You Can Take the Boy out of Brooklyn
Chapter Nine
The memory of the wild hatred in Hutchinson's eyes was vivid in Nick's mind as he shut the engine off after parking in his hotel's garage and let his aching head fall back against the head rest of the car seat. His brother's partner really was a crazy son of a bitch – dangerous and unpredictable. With his whole body still vibrating from the delayed shock of the brutish attack, he stumbled from his car barely making the short but tortuous journey across the hotel's garage without collapsing.
All he wanted now was to get back inside his hotel room and behind closed doors. His entire face was a throbbing mass and his tortured larynx knifed his throat with every gagged swallow. Using the garage wall to support him, he took a moment to fight through a wave of dizzy nausea and lifted his hand to summon the elevator down.
He was so centered on his internal suffering, he didn't realize at first what was happening when a man suddenly materialized beside him. He hadn't seen a soul when he'd driven into the garage. The darkly attired stranger slapped his hand up to block the control button before Nick's hand could reach it.
"What in hell are you doing, man?" Nick cried out in shock at the act of pure casual arrogance, bewildered at what the man was doing..
He turned to let the man have it and stopped short when his fuzzy brain put it together. The man with a buzz cut and a mean face was the same man who had shadowed him outside of Hutchinson's Venice Beach apartment that morning. Durniak's man without a doubt – no longer keeping his clandestine distance but all of a sudden up close and way too personal for Nick.
A quick surge of fear galvanized him and he looked about the garage wildly for a quick exit. He wasn't ready for this.
The stranger gave him a smirk. "Don't shit ya pants, Nicky boy – if I'd wanted to take you down, I would have done it by now." The stranger's voice was pitched low and rough as he barely opened the side of his mouth. It wasn't hard to imagine how the man's face might have gotten so misshapen. With his nose pressed into his face and his jaw misaligned, he'd most likely been on the receiving end of the sort of violence he was now projecting to Nick.
"Durniak sent you to follow me, didn't he?" Nick swallowed, his pain forgotten in a rush of immediate fear.
This seemed to amuse the stranger and he let out an incredulous laugh. "Know anyone else who would be bothered to tag your useless ass all around the city today? Of course he sent me you stupid schmuck."
Nick could barely hold himself together. He wanted to lie down in a cool dark room with an ice pack and three or four painkillers, wooing sleep with a couple shots of bourbon. He didn't want to be facing off with one of Durniak's army of heavies. Hutchinson had left precious little in him to go another round with anyone, let alone this man.
"You got something to tell me, Nick? I got Mr. Durniak riding my back and I don't wanna have to go back to him again today empty handed."
"I told Tony I'd get back to him as soon as I got something solid." Nick rubbed nervously at his bruised throat.
"That's all nice, Nicky, but seein' as I'm askin', you can tell me. You get anything useful from your little visit to your cop brother?"
"I'm workin' on him."
The man laughed. "You sure he didn't work on you?" he jeered, nodding at Nick's cut up cheek and swollen eye. "Some brotherly relationship you got there, Nicky boy. Real sweet brotherly love."
At the man's taunts Nick lifted his hand to touch his swollen cheek, realizing what he must look like. "Nothin' to do with my brother," Nick snapped. "Look, I'll explain it all to Tony when I talk to him. It's not as easy as I thought getting through to my brother. His partner's got it in for me," he spat, fresh contempt in his words at the memory of how Hutch had humiliated him in front of his own brother.
Durniak's man fixed him with narrowed eyes, reading something that Nick knew he couldn't hide – desperation and uncertainty. "The boss ain't gonna like that."
"I'll clear it with him when I call him," Nick said decisively. He wanted the conversation over.
Surprisingly, the man punched the elevator controls, calling the elevator to the garage. Still unsure of what the stranger would do next, Nick waited, not daring to believe he was about to be dismissed so easily when the elevator doors finally opened in front of him.
The man nodded at the vacant interior of the brightly lit elevator and Nick stepped in warily. The man held the door open so that the elevator could not leave. Maybe he wasn't go to get away as easily as he thought.
"No need to call him," the man said, in such a way that Nick knew there was going to be a punch line. "Mr. Durniak will see you in person tomorrow morning."
Durniak was here, in Los Angeles? How was that? Why? Didn't he trust him?
Jesus…. this whole thing was getting way too tense. First Hutchinson smashes his face up and now he had the prospect of facing Tony Durniak with not one shred of information. Nick's head throbbed even more.
"I'll call his offices in New York. Sort out a meeting with him then," Nick said coolly as though the news didn't worry the hell out of him.
The man didn't like his idea. "No, it's all arranged. I'll be in the lobby at ten to take you to him. Be there. Don't be late. Mr. Durniak don't like delays of any kind. And Nick," he added casually as he released the elevator doors, "my job's to deliver you on time. If you decide not to show – be sure of one thing - I'll come find you."
