastily back down the street. He heard the squeak again just as he passed The Parting Glass. It seemed to be coming from the alleyway a block down. He hastened his steps, not wanting to lose it, even though the chances of this being the same shopping cart were pretty damned slim. When he reached the alley he ducked to the side of the building and peeked around the corner.

No shopping cart. No little old lady. All he saw was two men about a hundred yards from him standing outside a back doorway, facing each other. He could faintly hear their quiet conversation. The one facing him was tall with chestnut colored hair and a thin, handsome face. The other one had his back to Starsky, his blond head angled in a familiar way. Hutch.A jolt of recognition struck him. It was Hutch's hair, Hutch's wide shoulders. The clothing was unfamiliar, but the lean form and the long legs looked like Hutch's. Starsky was about to call out to him when the blond leaned forward, rested his hand on the doorsill, and tilted his head.

And then they kissed.

Hutch's name halted on Starsky's lips, and instead he took a shocked breath. He watched in stunned disbelief as the other man raised his hands and put them on the blond's shoulders, pulling him in closer.

Starsky was walking quickly toward them before he even became aware of moving. His heart was pounding with sudden anger, his gut loose with a falling sense of betrayal. He had covered half the distance between them when the brown-haired man turned and stepped through the door, the blond following closely behind. Starsky sped his steps, practically running as he approached the steel door, the old lady and her shopping cart now completely forgotten.

He pushed through the entry and found himself in a short hallway that led to a room full of noise and music. A nightclub. A gay one, he quickly determined, seeing men paired up on the dance floor to his right. He scanned the crowd quickly but didn't see Hutch or the other man. Starsky pushed the bathroom door open on his left. Empty. He rushed past the bar and squeezed by the men clustered in front of it, barely registering when someone grabbed his ass in passing. Then he was out the front door and looking up and down the street.

No sign of them.

Starsky cursed and paced back and forth, still searching the street. It had been Hutch. He was sure of it. Almost. Already, doubt filled his mind. There were other blonds in the world, after all, tall ones with long legs and square asses like Hutch's. Maybe it hadn't been Hutch.

But he couldn't shake the sick sense of betrayal that dogged him all the way home.

ooOoo

The next morning Starsky was up obscenely early for a non-work day. All night he had tossed over his questions. Endless questions. Had he seen what he thought he had?  Was Hutch making it with some guy?  And if he were, why hadn't he told Starsky?  Hutch knew how much it had hurt him that Johnny hadn't told him the truth. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got, until finally he had churned himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a shower and shave, his brain still going in circles.

If it was Hutch, I swear I'm gonna punch him right in the snoot, he thought as he beat a couple of eggs on the stove and put on a pot of coffee. He sat at the counter, staring down at his breakfast as if the answers to all his questions were written there. And if Hutch were going to swing that way, why with a stranger?  Why wouldn't he...?  He didn't like the direction his thoughts were heading. He took a couple of bites and chased them down with his coffee, trying to focus on just his anger.

But he had never been very good at lying to himself, and he knew there was more to his sense of betrayal than the echoes of Johnny's lies. There was something entirely too possessive about it. Hutch was his. His best friend, his partner. His. Christ, I want him to be mine. I want Hutch.

When the hell had that happened? But he had to admit he'd been thinking about it, down low where thought is more an unseen movement, a secret shift of earth below the foundation. And now that he finally recognized it, it could be too late.

Starsky swore and dumped the rest of his breakfast in the sink. Have to go talk to him. You'd better be home, Blintz, because we're gonna have this out.

But Hutch wasn't at home. When Starsky pulled up at Venice Place around 7:00am the LTD was nowhere to be seen, and no one responded to his quick knock on the apartment door. Starsky went back downstairs and sat on the stoop outside Chez Hélène's, continuing to hash it all out in his head. He was still sitting, his ass getting cold and his lower lip starting to show wear and tear, when he heard the sound of Hutch's old clunker puttering up the street.

Hutch pulled up to the curb and got out, then reached back into the car for a large brown shopping bag. He came around the hood, looking very surprised to see Starsky standing there, waiting.

"Hey, buddy," Hutch said, and tilted his head at precisely the same angle the blond man had the night before. He was wearing his usual old cords and tan suede jacket. Maybe his nightclub clothes are in the bag, was Starsky's angry thought.

"Hey, yourself," Starsky said, his voice rough. "Need to talk to you."

Hutch looked a little wary, but he nodded. "Come on, then," he said, and led the way up to his apartment.

Inside, Hutch dropped the bag next to his easy chair and shrugged off his jacket. Starsky stood uncertainly next to the couch, not quite willing to sit down, trying to figure out his opening. 'So you're fucking guys, now?' would be a little too raw, especially since he still wasn't sure he had actually seen Hutch kissing that guy.

