Title: Dishes on Tuesday
Author: Paula Wilshe
Type: Slash
Summary: A Friday night after an exhausting week at work.
Format: Story
Category: PWP
Rating: G
Size: 8K
Date Added: 2002-11-22
Dishes on Tuesday
by Paula Wilshe
Starsky put down his pencil wearily, and closed the open file folder in front of him. He placed it in the "out" bin, and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself the unmitigated pleasure of the yawn he had been suppressing for the past twenty minutes. Knowing if he'd given into it, it would have bred another, and another, and his eyes would have gone bleary, he'd clamped his jaw shut and simply refused to think about the level of exhaustion he was currently courting.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching protesting muscles, and covering his mouth as the yawn hit, tingling its way outward from his soul, and his body stiffened and tingled with the force of it, his eyes squeezed shut, and as it ended, it left him limp, dangling back on the chair, eyes closed for just a few pleasurable moments, all the stretch gone out of him.
"You, um...you want a cigarette?" asked Hutch's soft voice against his ear.
Starsky shot straight up in the chair, startled and self-conscious, his head bumping Hutch's nose in the process.
"Ouch," Hutch complained, his hand flying to his injured face.
"Oh, God, Hutch, I'm sorry," Starsky apologized. "I didn't realize you were that close. You bleedin'?" He tugged at Hutch's hand. "Lemme see."
"It's fine," Hutch said, his voice muffled behind long fingers. He pulled his hand away and looked at it checking for blood. There was none, and he shook his head and made a face. "How's it look?" He angled his face so his partner could get a better view.
"It looks fine," Starsky said, running a hand through his dark hair. "I am sorry, I just..." He was overcome by another giant yawn, eyes prickling with tears from the effort. He rubbed fingers into his eyes. "Man," he said, "I am beat."
Hutch gave his nose one more perfunctory examination, feeling the bridge to check for swelling. Finding none, he shrugged his shoulders. "It's been a hell of a week," he allowed. "Don't apologize, I'm tired too." He rubbed at his eyes. "You ready to go?"
Starsky leaned forward, burying his face in both hands, yawning long and loud again. "Boy am I ready," he said, as soon as he could find his voice. "You wanna go out tonight, or what? We were gonna go to the movies..." His offer, although sincere, lacked typical Starsky enthusiasm, and made Hutch smile.
"Yeah, like you could stay awake through a movie, Starsk," he answered indulgently.
"Hey, come on," Starsky protested. "Cup of coffee and a..." he paused as another yawn sneaked up on him, and rubbed at his jaw as it ended. "...cup of coffee, and I'll be..."
Hutch reached down and hooked a hand under his partner's armpit, beginning to pull him to his feet. "Come on, you," he said. "You're going home to bed."
Starsky's eyes twinkled with merriment. "Is that a proposition?"
****
"Starsk?"
Nothing.
"Starsky?" A little louder.
Still nothing.
"Starsky!"
Starsky lifted his head from its resting place against the car window, without opening his eyes. "Timezit?" he asked, his voice foggy with sleep.
"Time to get up, babe," Hutch teased. "Gotta be at work in an hour."
"No..." Starsky let his head fall back against the glass. "Call..Dobey, tell'm'm sick..."
"You're not sick."
"M'tired, Hutch," Starsky said on a sigh. "Tell'm...tell'm...something..."
Hutch shook his head, taking pity on his exhausted partner. He leaned in close and kissed an ear. "Starsk," he said softly. "We're home. Just wake up for a minute till I get you in bed. I can't carry you up the steps with my back."
Starsky opened one eye. "'Nother proposition?" he asked.
Hutch raised an eyebrow. "You should be so lucky," he anounced. "Now come on."
The partners moved slowly up the steps to Hutch's apartment, Hutch all but tugging the brunet along behind him. As Hutch fumbled with the key over the doorframe, Starsky rested his forehead against Hutch's strong back, and yawned hard and long into his partner's jacket.
Raising his head as he heard the doorknob rattle, Starsky trudged into the dark, cool apartment and flopped bonelessly down on the sofa. "Man," he said, raising tired eyes. "I don't think I've ever been so exhausted in my life, you know?"
Hutch nodded wearily. "I do know," he agreed. "This week has been brutal." And it had. Working extra shifts to cover some of the other detectives' vacations, they'd not had a break for days, and as so often happened in the long, hot days of summer, the crime rate seemed to increase proportionately with the temperature, and the flaring tempers which were exacerbated by physical discomfort. He slumped down on the end of the sofa. "Thank god for air conditioning."
Starsky nodded. "I don't want to move from here till Tuesday morning," he allowed. "That's three whole days. Okay?"
"Sounds good to me," Hutch nodded. He held out an arm. "Come here," he urged.
Starsky moaned as his exhausted body protested any movement, but managed to push himself across the couch, his head leaning against Hutch as the outstretched arm tightened against him. "Mmm..." he sighed.
"You hungry, huh?"
"I don't think so. You?"
Hutch closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sofa. "I don't know."
He sighed. "I'm hot, I'm tired, and I'm kind of numb." With a small smile, he squeezed Starsky's shoulder lightly. "And I've got a headache. Somebody head butted me in the nose."
"Who would do a thing like that?" Starsky asked him, around a yawn. "I oughta punch his lights out."
"Oh, I think you should," Hutch agreed.
"Do you really have a headache? From that?"
Hutch shook his head slightly. "No...just playing..."
Starsky reached an arm around Hutch's waist. "Okay."
"You know, it's like...all week I kept looking forward to the weekend, thought we'd go to the movies, maybe go to the beach tomorrow..." He sighed again. "But I'm too tired to do any of it."
Starsky squeezed his eyes shut and yawned hard against Hutch's chest, and Hutch absently carded his fingers through the tangled curls. He leaned down and dropped a soft kiss. "Poor Starsk," he whispered. "You're really fried, babe."
Starsky wrapped his arm tighter around his partner's waist. "Am," he agreed.
"Go get in bed," Hutch urged him.
Starsky raised his head and blinked blearily. "What about you?" he asked.
"Got to water the plants and..." Hutch waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Dishes from this morning...or was it yesterday morning?" He rubbed his forehead. "I can't even remember when they're from," he admitted. "Get in bed," he said again.
Starsky nodded against his partner. "Going," he said drowsily. "Getting up," although instead of moving, he burrowed in tighter against the blond. "Here I go..."
Hutch grinned. "I guess the dishes can wait, huh?" Movements stiff, he raised his legs, and stretched them out on the coffee table in front of him.
"You can do 'em," Starsky murmured sleepily. "I'm in bed, it's okay...r'I'll do 'em when I get up..." He slouched down lower against Hutch's chest.
"On Tuesday?"
"Yeah...Tuesday..."
Hutch shook his head, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his moustache. "Tuesday sounds good," he agreed, and squeezing Starsky once for good measure, closed his own eyes and drifted off to sleep.
THE END
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