Story #8: Change of Seasons

"We should take a break and have a beer."

"We just took a break and had a beer -- our second one. At this rate, we ought to finish this about midnight."

"I got nowhere else to be."

Hutch chuckled. "Me either, but we're almost done. Let's finish, then we'll treat ourselves to two beers -- each."

"Sounds like a plan," Starsky agreed. "Let me know when I'm supposed to do something else."

Installing a garbage disposal hadn't been the one-man job the guy at the hardware store had promised and even though cramming two sets of broad shoulders under the cabinet hadn't been easy, the actual work had gone much faster with both of them doing it. Hutch tried to fit the canister in place, smiling as Starsky squirmed restlessly beside him. There was a time when Hutch would have groused at him to be still, but these days it felt too good to have Starsky beside him, whole and relatively healthy after everything he'd been through the past year.

A pang of guilt nudged Hutch. Maybe the cramped and uncomfortable position was making Starsky hurt. Hell would freeze before the stubborn idiot would admit it.

"You don't have to stay under here with me, you know. I could just yell when I need something."

"Nah, that's okay. I like it down here. Reminds me of when I was a kid and we played under the dining room table." Starsky shifted his head to smile at Hutch. "You ever do that when you were a kid?"

"We weren't allowed to play in the living room or dining room. Too many breakables." Hutch stopped struggling with the disposal and thought a minute. "There was a picnic table in the backyard I used to play with."

"You played with a table?"

"Yeah, I'd turn it on its side for a fort, or upside down and pretend it was a raft."

"Ma woulda had a fit if we'd used her dining room table for a fort."

"I can imagine." Hutch laughed softly. "I'll bet you were a handful growing up."

"Who grew up?"

Hutch laughed out loud then, something he found himself doing a lot lately, and he knew the man at his side had everything to do with that. He hadn't thought about it really, but his relationship with Starsky had deepened over the past year. How that was possible he didn't know -- they'd been living in each other's pockets for years. But something had changed. Before Starsky's shooting, they had been moving away from one another, but since then it was like they couldn't be together enough.

"You gonna lay there and admire your manicure, or you gonna work?"

Okay, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Hand me the screwdriver, then I'll need you to hold this thing-"

"One thing at time." Starsky lifted his head to look down at his abdomen, which was serving as the tool holder. "Here." He handed Hutch the screwdriver then peeked nervously over his shoulder into the dark recesses of the cabinet. "When's the last time you cleaned under here anyway?"

"What year did I move in?" Hutch let go of the disposal canister as Starsky's hand slid into place.

"That's what I thought. Hope you don't have any bugs -- Owww!"

"What?" Hutch flinched and almost lost his hold on the screwdriver.

"What?" Starsky twisted around to see Hutch's face.

"You almost made me drop the screwdriver. What's wrong with you?"

"My shoulder's cramping. Hold this thing a minute, will ya?"

Hutch's hand replaced Starsky's on the drum and he waited patiently for Starsky to wriggle and squirm his way to a more comfortable position. The tools on his partner's chest clanked to the floor as Starsky shifted first to his side, then onto his stomach. Elbow-walking his way closer, he didn't stop until he was directly under the disposal, inches from Hutch's head.

"What are you doing?"

Starsky smiled and pushed up, effectively holding the canister in place with the back of his head. "Doin' what you're always telling me to do -- using my head. Now, let go and finish this thing."

Chuckling, Hutch did just that. The screws went in without a hitch. "Done. I always said you had a good head on your shoulders, partner." Smiling, he reached up and tousled Starsky's curls.

Hutch expected -- at minimum -- an answering grin, maybe a quick retort, but what happened next seemed to vacuum away what little air there was under the cabinet and took his breath away. Starsky's eyes fluttered closed, and he lowered his head, leaning into Hutch's palm and rubbing his bristly cheek against it.

In the absence of breathing, Hutch became acutely aware of three things: the impossible length of Starsky's eyelashes against his palm, the raw slide of denim-clad legs moving against his, and the emergence of a cyclone in his abdomen that he recognized as desire. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide his hand around the back of Starsky's neck and pull him down for a kiss.

Hutch had only the briefest moment to register the fluttering of eyelashes before he felt the soft saltiness of Starsky's lips returning the pressure against his. After that he was floating.  Scattered, random thoughts flitted through his mind, but it was too hard to make sense of them from so high up.  Even though some of them were probably important, he decided they would still be waiting for him when he came back to earth.

Wanting the moment to last forever, Hutch at first ignored the familiar burning sensation that inched up the back of his throat, and then almost panicked when it became apparent it was not to be denied. He shoved Starsky's shoulder hard.

"Wha-?" Starsky's eyes blinked open in surprise.

"Sneeze!" It was the only warning Hutch could manage, but it was enough to send Starsky backpedaling out from under the sink just in time.

"Ah-choo!" The force of the sneeze sent Hutch's forehead bouncing off the newly installed disposal. "Dammit!"

"Ow, that hurt from out here." Hands encircled Hutch's ankles, and he felt himself being pulled from beneath the cabinet. "C'mon, let's see the damage."

Hutch cursed again when one of his elbows made contact with the cabinet support.

"Oops, sorry." Starsky winced sympathetically and dropped Hutch's feet. "Hang tight. I'll get some ice."

A towel full of ice was on his throbbing forehead before Hutch could gather his wits enough to protest, and it felt too good to bother after that.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just need a minute."

"We got lots of minutes. Take your time."

Hutch felt the gentle touch of Starsky's fingertips combing damp hair off his forehead, away from the cold, wet compress. He closed his eyes, content for the moment to let Starsky take care of him. It wouldn't hurt to relax for a few minutes. Or maybe even lots of minutes.

Letting his thoughts drift, Hutch tried to remember a more perfect day and couldn't. Starsky had shown up just as he was leaving for the hardware store and had coaxed him into trying a new Mexican restaurant near there. The margaritas they'd had with lunch and the beers they'd had while they watched a baseball game on television probably helped liven the mood, but to Hutch it seemed like all their times together lately were good times. Then he thought about the completed disposal installation project, happy that Starsky had been there to help him. A lot of their projects didn't turn out so well.

Maybe that's why I kissed him.