"Get you some coffee?" Hutch asked, and Starsky nodded absently and sat down, glad for the delay. By the time Hutch had poured him some and brought it over, he was ready.

Starsky took the mug and nodded his head at the chair opposite. Hutch lifted his brow but obeyed the silent command, seating himself across from Starsky.

"We been friends a long time, Hutch..."

Hutch nodded and looked at him expectantly.

"So I know you pretty well, or I thought I did. But I think you've been keeping something from me, and I don't like it."

Hutch's eyes widened, and then he looked away. The pain in Starsky's chest at the evasive move had nothing to do with the smog problem in Bay City. He saw Hutch put a hand up to his face and scrub it for a bit, as if trying to wipe out his expression.

Starsky's voice went strange on him as he asked, "You...you like guys, don't you?"

Hutch stared at him, and it was a long moment before he said, slowly, "I've never been with a guy."

He had worded his response too damned carefully, and Starsky said, "But you want to." He didn't make it a question.

Hutch started to respond, but was interrupted by a sneeze.

"Shit, shit, shit," Starsky said, and got up and started pacing a tight circle. "Who...?" There was a trembling in his voice and he took a quick breath before asking, "Where were you this morning?" Were you with that guy I saw you kissing?

Hutch had been staring down at the carpet, but now he lifted his head, looking surprised at the question.

"I was...I had an idea, about Ollie, I mean. I was following up."

"Ollie?" It was the last thing Starsky had expected to hear, and he watched, stunned, as Hutch reached into the bag and pulled out the familiar form. Hutch handed him across and Starsky took the bear, listening with half an ear while Hutch explained.

"Marguerite, my cleaning lady, has a little girl, Alicia, and she brings her sometimes when she comes to clean.... I went over there today and...interrogated her." Hutch gave a ghost of a smile. "Alicia copped to smuggling Ollie out after a visit."

Starsky examined Ollie. Same bear--a little more soiled, but with the familiar bent ear and the worn spot on his chest. Hutch's words were almost drowned out by a strange, high ringing in his ears. I don't understand.

"Hutch, what did you do last night?"

Hutch now looked a little ticked off. "What's with all the damned questions, Starsk?  What the hell is going on with you?"

"Please, Hutch, just answer, okay?  I'll explain later." Starsky wasn't angry anymore, he realized.

"I was right here. Where else, after the week we had?  I fell asleep around nine o'clock I was so damned wiped."

And Starsky believed him. It was just so goddamned weird. An Ollie who wasn't Ollie, and a Hutch who wasn't Hutch, appearing like crazy visions or something. Starsky rubbed his face with both hands, trying to straighten the puzzle out in his head in light of this new information. It wasn't him kissing that guy last night. But he does...he wants to....

Starsky dropped his hands and stared at Hutch, then looked down at the bear in his lap.

"I guess...maybe you'd better hold onto Ollie, now. You'll take better care of him." Hutch said, sounding strained and tired.

As if the words were a catalyst, everything suddenly fell into place. Starsky looked back up at Hutch, and shook his head decisively. "No." He handed Ollie back over. "Give him back to Alicia."

Hutch looked stunned as he took the bear. "But--"

"You said it yourself, Hutch. It's time to let go." Starsky shrugged.

"But just last week--"

"I know, I know." Starsky got up and went to put his cup in the sink, trying to wrangle his thoughts into words. When he came back, he deliberately sat next to Hutch on the couch, not missing the consternation on Hutch's face, or the way he pulled away a little.

"Hutch..." he started, and then stopped. He looked at Hutch helplessly, wishing there were an easier way to go about this, some way to ask what he needed to without risking everything. I'm such a wimp. As if Hutch didn't show him all the time how much he loved him, from stocking the fridge with root beer to making an elaborate dinner to try to distract him when he was hurting.

"What's this all about, Starsk?" Hutch broke into his train of thought sounding a little nervous, and also a bit excited. He feels it, too.

"It's about...maybe I've been a damned fool, Hutch." Starsky put his hand on Hutch's leg and felt him tense.

"About what?" Hutch asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"About...trying to hold onto a precious thing that wasn't there, just to maybe miss out on a chance at something wonderful."

Hutch stared at him, his mouth working for a moment before he said, "What the hell has happened to you?" His voice was unbelieving, but with an undertone of wild hope that was unmistakable.

Starsky grinned and relaxed. "Let's just say I got a wake-up call. Why?  You saying you're not interested?"

Hutch mumbled, looking away, "M'not saying that." Starsky saw his throat work in a swallow before he continued, "Just want to make sure you're not suffering from a blow to the head or something."

Starsky's grin was starting to hurt his cheeks. "Nope. No bumps on the head, no fever. See?" He grabbed Hutch's hand and pressed it to his forehead.