Nick didn't doubt he would.
The mounting fear of what he was going to tell Tony Durniak was almost enough to override his physical pain. He had been so sure he'd have gotten his brother on side; that he'd have been able to find out something solid for Durniak and in doing so stake a place in the mobster's inner team.
He'd have to come up with something and fast or what Hutchinson had done to him would pale into insignificance at the hands of Durniak.
The doors closed – not nearly fast enough for Nick, shutting out the coarse-looking man's face, leaving him inside the elevator with his private pain and creeping dread.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Starsky's husky promise that the waiting was over had held Hutch spellbound to the point that he became pliant in Starsky's arms, allowing himself to be pulled bodily toward the bed. It was now Starsky who led them to where they were irrevocably heading, literally and figuratively. Moving Hutch strategically across the room toward the bed, Starsky took the leading role as he commandeered the slow seductive dance Hutch had begun.
With his hands urgent and insistent as he angled Hutch's body to where he wanted him, Starsky took little time in changing the tempo that Hutch had established. Now that he was in control, he kicked things up from slow and gentle to hot and urgent, using his body to move them both effortlessly toward the side of the bed. Pushed up against the edge of the bed, and with Starsky's body pressing him further back, it was more than clear to Hutch that Starsky wanted him horizontal and fast. His rough tugs to remove Hutch's t-shirt said he also wanted him bare to the touch of his roaming hands. With one quick move, Starsky pushed him against the soft contours of the big bed, giving a husky exclamation of triumph at his accomplishment. Before Hutch could move, Starsky had straddled him, keeping one hand firmly on his shoulder to hold him place.
"Damn it, Hutch – let me get this thing offa' ya," he grunted softly, holding Hutch's shoulders off the bed with one hand as he pulled the t-shirt over his head with the other. In a low crouch, Starsky used his body to pin Hutch beneath him, an arm on either side of Hutch's chest and his knees pressed hard against Hutch's hips to hold him fixed beneath him.
Another small cry of conquest escaped Starsky as he peeled away the offending obstruction. Holding the t-shirt aloft, Starsky surveyed the skin revealed by his efforts, and his cry of success was overridden by Hutch's hungry groan. Starsky tossed the garment aside and lowered himself closer to the body pinned beneath him. He took a moment to let his smoldering gaze brush over his captive's bared upper body before he lowered his dark head to take one nipping bite at Hutch's parted lower lip. Hutch jumped with the unexpected thrill of the small pain that lay claim to his mouth. Before he could move his own lips to respond, Starsky's dark head had already moved lower to Hutch's chest, still damp from his earlier physical exertions and getting damper from his fresh arousal. Starsky took a few experimental licks, breathing deeply as he nosed the smooth, revealed flesh.
"You smell like sweat, babe," Starsky said. "Hutch sweat. I can taste it, too – your smell and your sweat – all over your golden skin and its fuckin' turnin' me on. I need it in my mouth. I want the taste of it on my tongue – want the taste of you, babe." He lapped his tongue around one hardened nipple and the shock ripped through Hutch so violently that his legs jerked in a spasm of ecstasy.
Feeling his response, Starsky moved one hand down to circle the top of Hutch's bare upper thigh, quieting him. "Steady babe – it's my turn now – my turn to taste you. Lie still and let me eat you up."
The hot sensual lull of Starsky's words had Hutch biting his lip against his mounting desire; the pure rawness of his words and the way Starsky ground them out were a tantalizing provocation. He could feel his heart rate picking up, his breaths quickening, and his vision dimming - the feverish excitement Starsky was inciting in him pounding in his hardening cock.
"My turn, Hutch…" Starsky repeated in a low growl before he put words into action and turned back to use Hutch's bare, smooth flesh as a feasting plate, his moist mouth voracious he licked, kissed, and playfully sucked at Hutch's skin. Whereas Hutch's attention to Starsky's chest had been tantalizing soft, tender and slow, Starsky, by comparison, went at Hutch's skin like he wanted to consume it. Starsky had tasted him and when Starsky's appetite was whetted there was no turning back until he had taken his fill. Powerless for the moment to resist his partner's sultry demands, Hutch gave himself up to accept the lavishing attention he was receiving.