Hutch's eyes flew open.

Oh shit, did I just kiss him?

He closed his eyes again and tried to replay the past few moments.

"How you doing?" Starsky's voice was soft.

Just like his lips.

"You're breathing funny. You gonna throw up?"

Giving into the inevitable, Hutch opened his eyes again. Starsky was kneeling next to him. "I'm okay." He tried a slow roll onto his side.

"Easy. I'm not sure you're ready for this."

"I'm okay," Hutch repeated.  If he could get up and get moving, he wouldn't have to look Starsky in the eyes and explain why he'd locked lips with him.

And I wouldn't be so tempted to do it again.

"Why don't you try just sitting up for now? See how that goes."

Nodding slightly, Hutch finally managed to sit up. He drew his knees in and rested his arms on them. Verticality had brought forth a renewed bout of throbbing in his forehead. Maybe it'll pound me through the floor, he thought.

As the minutes ticked by, Hutch's misery faded and he became aware of the competing sensations of cool cloth on his forehead and the hand moving lightly up and down his arm. The soothing comfort left a trail of warmth in its wake, along with something he needed even more just then -- security. Had Starsky been completely freaked out by the kiss, he likely would've been out the door already. Hutch let himself relax, still not prepared to face his partner, but no longer dreading the moment.

"There, that's it." The cloth was removed. "One step at a time."

Hutch nodded again and was encouraged when the movement didn't send jolts of pain through his head.

"Told you you oughta clean under there more often. Dust'll sneak up on you, Hutch."

Add it to the list of things sneaking up on me.

"How's it look?" Hutch's curious hand was quickly batted away from his forehead.

"Leave it alone." Starsky's fingers gently pressed the area around the sore spot. "Bump and a bruise, but I think that's all." He snickered. "That was some sneeze."

"Well, that was some kiss."

The words were out before Hutch could stop them. Trying not to let his apprehension show, he looked up into Starsky's eyes and was surprised by the anxious expression he found there. Hutch hadn't really known what to expect. Anger, disappointment, mockery -- these he wouldn't have been surprised to see. Worry hadn't been a consideration.  Great, he's probably afraid I'm going to jump him again.

Starsky lowered his eyes. "Yeah, about that..." He rocked back on his heels. "Would it help if I apologized?"

In the midst of forming his own apology, Hutch was caught off-guard. "What?'

"If I said I was sorry, could..." Starsky cleared his throat. "Could we, you know, maybe pretend it didn't happen?"

"What didn't happen?"

Starsky looked up with a trace of concern now in his eyes. "You sure you're okay?" He retrieved the make-do ice pack and tried to put it back on Hutch's forehead, but Hutch grabbed it and tossed it on the counter.

"I'm fine. What I don't get is what you're apologizing for?"

"For kissing you." Starsky's expression was still wary, as if unsure of Hutch's mental faculties.

"You didn't kiss me; I kissed you."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, Hutch, it was me. You were just laying there, minding your own business, and then I was leaning over you and kissing you."

Hutch shook his head. "I pulled you down, you moron."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did." He shook his head and snorted softly. "I don't know why I did, but I did. You rubbed your cheek against my hand, and for some reason I decided to kiss you." As Hutch spoke, he could see Starsky replaying the scene in his head.

"You kissed me. You kissed me."

"Yeah."

"Oh." Starsky blinked at Hutch, then at the floor, then at Hutch again. "Why?"

Hutch shrugged. How could he explain what he didn't yet understand himself? But Starsky wanted an answer and deserved one. "I don't know," he said finally, dipping his head to study the back of his hand.

"Well, was this something that just occurred to you, or had you thought about it before?"

"Of course not!" Hutch shifted around in an effort to get to his feet, but Starsky's hand on his chest stopped him.

"You sure about that?" A small grin, more of a smirk really, toyed with Starsky's mouth as he stood up and reached for Hutch's arms. "C'mon, lummox, let's get you offa this floor."

Hutch allowed himself to be helped up and was glad he had when the effort resulted in a brief moment of vertigo which caused him to bump against the cabinet.

"You dizzy, or is that just your normal klutziness?"

Hutch picked up the ice-filled cloth and held it to his head. "Did you say something about the couch?"

"No, but it doesn't sound like a bad idea right now."

Once settled on the sofa, Hutch positioned part of the cloth over his eyes, as much for the comfort as for the nice dark hiding place it provided. Face it, Hutchinson, there's nothing really wrong with your head. Not the part that you slammed into the disposal, anyway. What the hell were you thinking, kissing your partner like that? Try as hard as he might, Hutch couldn't come up with an answer. It just had felt right.

From his hiding place, Hutch heard Starsky back in the kitchen, banging on something, but even fear of what he might be doing in there wasn't enough to bring Hutch from his temporary refuge. It wasn't that he was afraid to face Starsky. He just needed time to figure out --

The sudden sound of running water and a low, grinding noise brought Hutch upright in a hurry, which caused a few ice cubes to fall out of the towel and into his lap. He jumped to his feet and let the ice fall to the floor.

"It works!" Starsky turned around and grinned triumphantly. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"Starsky, we didn't reconnect the drain -- "

"What do you think I've been in here working on?" Starsky leaned under the cabinet and popped back up almost immediately, still smiling. "Not a single drop." He pointed an authoritative finger at Hutch. "You need to lay back down." He disappeared from view again, and Hutch could hear tools clanging as they were apparently tossed haphazardly into the toolbox. He couldn't have cared less at that point if it kept Starsky occupied and away from him for a few minutes. He loved his partner, but...but what?

But nothing. Hutch's legs gave out and he sat down on the sofa hard. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his toolbox banging against the wall as Starsky returned it to the storage room off the greenhouse, but even that couldn't drown out the sound of his hammering heart. A feeling that was somehow stone cold and enticingly warm at the same time was coursing through him just then as the truth sank in.

There were no 'buts'. He loved Starsky. Loved him. Something small crashed in the greenhouse, but Hutch didn't care.

"Hey, you all right?"

A warm hand came to rest gently on Hutch's shoulder, and he jumped and whirled around.

"Dammit, Starsk, why don't you warn a guy?"