Hutch snatched his hand away as if burned.

"C'mon, Hutch. Don't tell me you're gonna try to fight this." Starsky mocked gently.

His partner gave an amused snort, "Next you're gonna tell me this is bigger than the both of us." But Hutch's eyes were still wide, the whites showing around the blue.

He's seriously weirded out, Starsky thought, but there was no power on Earth, not even a freaked-out Blintz, that was going to stop him from doing what he did next.

He reached out and hooked the back of Hutch's neck, noticing as he did so that his hand was shaking. Guess he's not the only one freaked. And then he tugged Hutch over toward him, pulling against the stubborn resistance of the long body beside him until suddenly Hutch relaxed, and moved to meet him.

When their faces were mere inches apart, Starsky whispered, low, "Bigger than the both of us."

And there was a smile on Hutch's lips when they met his own.

Oh, man. I'm kissing Hutch. Hutch's mouth, his tongue, tasted so good to him, he felt like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Fortunately, Hutch had full lips that could be nibbled and sucked on endlessly.

About the only thing wrong with kissing Hutch, near as Starsky could tell, was having to stop for air.

Starsky heard a sound and realized he was moaning a little with the pleasure of it. He pulled back, startled at having lost control so easily. Hutch opened his eyes and looked at him questioningly, his cheeks red.

"Why the hell haven't we ever done that before?" Starsky asked.

Hutch looked at a loss for words.

"Especially since it seems to've made you speechless. I should've tried it years ago."

"Shut up," Hutch growled and lunged at him for more kissing. Starsky shortly found himself on his back, the couch cushion wedged painfully under his left kidney. He forgot his discomfort a second later when Hutch pressed his body fully against Starsky's, chest to chest and groin to groin.

They both groaned at the contact, hips grinding against each other. Starsky was getting too hot, too fast. He pushed on Hutch's shoulders and Hutch eased back from the kiss. His eyes burned down at Starsky.

"Hey," Starsky said, his lips a little numb.

"Hey, yourself," came the expected reply, only Hutch had never said it to him before with his hard-on pressed hotly against Starsky's.

"I hate to sound like a mushball romantic, Hutch, but what say we move this action to somewhere a little more appropriate?  Someplace soft and bouncy."

Hutch laughed and buried his face against Starsky's chest briefly before hauling himself up. He reached down to help Starsky off the couch and onto his feet.

Unfortunately, the pause must have given Hutch time to start with the thinking, because he pulled up suddenly to ask breathlessly, "What the heck are we doing?  This is crazy, Starsk."

"What we are doing," Starsky said, tugging relentlessly at Hutch's shirtsleeve to get him moving again, "is going to the bedroom. Where we will get naked and do things to each other that aren't covered in the partner handbook."

Hutch gave a snort of laughter. "You are an utter lunatic."

"Yup," Starsky said, pushing Hutch the last few feet into the bedroom. "And you know you're supposed to humor a madman or he might do some damage. So get undressed. Now." He waited long enough to see that Hutch was promptly, if bemusedly, obeying, before he started stripping quickly, himself. Then it became a race to see who could get more naked, first. Hutch was moving more slowly, but Starsky's jeans were tighter. They ended in a dead heat and stood staring at each other.

Starsky had already seen Hutch naked about a million times, but he took the opportunity, now, to examine him from his blond head to his big, sturdy feet. Somewhere around the middle he had to pause a good while to appreciate the bold, thick erection Hutch was sporting. His eyes lingered long enough that Hutch made a strange, aborted move to cover himself. Starsky looked back up and into Hutch's pale blue eyes.

Are you sure about this? Those eyes were asking him, and they seemed to read his certainty loud and clear, for the deep crease between them smoothed, and Hutch reached for him.

They were in the bed and wrapped around each other and kissing before Starsky could blink. Hutch's long, smooth thigh was between his legs, moving insistently up and down against his erection. Starsky groaned and reached around Hutch to grab two handfuls of that broad, firm ass. Hutch gasped against his mouth.

They tumbled and writhed against each other until finally Hutch slid down to put his mouth on Starsky's chest. Starsky took a breath and felt a tug at his nipple and a grazing of wicked teeth.

"Oh, man." Starsky's head was spinning, and he felt his face flushing at the strange feeling of his partner licking and sucking at him. When Hutch started roaming lower, he knew he was in trouble. Dear God, it's me, Starsky. Could you please see your way clear to not interrupting us with any earthquakes, flashfloods or asteroid hits any time in the next oh three hours or so? I would greatly, greatly appreciate it. I promise I'll light Shabbat candles and say birkat ha-gomel ten times if you'll just OH GOD where is he going?