Hutch felt the pull of Starsky's enthusiastic savoring of his chest like a vortex – helpless to stop the sensations that brought him to a heightened sexual plane. As Starsky sucked and kissed, his hands went ahead to pave the path for where his hungry mouth was soon to follow. He used his the heel of his palm to press hard against the sharp angles of Hutch's flank, chest, and pelvis before grazing his fingers over the smooth skin in tiny circles. Then, when his fingers left one spot to move to the next, Starsky's mouth moved to replace them. It felt to Hutch as though every inch of skin on his chest was being innervated with Starsky's lips and fingers. Hutch could feel his skin becoming slick with new sweat, his whole body as damp as when he had run five miles. He could feel how Starsky's hands slipped so easily over his skin's frictionless surface, and he didn't need to see it to know that it would be sheened in a film of lustful wanting.
Starsky's mouth was on a mission, moving lower, eventually finding his concave navel. When his warm tongue dipped into the small mound of knotted skin, Hutch arched up from the bed from the sensual shock. Starsky only pressed him back firmly, not allowing him to move.
When the insistent probing of Starsky's tongue finally finished its thorough exploration of Hutch's navel, it moved to trail lower still. It flicked at the downy fuzz of blond hair that paved a line down from his navel to his lower belly. Starsky brushed the fine hairs with his tongue, lifting them and wetting them, following the trail to where it disappeared beneath Hutch's running shorts.
"God, Starsky – God!" It came out in a stammered breathy whisper, but Hutch had no idea what he was trying to convey. He wanted more, of course – more, more, more – but in the back of his mind he knew he wanted something else, too. Something he had lost track of as soon as this masterful new lover had laid hands on his body. Starsky's sensual attack was so skillfully executed that he felt his body succumbing entirely.
Falling, drowning, burning up – Hutch's every sense was assailed by the pleasuring acts Starsky was so beautifully gifting him with and he was fast losing himself to Starsky's control. Fighting through the desire to take all that Starsky had to give him was near impossible, but he knew he wanted to put a halt to this agonizing gratification.
As much as it was excruciating to refuse, there was no way Hutch was going to give in to Starsky's natural exuberance to take this first experience at the same pace that his partner approached everything in life. Hutch knew that once engaged in the act of discovering one another on this new intimate level, he would find Starsky a handful to manage and control. His fiercely virile nature and competitive spirit in all things physical, combined with the sexual motor of a high performance vehicle, meant that Hutch would have his work cut out in taming his hot-blooded counterpart. Starsky, once committed to a physical act, jumped in with both feet and no brakes. Hutch quickly sensed that slowing him down wasn't going to be easy. But he didn't want this first time to burn hard and bright, only to later have them draw apart as they realized what had happened between them.
Maybe he was wrong and it would make no difference in the long run, but he wanted to go this "first time" at a slow speed. He wanted to be sure they could make something together that they could build on forever. If they gave into a fevered sexual coupling, which-given their states of arousal would be over in a few sweaty damp thrusts-then they would be left shocked and disbelieving in its wake. With no time to understand what was happening to change the nature of their relationship, they could only react to the fact that it had changed. This first time had to have substance, a foundation of more than just the need to release the sexual tension building between them for months. If it didn't, then Hutch feared that the timing of it - in the midst of Starsky's current stressful situation - could devalue the experience and have serious long-term repercussions.
If he thought Starsky was ready for all this rationalization, he would have shared it with him, but once again his uncertainty stopped him from trying. He knew what his fears were: that they were taking a risk and possibly making mistakes that couldn't be undone. He didn't want Starsky to think that all he wanted out of this was sexual satisfaction. And yet he was unprepared to ask for anything more at this stage of the game.
It was too much too soon. Hutch was being taken somewhere he wasn't ready to go yet. There was too much he had wanted to do for too long, and if he didn't stop Starsky now, the chance might be lost forever.
When Hutch felt Starsky's nimble fingers sliding beneath the elastic of his flimsy running shorts and lowering them beyond his hips so that his mouth would have free range to find new territory, Hutch knew he could wait no longer.
Starsky had repositioned himself slightly, but still ensured Hutch was securely trapped beneath him. He had moved his knees further down the bed to allow his mouth to have easier access to the skin he had just exposed. He looked up to share one small wicked grin of delight with Hutch before his mouth went down to touch the spot where the trail of Hutch's naval hair ended and the dense thatch of his pubic hair began.
"Starsky!" Hutch shouted before jerking back with such force that he dislodged his partner. Undeterred, Starsky returned to his quest, nuzzling his lips and nose deep into Hutch's springy golden hair. Hutch jerked back again, his actions more decisive.
Starsky stopped. Lifting his head, he looked at Hutch with curious eyes. Despite his pause, however, his expression still displayed a voracious appetite. Clearly, Starsky was hungry for a lot more.
Torn between his physical desire and his emotional needs, Hutch felt trapped. If he didn't break the impetus of their steamy foreplay, then this experience was heading one way fast. He would never get the opportunity to slow this down again.