"'Cause then you wouldn't jump." Remaining behind him, Starsky rubbed Hutch's shoulders and pulled him back against the sofa cushions again. "How's the head?"

"I'll survive," Hutch mumbled, not at all sure he would survive the gentle massage his partner had begun giving his shoulders. His tension must have been evident to Starsky, because the rhythmic caress slowed and then faded away. Hutch let himself relax, just a little, and then suddenly, Starsky's voice was whispering in his ear.

"You worry too much, Blintz. Everything's going to be okay, you'll see."

When Starsky's warm breath brushed across the side of his face, every nerve ending in Hutch's body burst to life, and before he could so much as blink, the pleasurable current thrumming through his body centered in his groin. His heart hammered so violently in his chest he was almost surprised he couldn't see it bouncing under the thin cotton t-shirt. A fleeting thought of putting the icy dish cloth in his lap to cool himself off crossed his mind and had he not been so embarrassed at this turn of events, he might have laughed out loud. He hadn't gotten this turned on this quickly since...since when was lost as a forceful sneeze erupted without warning.

"AH-CHOO!" Hutch covered his face with the dish towel just in time.

"Gesundheit." Starsky's hands returned to Hutch's shoulders. "You comin' down with something?"

"You have no idea," Hutch muttered into the cloth.

Starsky leaned closer. "What?"

"Uh, I have no idea. I don't think so." Hutch tried not to squirm.

"Look at you. You've got goose bumps. Maybe you've had enough of this." Starsky pried the improvised ice pack out of Hutch's hands and took it to the kitchen.

Hutch jumped on the opportunity. "Yeah, I'm a little chilled." Snagging the afghan from the back of the sofa, he got it spread across him just as Starsky returned to the living room.

"You want a quilt?"

Hutch simply shook his head and tried to will himself to remain calm when Starsky's hand came to rest on his forehead.

"No fever. Maybe it's just the ice pack." Starsky's fingers brushed across Hutch's brow, threatening Hutch's composure again. "Or maybe it's just cold feet?"

Starsky plopped down on the sofa, right next to him, so it took a second for the words to register. "C-cold feet?"

"Yeah, you know," Starsky's voice fell to a teasing whisper, "about the kiss?"

Hutch swallowed hard and looked away again. Everything was moving too fast. And too slow. Hell, the fact that everything was moving at all was too much for him to absorb right now. He glanced at his partner who had shifted sideways and now sat with his arm draped along the back of the sofa, dangerously close to Hutch's shoulders. Starsky looked completely at ease with it all.

And why was that? Hutch wondered. I would've thought it he'd have been completely freaked out by it. But no, Starsky had been more worried about Hutch's head and hadn't even mentioned the kiss until....

"You apologized."

"What's that?"

Hutch shifted forward on the sofa and turned. "Earlier. You apologized for kissing me."

"I thought we established that you kissed me." Starsky shrugged. "Not that it matters."

"But that's just it! Why doesn't it matter? Shouldn't you be pissed off or outraged or something? I would've been."

Starsky shrugged again. "I don't know about that. You see, Hutch, I've been watching us."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what I said -- I've been watching us these past few months. You know, how we act when we're together. You cook a meal for me and you light candles. I wake up earlier than any man oughta to go fishing with you, even though I don't really want to. You know, stuff like that." Starsky paused, appearing to wait for a response, but since Hutch had no idea where Starsky was going with this, he remained quiet. "What I realized recently was that we're in a relationship, only we don't know it."

Hutch choked. "A relationship?"

"Yeah. Dating, courting -- whatever you want to call it."

"Courting?"

Starsky's hand landed on Hutch's shoulder. "Are you having trouble keeping up, Hutch? You keep repeating what I'm saying. Maybe we should take you by the ER, just to be safe."

"I'm trying to figure out what the hell you're talking about, you idiot. For the life of me, I don't see how you can interpret a few lousy meals with some candles for atmosphere to mean we're dating."

"In the first seven years of our partnership, how many times did you cook me the Paul Muni Special? Hmm? Once. How many times have you made it in the past six months?"

"I don't  know -- a few times, I guess."

"Eight! And I was over here the last time you made it and you hummed while you were chopping the vegetables."

"Starsk, I hum a lot, especially while I'm cooking."

"'My Guy'? That's funny; I never heard you hum that one before."

"I don't remember that."

"See, that's what I mean. All this stuff has been going on and we couldn't see it."

"I still don't see it, Starsk. And it doesn't explain why I would just up and kiss you out of the blue."

"Oh, that part's easy." Starsky flapped his hand in a dismissive wave. "See, I've been thinking about kissing you for a while now, only I couldn't think of a way to bring it up. You probably picked up on it because of how tight we are. Think about it, Hutch. Everybody's always telling us we act like an old married couple‑"

"I thought we were just dating!" Hutch rubbed his forehead. Maybe a trip to the ER was in order after all. Or maybe he was still unconscious and none of this was really happening. He'd wake up in a minute and find out it had all been a dream. Sure, and my little dog, Toto, will be by my side.

As much as he wanted to think Starsky was a couple of beers past sensibility, a little voice somewhere inside him made him consider his partner's words. There had been times over the past few months, maybe even longer, when he'd noticed Starsky's eyes watching his mouth. No, not watching. Studying. Hutch had just chalked it up to another one of the half-baked schemes Starsky had read in some book. Never in all that time had he thought Starsky was thinking about kissing him.

Or had he? When he thought back on those times, Hutch realized that he'd never once called Starsky on his actions. He hadn't even asked what book he'd been reading. Did I know? Did I want him to kiss me? Hutch rubbed his forehead tiredly. It was all too much to take in.

A movement to his right interrupted Hutch's thoughts. Starsky had apparently grown tired of waiting for a response. While Hutch had been trying to get his thoughts sorted out, Starsky had inched closer on the sofa. With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Hutch turned and looked into Starsky's eyes and in that moment, Hutch no longer cared whether or not he'd wanted Starsky to kiss him in the past. He knew only that he wanted Starsky to kiss him now. And I want to kiss him.

Hutch swallowed the lump in his throat. "So you've been thinking about kissing me awhile now, huh?"

"Been thinking about doing a lot more than that, but kissing's okay for now." Starsky moved slightly closer.