Hutch had finished his leisurely exploration of Starsky's torso and had headed further south like a man on a mission. Starsky groaned in approval as he felt a strong hand lift his cock and then the long sweep of a tongue--Hutch's tongue--licking his cock from base to tip, again and again like a big tawny cat. Only his tongue wasn't rough, it was so smooth, moving over him with a sweet, silken stroke that was going to destroy him.

"Ohhhh, Hutch. Hutch." There was something else he wanted to say but his brain was too busy relaying pleasure impulses for him to form words. Then his cock was enveloped by Hutch's warm mouth sucking him in, and he found himself begging, "Please, oh please don't stop. Oh, God, don't stop. "

Hutch didn't stop. Starsky cracked open his eyes to see the blond head moving over his cock eagerly, and he lifted his hands to bury them in Hutch's hair, urging him faster, until the sucking mouth and the firm hand stroking him below brought him to the edge and over into a crushing orgasm. He shouted and came into Hutch's mouth, vaguely registering surprise that Hutch didn't pull away as Starsky exploded.

When he could think again, Hutch had joined him and was stroking Starsky's chest soothingly. He realized he was heaving lungfuls of air, as if he'd stopped breathing entirely at some point. Finally, he turned his head and met Hutch's lips for a soft kiss, tasting his come on Hutch's tongue and trembling with the realization that they could be this, for each other--that Hutch could make him feel so much pleasure. It seemed almost too good to be true.

He felt Hutch's hot erection pushing against his thigh and started guiltily. "Gonna take care of you, babe," Starsky said, his voice rough.

"If you touch me, I'll blow," Hutch whispered. "Got so hot doing that to you."

Starsky closed his eyes, his heart giving a painful thump even as his dick gave an impertinent twitch at the thought.

"Let's see what happens if I put my mouth on it, then," Starsky grinned and slid down on the bed to position himself near Hutch's groin.

Hutch's cock was cut like his, but instead of dusky red, even in its hardened state it was a deep rosy pink, with golden wiry hairs surrounding his balls. Starsky took the thick shaft in his hand and heard a rumbling moan coming from above his head. He smiled and stroked it firmly, enjoying the twitch of Hutch's hips in response.

A gentle hand wove itself into Starsky's hair, urging him closer. He knew the Blintz must be pretty desperate at this point, and without hesitation he opened his mouth and took in the head, moving his tongue just below on slight roughness there. Hutch moaned and his hips twitched again, as if he wanted to thrust, so Starsky slid his hands below Hutch's hips and pulled him onto his side, his mouth still around Hutch's cock. Then he guided Hutch in a pumping motion.

That was all it took. Before he knew it, Starsky had his mouth full of heavy cock moving in and out as Hutch thrust again and again while gasping Starsky's name. Hutch didn't last long, he hadn't been kidding about that. His hand landed on Starsky's head, holding him still, and after a few more rapid thrusts he was groaning and coming, thick fluid pumping into Starsky's mouth like an endless river. Starsky tried to swallow but made a mess of it, drooling most of it onto the bed. From Hutch's cries of pleasure, he didn't mind much.

Starsky pulled his mouth away and gave one last gentle stroke. Hutch shuddered beneath his hand.

"God, Starsk. Come up here."

Eagerly, Starsky crawled back up to embrace his partner, their damp, softened groins pressing together as Starsky hauled Hutch into a bone-crushing hug.

"I think I could get the hang of that," Starsky said into Hutch's ear.

Hutch laughed low and squeezed him back even harder. "Any time you want to get some practice in, just let me know."

"Thought I'd feel weird, but I don't. Thought a lot of things, but never thought I'd be doing this with you, Hutch. It's crazy good."

"I've...thought about it," Hutch replied in a confessing tone.

"Yeah?  Since when?" Starsky asked, all curiosity.

"Since...since a while, now." Hutch rolled to his back. "To tell you the truth, since before...before Terry."

Starsky lay quiet a moment, absorbing the statement. "She--" Starsky stopped and cleared his throat. "She did order you to love me." Starsky laughed a little. "I don't think she meant like this, necessarily, but who knows?"

Hutch rolled back over and looked him in the eye. "She didn't need to tell me that, buddy. I already did, always will."

Starsky held his gaze. Terry, sweetheart. I'm sorry, but I think I'm ready now. I think you wouldn't mind, so much, it being Hutch and all. I know you loved him, too. Starsky's vision went a little foggy on him, and he blinked before saying, "Me, too, Blintz. Only...."

"Only what?" Hutch pulled his head back.

"Only, you have to promise to come to synagogue with me."

Hutch gave him a confused smile. "What for?"

"I made some promises, and unless we want the Big One to hit, I'd better come through," Starsky said seriously.

Hutch laughed in disbelief and pulled him close again.

Later that day, they took Ollie back to Alicia.

And then they went to temple.

The End.

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