Was he being selfish? Overly emotional? Unrealistic about what they were about to share and might continue to share? Soppy, sentimental? Misjudging his own feelings for what could simply be a need for them to give each other temporary sexual release at a time of harrowing stress?
Was this all it was going to be? A one time, getting off together? Hard, rough, and mind-blowingly unique sex, but just sex and nothing more?
Hutch wanted so much more than that.
Would Starsky look at him with shock and regret, embarrassment and resentment when they reached their sexual pinnacle side by side?
Damn it – was he just plain stupid and naïve?
He wanted to say so much and show so much to this man who meant the world to him. But there was a part of him that was terrified that his need for a sexual union with his partner might be at total odds with Starsky's. Starsky hated soapy scenes – or so he always claimed – so maybe Hutch's ideals and hopes about the potential for their future relationship were not going to fly with him at all.
What if Starsky simply wanted the experience of being matched in bed physically – experimenting with an equally powerful male who happened to be his best friend and partner?
Hutch felt his resolve slipping, his bewilderment and fear clouding his intentions to slow Starsky down and to try to articulate to him what he really wanted.
He became aware that Starsky was waiting for him to come out of his lapse into heavy headed introspection. Sensitive to Hutch's hesitation, Starsky had reined in his ardor to wait for him, and Hutch loved him for doing that, but still couldn't say what he wanted.
Starsky slowly brought his thumb up to rub over Hutch's mouth – his eyes asking him if there was something wrong. When Hutch remained silent, Starsky gave the smallest of nods before continuing to explore beneath Hutch's shorts.
This time Hutch couldn't hold in the sharp yelp of pleasured agony and deep bellied longing for more of Starsky's touch. He shifted himself back on the bed, drawing away from Starsky's hands, trying to evade from the next move he expected Starsky to make. It took all his will to suppress the need to pull Starsky's head down so his wanton mouth could continue its exploration of Hutch's lower belly.
Hutch recognized the first sign of doubt and confusion flitting across Starsky's face. "Does that mean stop, or does that mean go faster?" he asked, carefully removing his hand from the top of Hutch's shorts. His voice was uncertain and soft, his brows knitted with worry. "What's wrong, Hutch?"
Before Hutch gave into the desire to simply lie down and pull his new lover back into place, he took hold of Starsky's chin. He grew determined to stop this rollercoaster of seduction before the bed was set on fire and they both ignited. The most he could hope to do was to demonstrate how deeply intense his feelings were for his partner.
He wanted to love Starsky, love him with his hands, his mouth, and his body. He wanted it to be the foundation of everything else they might ever hope to have together if this physical joining was going to be a real part of their relationship. Still, he needed to handle this carefully without seeming to convey that he didn't want what Starsky was also trying to give him.
"It means, babe," Hutch began soothingly, subtly moving so that he was no longer captive beneath Starsky and instead was now alongside him. His arms wrapped around his fully clothed partner. "I don't want to rush this – this very special thing that I can finally experience with you. I want to enjoy you – enjoy us, like this, together for the first time, slowly, unwrap you slowly, love you slowly…"
Starsky rose to support himself on his elbow, head on his hand. His fingers still traced over Hutch's bare shoulders as he tilted his head to meet Hutch's gaze. "So you want what I want. What's the problem then? I was enjoying myself and I know you were too, babe – so –" He reached to pull Hutch tight against his rock-hard body, grabbing Hutch's hips to pull them firmly against his own. The rigid outline of Starsky's arousal was as obvious as Hutch's, despite Starsky's tight jeans.
For a moment, Starsky seemed lost, moaning softly as he ground himself against Hutch's groin, delighting in the meeting of their erections. While Starsky was absorbed in this sensual distraction, Hutch used it to his advantage to reverse their positions. He swung up and over Starsky, his taller body now dominant.
"Hey," Starsky complained. "Not fair. I had you where I wanted you." Then he grinned as he deftly moved his hands over Hutch's back and down his ass. "But, now that you're up there, I can do this - " His hands latched onto Hutch's ass, his palms scorching through the thin fabric of Hutch's running shorts as he cupped a buttock in each hand.
Hutch sighed with pleasure and frustration - his partner was unstoppable and Hutch was fast losing his battle to resist the pleasure that Starsky's touch gave him.
"Not so fast, babe – not so – " he struggled to explain without seeming like he was rejecting Starsky's sexy advances. He took a calming breath. "Not so quick – I want this to be slow. I need to take the time to show you how much I want to love you. Let me…" Hutch implored in a whisper as he tried to temper Starsky's enthusiasm. "Let me be selfish here, please, Starsk. Just for now. I've waited so long to give myself to you like this, so long to love you this special way, not just how we've always loved each other – that I want to have this time. Just this first time. Please let me have it…." He heard how plaintive and wistful he sounded.