"So what are you waiting for?"

"For you to shut up."

Hutch opened his mouth to respond, but he never had a chance. Starsky's lips were on his, and Hutch was floating again, tethered to earth only by the warm soft lips pressed against his. He never wanted to land. Damn, we could've been doing this for years.

Starsky shifted and Hutch felt himself falling backward. He wrapped his arms around Starsky's back and pulled him along. The waves of pleasure radiating through Hutch's body escalated when the rough wetness of Starsky's tongue slid along his bottom lip and boldly pushed for more. Hutch complied and was thankful he was already reclining when Starsky's tongue brushed against his playfully. He never would've survived this standing up.

Once again, Starsky shifted his position and a warm hand slid under Hutch's t-shirt and across his abdomen. Hutch moaned in response. Starsky's lips lifted slightly.

"This okay, Hutch?" he whispered onto Hutch's lips.

Hutch couldn't have managed a word if his life had depended on it, so he leaned up and captured Starsky's lips in another kiss, not wasting any time in opening his mouth and sucking Starsky's tongue in. That answer your question?

Starsky groaned then, a strangled sound that electrified every nerve in Hutch's body. He only thought he'd been flying before. And to think they weren't even near the main event yet.

Suddenly, the burning sensation in his throat was back with a vengeance. Hutch scrambled to sit up, dislodging Starsky and sending him tumbling to the floor.

"What the‑?"

Three sneezes in rapid succession cut off Starsky's question.

When Hutch opened his eyes, Starsky was glaring up at him with an expression that was anything but adoring. "Boy, Hutch, you sure know how to wreck a moment."

Hutch grinned sheepishly and stepped over Starsky on his way to the bathroom for tissues. He could hear the grumbling even from the other room. When he returned, Starsky was putting on his shoes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting on my shoes."

"I can see that, but why?"

Starsky snapped the laces tight. "I think you're catching a cold or something, and I'd rather not be swapping spit with Typhoid Marvin."

"What a romantic. If this is what it's gonna be like...."

"That's another thing." Starsky stood up and came to stand in front of Hutch. "I think this hit you all at once. I've had time to get used to the idea. There's no harm in taking a few days to think it over and make sure this is what you want."

"A few days?" Hutch was surprised at the tone of desperation in his voice, but Starsky just smiled.

"Get a good night's sleep and call me tomorrow." After hesitating a moment, Starsky leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss half on Hutch's mouth, half on his cheek. "Sweet dreams."

"Yeah." Hutch stood in the center of the living room, suddenly feeling very alone.

# # #

Something was wrong. Not a big something, but something nonetheless. He had that feeling, the one he had at so many crime scenes. The evidence was right in front of him, if only he could see it.

Standing in the middle of his living room, Hutch turned a slow circle, eyes taking in every surface, every object. Wood floors gleamed, furniture tops shone, counter tops fairly glistened -- everything seemed perfect. His apartment had never been so clean.

Leaning forward to remove a wayward piece of lint from the sofa, Hutch realized what the something was that had been bothering him. Everything looked perfect. His apartment had never been so clean.

"Oh God. He's gonna think I've been cleaning all day just because he's coming over," he groaned, deeming irrelevant the fact that he had been up and cleaning since 5 a.m. in preparation for Starsky's visit. Starsky didn't need to know that. As far as his partner was concerned, Hutch had spent the day just like any other day off work.

But last night wasn't like any other night, was it?

As if he could ever forget last night. He'd lain awake for hours thinking about it and wondering if he and Starsky were headed down the wrong road. Or were they finally on the right road? It felt right. A lingering happiness and contentment had taken root in Hutch's heart the night before and even though he'd tried his hardest to displace it, it remained there when he woke up that morning. He'd had to restrain himself from calling Starsky at six a.m. to invite him over for dinner that night. While his partner hadn't seemed too pleased to hear from him two hours later, at least he'd said yes.

An eight-cylinder roar from the street below caught Hutch's attention. He dashed to the window and saw Starsky slowly cruising along in search of a parking spot.

Oh, crap, he's on time. Thank God the café's business picked up. Hutch ran to the closet, pulled a jacket off its hanger and tossed it on the back of the sofa. Next, he hurried to the kitchen and took a glass out of the cabinet and set it on the counter. Rushing back to the window, he saw Starsky just getting out of the Torino a half-block down the street.

Jeans, sneakers, plain white shirt, untucked -- shit! Hutch looked down at his neatly pressed slacks and white pullover sweater. Yanking the sweater over his head, he made a beeline for the bedroom, tossing the sweater on a chair for good measure. He was just zipping his jeans when Starsky's knock sounded at the door, and he just had time to smooth his hair and grab a denim shirt from the closet before the front door opened.

"Hutch, it's me! Hey, you cleaned. You didn't have to do that."

Damn, Hutch thought. That would definitely be one of the downfalls of dating a detective: he'd never get away with anything. He had just turned to go into the living room when the substance of his thoughts registered. He was going to be dating Starsky. Placing a hand on the wall to steady himself, Hutch took a deep breath and pushed away the whisper of doubt that threatened to grow. It would take some getting used to, but he was sure this was the right decision. As sure as he was likely to get, anyway.

"Oh, hey. I didn't hear you come in." Hutch stepped into the living room and stopped in his tracks. Normally, he'd just go on with whatever he'd been doing, but he wondered if that was different now. Should he hug Starsky, or kiss him, or should he just act like he always did? What was he supposed to do when everything felt the same, but different, now?

Starsky took the problem out of his hands. Sauntering over in a way that made Hutch's head feel light, he smiled and held out his arms. "You look good in blue," he murmured and then pulled Hutch to him.

Feeling Starsky's arms wrap around him, Hutch felt that sense of contentment take hold again. He needed to quit worrying so much. They would figure this out. He relaxed into the warmth of the embrace. Resting his chin on Starsky's shoulder, Hutch let himself enjoy the pleasure of being held. Starsky smelled like soap and aftershave...and talc. Only then did Hutch notice that Starsky had had his hair cut. He smiled. So his partner wasn't treating this quite as casually as he'd originally thought.

"I'm not one to complain, mind you..."