As he spoke, the fingers of one hand opened the remaining buttons on Starsky's shirt while his other hand pushed the shirt from Starsky's shoulder. Hutch moved tentatively. "Please, let me have you, love you the way I've wanted to for so long. It's an ache inside me. If I can't touch you like I've dreamed of, feel you, kiss you, be with you – I don't think I can go on. Just this one time."
Starsky lay still under his gaze, his deep blue eyes never leaving Hutch's face as he spoke.
"I want to show you how much you deserve to be loved and cared for and cherished…" Hutch pulled Starsky's shirt away from his furred chest and lay his hand over Starsky's heart. "Let me do this for you. Take away some of the pain, some of the hurt that you've locked inside you. Love you so much that I might make up for the way you've been hurt, touch you in a way that might let you forget for a while about all the worry of today, of yesterday – what might lie ahead tomorrow. Let me just love you right now." His voice was tender as he struggled to express the magnitude of his feelings. And then he tried to give words to his greatest fear. "If I can't show you this one time, I'm scared I'll never get the chance to show you again…"
Once more he brought his shaking hand, trembling with the need to do what he wanted, to Starsky's face. He placed his palm there, waiting for Starsky to talk to him, to understand what Hutch was asking of him.
The answer Starsky gave was clear. He lifted Hutch's hand from where it touched his heart and brought it to his mouth. He kissed Hutch's palm with the same tenderness Hutch had been showing him, and with none of the hungry drive he'd shown earlier.
"My tender blond hero," Starsky whispered, smiling. "You're worried I don't get this side of it, aren't you, babe? You think I don't want you to love me like I know you can and will – with all of that gentleness you got stocked away just for me - in unlimited supply?" he stroked the small furrow between Hutch's eyes, a look of concern on his face. " Just 'cause I want to ravage your beautiful body don't mean I don't get that there's more goin' on here than just what we might do in this bed now."
Starsky's words were heartfelt and sincere. He waved a hand at Hutch's face and bare chest. "I find you irresistible, blintz – I think that's pretty clear to both of us… I have for a while now…and I've got this really desperate need to put my mark on you in the most intimate way. But don't you think for one moment I don't have more in my head about where we're going with all of this than just what I want to do to your body. It's not like I just want to jump your bones and then it's back to life as usual."
Starsky sounded deeply serious despite his casual allusions to sex. "I know there's a whole lot more to think about and talk about for us - whatever happens here right now - and I know you're already thinking about all that might go wrong for us, too."
Starsky paused. "Am I right, partner? That's what's going on in your beautiful blond head, isn't it, babe?"
The blush Hutch could feel warmed his neck and rose up to his cheeks. Caught out by the one man who knew him as well as he knew himself, his fears and insecurities were clearly visible to Starsky.
"God Starsk – I'm sorry…I just wasn't sure….and I'm worried you won't …you wouldn't - " Hutch tried, but it was all mangled now, his thoughts in disarray, disarmed by the sharp insight and perfect understanding Starsky had just shown.
"Of course you are, you big soft, gentle lion. Well, quit it now, okay? No more talk – all you're doin' is gettin' yourself all worried like you always do." He pressed his fingers firmly against Hutch's lips as though to silence him. "You can talk yourself into anything with that silver tongue of yours, so enough. I'm on board with all of this, Hutch – what's happening right now, what might happen after….where this might take us. So stop worrying. I understand and we'll walk this through together – but," He gave a little teasing smile then, and it had Hutch's pulse jumping again. "I still want to jump your bones." And then to reassure him further, he took away his finger and replaced it once more with his mouth, sliding his tongue in before Hutch knew what he was about to do. He let the kiss linger, long and deep and endlessly soft.
When he finally pulled away and let Hutch take a gasping breath of oxygen his eyes were alight with mischief. "See babe, slow and smoldering works just as well for me as fast and burning. We can have it all – every bit of it. We're not gonna use it all up this one time – which ever way we go." As he spoke he fingered the edges of Hutch's hair. "Now you better stop with those sad blue eyes, babe, and those sad poetic words of yours or you'll turn me into a big ball of mush."
They moved closer together on the bed, enveloping one another in a hold so tight that Hutch felt Starsky's heart beat through his own chest, and felt the pulse at his throat through his lips as he pressed them against it.
Starsky pressed his face into Hutch's hair he had just been feathering. "God, I love being able to do this to you. To smell you, touch you like this – and – my very favorite sense, especially when it comes to sampling you, babe, to taste you - mmnn..." he purred at Hutch's neck as sucked his flesh in delicate little mouthfuls, the gentle suckling not strong enough to bruise but more than powerful enough to make Hutch crazy.