"Yeah?" Hutch smiled into Starsky's neck.

"I don't smell anything cooking. You did say you were cooking dinner, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did." Hutch brushed his lips across Starsky's neck and shivered when the same was done to him. Definitely time to get dinner over and done with. He reluctantly pulled away. "You want a beer while I finish up?"

"Sure." Starsky followed him into the kitchen. "I can usually smell 'the special' from the hallway, but I can't tonight."

"There's a good reason for that." Hutch pulled two beers from the refrigerator and handed one to Starsky. "I didn't fix 'the special.'"

"No special?"

"Nope, Mr. Muni's on his own tonight."

"Well, what are we having then?" Starsky's expression grew suspicious. "You're not gonna try to palm off one of those fake meat casseroles on me again, are you?"

Hutch snickered. "No, I'm not. I thought we might try something different." He took a large pot from the dish rack, put it in the sink and turned the spigot.

"A pan of water?"

"Not just a pan of water." Hutch poured a small amount of salt into the pot. "Water with salt."

"Oh, good. I haven't had that in years." Starsky swigged his beer. "Seriously, what are we having?"

Hutch shut the water off and put the pot on the stove. After turning the flame up, he returned to the refrigerator. "You, my friend, are about to experience the meal of a lifetime." He pulled a plate from the refrigerator and removed the plastic wrap cover with a flourish. "Fresh linguini..." Setting the plate on the counter, he brought out a large bowl of salad greens and another dish, smiling when Starsky appeared at his shoulder.

"What's that? Clams?" Starsky looked like he might begin salivating at any minute. "You're making me linguini with clams? Man, you must really love me."

A pin dropping on the floor would have created an echo in the moments that followed, and a contest over which partner's face was most flushed would have ended in a draw. Finally, Hutch's arms grew tired and he turned to put the dishes on the counter.

"You can set the table if you want," he said over his shoulder and after another long moment had passed added, "I do, you know. Love you."

"Yeah, I know. Me, too." Starsky cleared his throat. "Where are the candlesticks?"

# # #

"If I died right now, I'd go out happy." Starsky flopped onto the couch and put his legs up on the coffee table.

"Don't be morbid." Hutch tried to step over the leg blockade, but Starsky lifted them to prevent him from passing. Hutch tried again, and once again found his way blocked.

"Sit here." Starsky indicated the six-inch space between him and the end of the sofa.

"I couldn't fit my foot in that space, Starsk."

"Oh, well, I'll scoot over." Starsky allowed about another six inches of space.

"Much better. Now my foot will fit."

"Quit arguing and sit down."

While Hutch was trying to wedge himself between Starsky and the arm of the sofa, Starsky shifted his weight to his hip so that they faced each other.

"See? I told you there was plenty of room."

"Not nearly enough after all that garlic at dinner."

"Hey, you had just as much as I did." Starsky slid his arm along the back of the couch, squeezing Hutch's shoulder in the along the way. "Man, that was some great meal, Hutch. You really went all out."

"Glad you enjoyed it." It had been a good meal, if a little awkward at first. After years of eating most of their meals together, they both knew this meal, where the candles meant more than table decorations, signified something different. "Should've made a dessert."

Starsky's lustful answering grin bordered on obscene. "I think we can cover that." His eyes focused on Hutch's mouth, and he leaned forward.

The joining of their lips sent a jolt through Hutch's body greater than any sugar rush he'd ever experienced. Who needed dessert? The floating feeling he'd had the night before was back, and once again, Hutch never wanted it to end. He felt Starsky's hands skimming up either side of his neck, fingering the ends of his hair, and then cupping the back of his head. Starsky's lower body was in motion, too, and through his hazy mind, Hutch realized he was being directed by the artful nudges and shifts of his partner's movements. In a matter of moments, he felt the arm of the sofa against his head and Starsky's chest was pressing down on his. Hutch couldn't have cared less about the change in position.

As long as they didn't have to stop kissing.

Minutes might have passed, or maybe hours. Hutch neither knew nor cared. It was all time well spent as far as he was concerned, these languorous minutes (or hours) of kissing and caressing, and the groans and whispered endearments coming from Starsky at regular intervals indicated he had no complaints about how they were spending their time either.

When he felt Starsky's fingers fumbling with the buttons of his denim shirt, Hutch had a brief flashback to the night before when his sneezes interrupted them just at this time. But not tonight. Starsky soon had the buttons undone and his hands freely roamed Hutch's chest. The only tingling sensation Hutch felt wasn't located anywhere near his nose. Emboldened, he slid one hand into Starsky's hair and the other down his back and then lower still. Starsky moaned into his mouth and straightened his body so that the swell of his groin pressed into Hutch's hip.

This time the sneezes came without warning -- two of them -- and Starsky's shirt bore the brunt of their damage.

"Oh, geez, sorry." Hutch watched in dismay as Starsky slid backwards and then sat up. "Um, stay right there." Hutch got up and dashed to the kitchen for a clean dish towel. Returning, he tried to wipe it across the front of Starsky's shirt only to have it abruptly snatched out of his hands.

"I'll do it myself."

Hutch watched his partner dab at his shirt, then along his neck, and to Hutch's embarrassment, even his ear. "Starsk, I'm sorry. It came out of nowhere."

"Yeah, well, it needs to go back to nowhere." Starsky patted his shirtfront a few more times. "I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with us, Hutch."

"What? Don't be silly."

"Well, this," Starsky pointed to his shirt, "ain't exactly normal."

"Starsk, I said -- what are you doing?" Hutch's disappointment grew as Starsky stood up and slipped into his shoes.

"I gotta shower. I've got garlic snot on me."

"You could -- " Hutch stood nodded his head toward his bathroom. He hoped his voice didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Don't even." Starsky began buttoning his shirt. "Look, let's call it a night. We gotta go back to work tomorrow anyway."

Following Starsky to the door, Hutch tried to keep his expression neutral. While he hadn't known exactly how the night would go, he'd certainly never planned on this ending. I never should've done all that dusting.

Starsky turned at the door and slid his arms around Hutch's waist. "Hey, don't feel bad. It was a great dinner. Thank you." He leaned in and kissed Hutch quickly, and far too chastely to Hutch's liking, and then added, "The dessert was even better." He winked and kissed Hutch again. "Except for that last part. We need to work on that. I'll pick you up in the morning."