For a few luxurious moments, Hutch lay still in Starsky's arms in silent awe at how adaptable his incredible partner was. No matter how long Hutch knew him, Starsky never stopped surprising him with the richness and versatility of his personality. In the past half hour, he had transformed himself from a sleek and sensual prowling panther prepared to exert his power to take his sexual fill of his mate, to an empathic, reflective listener, and now, in deference to Hutch's needs and expressed wants, he was a considerate and caring lover, adoring and affectionate - transitioning their loving into a soft sexual journey.
It came to Hutch then. The realization that this experience, although unique, was not all that different or new for either of them. Starsky had just proved that by reminding him again how solidly stitched was the fabric of their relationship. Solid because of how they cared for each other no matter what.
Carefully extricating himself from Starsky's grasp, he pulled himself up and into a kneeling position and then reached for his partner to join him. They moved as one, mirroring each other as they rose up onto their knees and faced each other in the center of the bed. Bare chest to bare chest, knees to knees, arms wrapping around each other, they brought their faces close enough that Hutch could see the darkened flecks in Starsky's eyes.
Hutch waited, looking long and lovingly at Starsky, seeing in his face that he felt as comfortable as Hutch did as they prepared to move forward.
Their mirrored positions said it all. Hutch could see that now.
This wasn't about Hutch showing Starsky how he could love him slow and tenderly or about Starsky leading the way in a steamy seduction of Hutch.
This, the first time of physical loving was going to be more of what their relationship was founded upon.
Mutual trust and love.
They would find the way there just as their mouths were finding the way to each other's, their hands cupping each other's heads, their bare skin pressing as close to the other as they could get, their mouths exploring each other's in a never ending kiss.
Coming up for air a little while later, Starsky wore a look that Hutch had not seen in months – a buoyant effervescence for life was there once more. "Hutch?"
"Hmmn?" Hutch asked distractedly, now immersed in trying to release the buckle on Starsky's belt with one hand, his other busy massaging the swollen mound of Starsky's crotch through his denim.
"Before, when I said that 'bout the talking thing – you know how I said you can talk yourself into anything?"
"Um - right?" Hutch was only half listening now that he was making headway with the belt and the top button of Starsky's impossibly tight jeans.
"I didn't really mean it, ya know. I love your words; I love the things you say and how you say them. So sexy, so lovin'…you know that don't ya? I wouldn't want you to think –" Gasping, he moaned as the belt finally fell loose and Hutch began to slide down his zipper, not easing up on the firm hold he had between Starsky's legs. "Hutch!"
It was Hutch's turn to smile. "Starsk, you said no more talking; now you won't shut up." He ran both hands inside the snug jeans, sliding around to Starsky's rear, gripping twin handfuls of hard muscle, loving the rounded perfection of Starsky's ass. His mouth salivated at the thought of gently biting into their olive skinned ripeness.
"And you," Starsky hissed, clenching his jaw hard at the moment when Hutch's big hands managed to encompass each buttock easily "you're supposed to be the silver-tongued romantic. Thought you were wanting to be slow this whole show down."
He sucked air through his teeth as Hutch pressed his engorged crotch against Starsky's, his hands still full with his partner's ass.
"And now – now you're - now you're -" Starsky gasped, halted in midsentence, his eyes glazing with lust.
"Now I'm what?" Hutch teased.
"Now – Oh God, now I don't have the words for what you're trying to do to me."
Hutch smiled and eased his new lover back down onto the bed beneath him, spreading him out in all his bared glory for his eyes alone. "Don't you? I do. I could tell you exactly what I'm trying to do to you. Remember, I've got the silver tongue? But I'm taking your advice and I'm not going to talk." He leaned over Starsky's quivering body and ran his tongue in one long languorous trail from the base of his neck to the lower edge of his hip without stopping, peeling away the stubborn denim as he did. "I've got other plans for this tongue than just talk," he said as he tossed Starsky's jeans over his shoulder to the floor. "Now - let me show you what this silver tongue is really good at."
At Hutch's raunchy innuendo the laughter bubbled out of Starsky unbidden, lighting him up from within. Hutch thought it was perhaps the most unguarded show of joy his partner had shown in months. It made Hutch's heart sing to see something of the old Starsky. Eventually his laugh subsided and he shook his head, smiling at Hutch before his face settled into a more serious repose. His dark blue eyes locked on Hutch's, waiting, expectant, sparkling with a mix of pure lust and shining adoration.
It was a heady combination for Hutch, irresistibly intoxicating, unbelievably attractive and pure Starsky.
His Starsky.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
With a waking stretch, Starsky let his whole body lengthen to feel the pull, back arching as he extended his shoulders and lifted his arms high above his head. A hard, long stretch after a marathon between the sheets. The memory of what he had so recently shared with his new lover was still clear in his mind and as he held his arms high, extending the stretch even more, he contemplated the event.