For the second night in a row, Hutch was left staring at a closed door.

# # #

"You can't just do that without asking me, Starsk."

"Too late, I already did. Be there at three and they'll work you in."

A call for someone else came over the radio, and Hutch waited for it to play out. "Starsky, a guy can't just make a doctor's appointment for another guy without asking."

"Says who?"

Hutch stared down at the message slip Starsky had given him and then crumpled it in his fist. "Says the guy with the appointment. There's no reason for me to go to the doctor. Look, why don't we just try -- "

"No, you look. Either you go to the doctor, or you're gonna have to watch me explode before your very eyes. It won't be pretty, Hutch." Starsky maneuvered the car around a pothole. "You have sneezed about a thousand times in the past week and every one of them happened while we were this far apart." He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger pressed together.

"Star -- "

"We've tried your apartment, my apartment, your car, my car -- we're running out of places, Hutch, and we're looking at one long weekend if we don't get this checked out."

"You moron, one person can't be allergic to another person. It's gotta be something else, if it's anything at all. I really -- "

"That's what you've been saying for two days, but last night I took a shower with your shampoo and your soap, dried myself off with your towels and put on your clothes -- "

Hutch grabbed the hand Starsky was using to count off his actions. "You can't really believe this."

"All I know is that you're still sneezing every time we...get together and if it ain't me causin' it, I'd like to know what is."

"Zebra-three, Zebra-three, come in please."

Hutch snatched up the mic like it was a life preserver, only to have Starsky grab it from his hand. "I mean it, Hutch. You go to the doctor...or else."

"Or else, what?" Hutch took the mic back and gave Starsky the evil eye, daring him to try to take it again.

"Zebra-three..."

After a long moment, Starsky grinned and shrugged. "Or else...you don't go, I guess."

Although he tried to fight it, Hutch was laughing when he answered the call.

# # #

"I don't think it's your allergies, Ken." Dr. Madison moved his stethoscope to Hutch's back. "Deep breaths. Your ears, nose and throat all look fine. Your eyes aren't puffy like they usually are. Okay, that's enough. I don't want you to hyperventilate."

Hutch chuckled on cue. Dr. Madison's patter during his examinations was the same from visit to visit.

"If you ask me, you're healthier than you've been in years." The stool creaked under Dr. Madison's weight as he sat down to make notes in Hutch's chart.

Hutch stopped the standard 'who asked you' retort just before it left his mouth and made a fool of him. An even bigger fool, he silently amended. He'd known it wasn't his allergies.

"Any new bullet wounds or knife holes I need to know about?"

"That's a hell of a thing to ask someone," Hutch grumbled. "But for the record, no, I don't have any injuries to report."

The doctor's lips twitched. "No bees stings, poisonings, no viruses, no botulism -- "

"I fell playing basketball last week and skinned my knee. Are you happy now?"

"Don't go getting huffy. I just thought I might as well ask you now while you're coherent. Usually you're half dead by the time your partner drags you in here." Dr. Madison looked up. "How's he doing, by the way?"

Momentarily caught off guard, Hutch fumbled for the answer. "Uh, Starsky? Uh...oh, he's fine." He felt his face grow warm then warmer still when he noticed Dr. Madison looking at him with a puzzled expression. Oh, that was smooth, Hutchinson.

"Okay, Ken." Dr. Madison put down his pen and pushed his reading glasses up to his forehead. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"I told you, I've been sneezing a lot lately. I thought it might be my allergies getting worse." Hutch shrugged in feigned nonchalance. "Good to know they're not."

"You came in here just because you were sneezing?" The doctor stared hard a Hutch a moment, and then picked up his chart. "Sorry, Ken, but that just doesn't fit. Look at this. Your last visit was four months ago. You had a fever of a hundred and three, your skin looked like grey flannel, and you were severely dehydrated." He held up a hand to cut off Hutch's interruption. "And yet when David dragged you through the door, you were complaining that all you needed was a good night's sleep."

"I did feel better after I got a good night's sleep."

"I think the shots I gave you might have helped that a little." Dr. Madison adjusted his glasses and looked back at the chart. "Three months before that, you staggered in here with one of the worst cases of pneumonia I've ever seen. The only reason you came at all was because your captain threatened to suspend you if you didn't come in."

"I still say -- "

"Then there was the time -- "

"Is there a point to all this?"

"Yes, there is. The point is that you don't show up here unless there's something major going on with you." Dr. Madison put the chart back on the counter. "Or unless you're desperate." He rolled closer to Hutch. "Is it something sexual? Because you know from past -- "

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Hutch muttered and tried to slide off the table. Dr. Madison slid to the side and blocked his exit.

"There you go getting huffy again. Sit down, so we can get to the bottom of this."

Considering his six-inch height advantage, it would have been fairly easy to brush the other man aside, but he had too much respect for Dr. Madison to do that. So Hutch sat down again.

"Okay, that's more like it. Let's start at the beginning again. You said you came in here because you were sneezing."

"I did. I mean, I am," Hutch said quickly.

"All right, then. What is it about the sneezing that's a problem for you?"

Under Dr. Madison's full scrutiny now, Hutch made a silent vow to get even with Starsky. Somehow, some day, his partner -- his potential future lover, Hutch reminded himself -- would pay. Maybe he'd put some peroxide in Starsky's shampoo. Or maybe --

"Ken?"

Hutch started at the sound of the soft voice. Kind eyes waited patiently for his response. He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it when he realized he had no idea what to say.

"Ken, I don't know how to make you more comfortable. It's obvious this is a...an intimate subject and one that's difficult for you to discuss with me. I can only assure you that -- "

"Can a person be allergic to another person?" The words were out before he could stop them, and even though he felt his face flame once again, Hutch was powerless to stop them. "I mean, I know that sounds crazy, but it only happens when -- I mean, everything's going along just fine and then all of a sudden out of nowhere I'm sneezing my fu-- fool head off, and I don't know how to make it stop."

Hutch felt Dr. Madison's hand cover his. Looking down, he realized he had been punching his fist into his thigh as he spoke.

"Okay, slow down." Dr. Madison moved his hand to Hutch's shoulder. "Boy, once you get started...."

Rubbing his eyes, Hutch sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just that...nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

Dr. Madison chuckled quietly. "Considering some of the things I've treated you for, I didn't think there was anything new left for you to try. Oh, don't get huffy again. You know I'm just joking around."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't plan on taking your act on the road yet, if I were you," Hutch retorted, but there was no heat in his words. Dr. Madison was right. He had treated Hutch for some of the more interesting complications of his love life over the years. Could this really be any more embarrassing?

Hutch took another calming breath and plunged ahead. "It's not about sex. At least, not yet. We haven't even made it that far." Hutch hesitated, wanting to talk to Dr. Madison, but knowing he'd have to choose his words carefully to keep from revealing too much.

"Keep talking, Ken."

"So far, every time it's happened, we've just been kissing...and stuff."

"Ah." Dr. Madison nodded and returned to the creaky stool. "So it's during foreplay."

"More like pre-foreplay, to tell you the truth," Hutch muttered.

The doctor chuckled again. "Pre-foreplay? That's a new one on me." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Same partner every time?"

Hutch tried to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, um...yes, same partner." He wondered if he was imagining the look of suspicion on Dr. Madison's face. He hoped so.

Long seconds ticked off the clock before Dr. Madison spoke again. "I assume you've ruled out the usual suspects -- shampoo, soap, perfume, and so on?"

Hutch nodded glumly. "All of that and more."

"Tell me this, does this sneezing ever happen when you're with this person in a non-romantic setting?"

Thinking it over a moment, Hutch finally shook his head. "Not that I can remember."

"I see." Dr. Madison was in full diagnostic mode now. Hutch watched as he scribbled some more notes on the chart. At least he seemed to be taking it seriously. Hutch wouldn't have been surprised to have been laughed out of the office or sent to Cabrillo State for evalution.

"So what do you think it is?"

Dr. Madison held up a finger and continued writing. Hutch had just begun to wonder if he was taking notes for a book on nut cases he'd treated when Dr. Madison put the pen down.

"Okay, let me tell you what I suspect is going on with you. I have no proof, mind you, but I'll bet it's close. The tissue in your nose is very similar to erectile tissue; in fact, the turbinates -- the ribbed structures inside you nose -- can actually swell when you're aroused. It's not something you can see on the outside, but it happens, and that kind of swelling can initiate a sneeze."

Hutch let the information sink in before responding. "So this has happened to other people?"

Nodding, Dr. Madison fumbled in his pocket for his prescription pad. "It even has a name: honeymoon nose. Kind of out of date now, but for many years it wasn't uncommon for men to have an experience similar to yours when they were on their honeymoons."

"So is there anything I can do about it?"

"Normally I would just say to ride it out, but I can tell it's really troubling you. I'm going to write you a prescription for a nasal spray. I only want you to use it for a few days, though. If nothing else, it should open up your passageways so that everything keeps moving while all this sneezing is going on. I'm also going to give you some samples of a new antihistamine to take. We'll see if that helps."

Hutch was almost giddy with relief. He felt like jumping up and down and wrapping Dr. Madison in a big bear hug. He hadn't believed for a second that he was allergic to Starsky, but he'd been unable to come up with any other explanation.

"Ken, there's something else I want you to consider."

The balloon burst. "What's that?"

Dr. Madison seemed to be searching for the right words. "I can't help but think that there's something else going on with you, something you're not prepared to talk about. I suspect that whatever it is, it's compounding your sneezing problem, and it might not go away until you've resolved it." He reached out and patted Hutch's leg. "You know I'm here if or when you need to talk about it."

Hutch nodded. "I know."

Dr. Madison stared at Hutch thoughtfully for a few moments before pulling his prescription pad across the counter. He checked the calendar as he began filling out the form. "Hard to believe it's June already. Spring hung on as long as it could, but some things can't be stopped." He tore the paper from the pad and extended it to Hutch. "Seasons change. People change, too."

# # #

Hutch jerked awake with a start. Looking around the dimly lit room, he was surprised that he'd slept the remainder of the afternoon away. He had come in from the doctor's office and after taking his antihistamine, had stretched out across the bed to think about some of the things Dr. Madison had said. Oddly enough, it was the comment about the change of seasons that had stuck with him most.

In the past few months, his friendship with Starsky had grown and deepened. The thought that the changes of the past week might interfere with that friendship scared him a little, but any notion of stopping where they were scared him even more. The truth of the matter was that he didn't want to live another day without Starsky touching him. Kissing him. Holding him. He liked the feel of Starsky's strong hands roaming his body and loved the way his partner's bristly cheek felt under his hand. The idea that they might be able to have it all was finally sinking in with Hutch, and he was both frightened and exhilarated.

Trying to fight the doubts that still threatened to surface, Hutch let his mind drift along on happier thoughts. His eyelids grow heavier and he must have dozed again, because suddenly Starsky was sitting on the bed beside him, his fingers stroking Hutch's cheek. Hutch blinked against the lamplight in the room.

"Hey, sleepyhead, I thought you were gonna sleep through 'til morning."

Hutch tried to twist around to see the clock, but the afghan from the sofa had been tucked so tightly around him, he could hardly move.

"It's almost nine. I got here about an hour ago, but I didn't want to wake you." Starsky held up the empty paper bag from the pharmacy. "I feel like a complete shit, Hutch. I didn't know you were really sick. I wouldn't have ragged you so hard."

Hutch opened his mouth to protest, but sleep had roughened his voice and all that came out was a croak.

"Shhh. Don't try to talk." Starsky patted Hutch's chest soothingly. "I'll take care of everything." He patted Hutch's chest a few moments longer and looked around the room, apparently trying to figure out what there was to take care of. "Hey, you think you could eat a little something? Maybe I could scramble up some eggs?"

Hutch nodded. Eggs did sound good, and preparing his dinner was the perfect payback for Starsky's shenanigans with the doctor's appointment. In days gone by, the punishment would have been more severe, but Hutch didn't have the heart for it this time. Besides, he felt better for having talked to Dr. Madison. Straightening his position on the bed, Hutch tucked the afghan around him again, propped two pillows behind his head, and lay back to wait for dinner.