Something on his arm caught his eye. He lowered his arms to touch the skin at his elbow and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Even modestly speaking, Starsky had experienced more than his fair share of "what happens when it's over?" scenes in the bedroom. By any measure, this one was unique and a definite first for him.
For a start, he thought, as he touched the inner side of his arm and gave it an experimental sniff, he had never woken up after sex and discovered dried semen in the fold of his elbow. At least not semen that he was fairly sure was not his own.
Secondly, the sheets, which were still decidedly damp – seemed to be doubly damp, heavy with sticky semen and distinctly masculine scents – come and sweat with maybe a hint of aftershave. Not a whiff of perfume or female pheromones to be found.
The other factor was, that if he was correct in his assessment of the sounds floating in from the balcony, that his new lover had left him alone in the big bed to go out and do some light gardening. Now that was definitely a first. Rarely did David Starsky get left alone in a bed for any other reason then his lover was showering, grooming, or preparing him a post-sex drink or breakfast.
He was unexpectedly rattled by the discovery.
Was this typical for Hutch, he wondered? Leave warm, if damp, sheets and his lover to re-pot his ferns?
He smiled. Jesus… Perhaps he ought to talk to Hutch about bedroom etiquette.
Suddenly lonely and surprisingly bereft for the feel of Hutch's skin and the sound of his voice, he slipped from the bed and wrestled himself into his crumpled jeans.
He took a moment to use the bathroom before scooping some water into his mouth, thirsty and dry from sleep. When he turned to grab the hand towel, he caught his reflection in the mirror above the basin and saw in his own eyes a far calmer contentment than he had seen there for many months.
Hutch and me.
Hutch. His partner, his best friend, his buddy, and his confidante, the man at his back and always on his side, the man who knew him better than anyone else, the man he trusted and valued more than anyone else.
Now his lover.
It was all so new, of course. Fresh and new and only just beginning to unfurl. What they had shared in bed had been monumental to them both, but still only the first steps to where he knew they both would take this new side of their relationship.
Too long in the coming, too long by far – but finally it had been theirs to share.
God almighty Starsky, you're getting as bad as Hutch with all this heavy thinking stuff.
He stumbled groggily out into the late afternoon sun. Shielding his eyes from the change in light he stifled a yawn before treading quietly up behind his partner who was thoroughly absorbed in pulling dead leaves off a potted flower with careful and precise dexterity. Starsky smiled and rolled his eyes. Not many people would give that much-undivided attention to an average house plant – but Hutch was one on them.
Enjoying the view, Starsky took a moment to stand and watch Hutch's bowed head with its fair hair looking gold in the last rays of the day. As he tended the fragile plant, Hutch's fingers were as careful and gentle on the delicate plant as they had been when he'd stroked Starsky's face. The memory of that silken sensation had Starsky reaching for his lover, wrapping his bare arms and chest around Hutch's back and drawing him against his chest.
Hutch gasped softly before allowing himself to be pulled back into the bear hug, his own arms wrapping around Starsky's.
Starsky's hand reached forward and touched the small potted white flower before bringing his hand back to Hutch's chest. "So, is this is what you left me for? Hope she's worth it."
He felt Hutch's laughter against his chest. "Actually, she's turning out to be a little too demanding lately. Wants too much of my attention" Hutch said.
"I bet she knows how to wrap you around her little petals. She's got that look about her." Starsky played along and then, deciding he couldn't resist Hutch's nape another second, he lost himself in the softness of his hair, breathing his scent deeply. "Is this how you treat all your dates after you take them to bed? Love 'em and leave 'em for your plants?" He nuzzled the neck he was already hungry for.
"Only when my lover looks like he's going to sleep for another two or three hours." Hutch chuckled softly, his back still against Starsky.
"Couldn't help it – you damn well wore me out, lover. All these years and I've been missing out on what you've got to offer between the sheets. What a waste."
"God, I love hearing that."
"That you're one hot, gorgeous man in bed?"
"No – well, that too, of course." Hutch turned in Starsky's arms, his cheeks aglow with a faint blush of embarrassment that Starsky wasn't surprised to see. Hutch was always unaware of his own virtues. "Glad to know that I could please you. But, what I meant was that I love hearing us call each other 'lover'. That's what we are now babe, lovers," Hutch whispered as he moved in for a long slow kiss.
Starsky grinned as the kiss finally ended. "And here I was thinking that you weren't going to have anything to do with me now that you had your way with me - tossed me to the side to come running back to your plants."
"Oh, don't be jealous of them, Starsky. After all, they can't compete with you. Have you ever tried to make love to a fern?" Hutch asked with a silly grin.