It seemed like no time before Starsky returned with a dinner tray, walking carefully to avoid sloshing two tall glasses of orange juice. He hadn't bothered with two plates; enough eggs and toast for both of them were piled on one platter with two forks sticking out from the middle. Hutch liked how that looked and smiled.

"A smile like that, you must be feeling better." Starsky placed a clean dish towel across Hutch's chest and then fussed and fidgeted until he had the tray and himself arranged to his liking. "Dig in. I'll fill you in on the excitement of my afternoon."

While they ate, Hutch listened to Starsky's exaggerated tales of the people who had wandered in and out of the squadroom in his absence. If even half of what Starsky said were true, the afternoon had seen its fair share of weirdos. He was almost glad he hadn't been there.

Leaning back with a contented sigh, Hutch sipped his orange juice. The meal was good, the company even better, and he had never felt more relaxed and comfortable in his life. Oh well, all good things must come to an end. He patted his mouth with his dish towel.

"Thanks, Starsk. That was delicious."

Starsky paused, his glass halfway to his mouth, and stared at Hutch in disbelief. "I thought your voice was gone."

"No, it's fine."

"But I thought -- you couldn't..." Starsky waggled his finger back and forth, replaying the scene in his mind. Enlightenment slowly dawned and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Set myself up for it, didn't I?"

"Yep, but all kidding aside, it was a great dinner."

"Glad you liked it." Starsky popped a last bite of toast into his mouth and swigged his juice. "So tell me what the doctor said. What's wrong with you?"

While he was sitting in Dr. Madison's office, Hutch had vowed that Starsky would never hear the term 'honeymoon nose' -- not if he had anything to do with it -- but he did tell him everything else Dr. Madison had told him. To his surprise, Starsky merely nodded and dabbed his mouth with his towel.

"Makes sense."

It was Hutch's turn to stare disbelievingly. "C'mon. I figured you'd have a field day with this. No Pinocchio jokes, no wisecracks?"

Starsky shrugged and stood up. "It's a medical thing, Hutch. I knew it had to be. It's not like a person can be allergic to another person."

Fortunately for both of them, Starsky had lifted the tray while he spoke, so that when Hutch pulled the pillow from behind his head and swung it, he barely connected.

"Back in a minute." Hutch could hear Starsky laughing as he carried the tray back to the kitchen.

When Starsky returned, he wasted no time in kicking off his sneakers and climbing onto the bed. Stretching out beside Hutch, he propped on an elbow and draped his other arm across Hutch's chest. "So, did you take one of those pills the doctor gave you?"

"Sure did."

"Did you use that spray stuff?"

"Yep."

"Okay then. G'night." Starsky rolled over, or tried to, but Hutch quickly grabbed him and pinned his shoulders to the bed.

"Not so fast there," Hutch warned, looming over Starsky now, his laughter fading as he gazed into the dark eyes below him. He could see forever in those eyes, and although he knew there might be worries ahead, he no longer had any doubts. This was where he belonged.

"You okay, Hutch?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Hutch cleared his throat which had suddenly developed a lump in it. "I need -- I want -- I think it would be good if we talked about all this."

"Right now?" Starsky's voice rose in a squeak.

"Oh God, no, not now." Hutch smiled and caressed Starsky's cheek, his heart quickening at the deliciously rough feel of it against the back of his hand. "We've got other things to take care of right now. I'd hate for you to explode."

Starsky snorted softly, and then tilted his head to the side, eyes boring into Hutch's. "This is it, isn't it, Hutch? You're sure," he whispered, apparently seeing something in Hutch's gaze that proved it.

"I'm sure." Hutch leaned down and placed a kiss on Starsky's forehead, then slid his lips down Starsky's cheek and to his mouth. When Starsky returned the pressure, it was if some line had officially been crossed. The leisurely pace of the previous nights was gone, replaced by urgent need and suppressed desire. The only sounds in the room were grunts, moans, hoarsely whispered instructions -- some tentative, some fervent -- and then snaps and zippers and muttered oaths as clothing was hastily removed. Each sound fueled the fire between them, each touch brought forth more guttural sounds, and then, finally, the frantic cries of release.

In the hazy afterglow, Hutch wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Starsky and pull him close, but the best his tired limbs could manage was one sticky hand in the middle of Starsky's chest. He knew he needed to do something about that, but he couldn't make his mind or body cooperate.

"Man, if that wiped us out this bad, we'll probably kill ourselves if we try anything more." Starsky shifted and put one arm behind his head for a pillow, which made Hutch vaguely remember shoving his bed pillows somewhere. He'd have to do something about that, too.

"At least we'll go out happy. I will, anyway. You?"

"Blissful." Starsky shivered slightly, and Hutch knew it was time to get the bed sorted out. He looked up and spotted his t-shirt on the bedpost and used it to clean the worst of the residue from their bodies. Showers were definitely in order, but he doubted either of them could stand long enough to do any good. Besides, it would be more fun to take one together later.

"What's a guy gotta do to get a beer around here?" Hutch looked over to see one irritated eye glaring at him.

"Okay, I'll get it. You get the bed straightened out." Hutch slid out of bed and stood on only slightly wobbly legs.

"But you're already up."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud..." Hutch picked up the pillows from the floor and threw them at Starsky. "Get under the covers before you catch pneumonia."

When Hutch returned from the kitchen, Starsky was just pulling the sheet up over him. He had stuffed both pillows behind his back and was half propped against the headboard. Hutch passed him the beer and climbed onto the bed. "What am I supposed to use for a pillow?"

Starsky smiled and extended his free arm, the pinkie of the hand holding the bottle pointing to his chest. It took Hutch a minute, but once he figured out what Starsky meant, he clambered into place beside him, tingling a little when Starsky's arm wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed.

"Not one sneeze, Hutch."

Hutch laughed out loud at that. He had forgotten about the sneezing.

"So I guess I was right to make that appointment for you, huh? Whatever he gave you seemed to work."

Hutch smiled and pressed his lips into Starsky's chest. "It worked all right."

Or maybe it's just the change of seasons.

The End

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