"Now don't go gettin' all kinky on me so soon in our relationship, Hutchinson." Starsky shook his finger at Hutch in mock severity. "You want to do plants, that's one thing – but keep me out of it, alright? I sure don't want you draping a climbing ivy all 'round my manhood."
"No?" Hutch answered. "Pity, because it sounds kind of appealing to me." Hutch grinned, his hand trailing suggestively down to the anatomy in question. "I could see you draped in ivy, maybe some rose petals in your hair…" and he yelped loudly when his comments got him a firm pinch on his ass.
Starsky snuggled his face against Hutch's freshly washed hair. The blond silk carried wafts of spice and scented wood– something faintly oriental and deeply masculine. He'd smelled it on Hutch for such a long time now that he had come to associate it with his partner's distinctive, signature scent.
"...Smell so good," Starsky murmured against his hair. "Could eat you up – again."
"Thought you liked me all stinky and coated in sweat," Hutch teased back.
"I like it all – every bit of you – anyway you are. As long as it's on your beautiful body, I'll eat it up. You're the secret ingredient babe – you make it all smell and taste so good."
"Starsky, have I ever told you you've got a way of making something that shouldn't sound sexy, incredibly sexy?"
Starsky tipped his head to the side as if pretending to think. "Nope, come to think of it I don't think you've ever had a reason to tell me that before now. I'll have to say things like that more often then, to make up for it. Another thing we've been missin' out on." He lifted his hand to brush a speck of dirt from the edge of Hutch's cheek. "You about done out here? Thought I'd go catch a shower and maybe we could head out for an early dinner – see if those guys are still waitin' out there to tail me?"
The mood breaker had Hutch straightening up. Starsky felt it as soon as Hutch reacted.
"Real life, huh?" Hutch forced a strained smile. "It's out there. Even if we were able to make it go away for a little while."
"Real life," Starsky agreed. "Still, it don't make anything that has gone on here any less real though. Just another part of it. A difficult part I've gotta' get through, Hutch. Until this whole mess is sorted…"He let the sentence fade away, not stating what he knew could be the truth 'if the mess' were sorted out. He felt despondent by reminding them that he was stuck firmly in the center of a precarious situation.
"I know." Hutch nodded, exhaling. "And you're right. We need to see if this tail on you is any use to us – and I guess you'll need to talk with Nick again soon – despite what I said to you before about me not wanting you to go." His face twisted a little with distaste at the mention of Nick.
"We can talk at dinner about how I'll approach things with Nicky now that we know he's really here for more than to just hold my hand," Starsky said.
"Either way, we stick together." Hutch was firm. "No solo trips that I don't know about - agreed?"
Starsky crossed his heart. "Agreed. I go nowhere you don't know about first, partner." He tapped his hand lightly on Hutch's cheek. "Now get back to your little beauties here and I'll go clean up. My missing appetite has just shown up again – I'm damned starved." He turned to walk back inside.
In the bathroom, he turned on the shower full blast before walking back out to toss his peeled off jeans across the bed and to grab up his towel. Stealing one more look out the window to the balcony while the water ran hot, he could see Hutch kneeling down, intent on the task of repotting something colorful. The long curve of his back against the backdrop of the last of the day's light had Starsky transfixed. He stood grounded at the sight, his fingers tingling with the memory of touching that smooth back as they traced down Hutch's spine.
Real life. Damn it.
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Refreshed from the shower, Starsky turned from where he'd been searching for a clean pullover shirt to find Hutch standing at the entrance of the bedroom alcove.
"I need you outside now Starsky," he said, his face impassive, his tone edgy and mysterious.
"Now? But-" Starsky grabbed his jeans from the chair.
"Now Starsk."
"Okay, just let me get my jeans on and I'll be there," he said and was a little surprised to find that Hutch had turned and walked back outside.
Fastening his jeans he picked up the shirt and walked out as well with the shirt in his hand. Hutch was kneeling on the ground next to what looked to be a large bag of opened potting mix, his expression unaccountably severe.
Not sure what to make of it, Starsky went for a light hearted approach, extending the earlier joke about sex and plant life.
"So," Starsky said, waving his hand at the bag of earth mix and grinning impishly before he went to pull his shirt over his head. "is this more of your garden fantasy? What are you gonna do with that, huh? Cover me in organic earth mix before you drape the ivy over the top?" he lifted the shirt to put it on, his voice muffled as he dragged it down over his head. "Wish you'd have let me on the idea before I had my shower." He was grinning at his own joke as he wiggled into the shirt. It wasn't until his head emerged that he realized he was the only one laughing.
Hutch, his eyes cold, was looking down at the bag seemingly unaware of Starsky's commentary. "That bitch!" his voice was murderous. "She wanted cold white wine she said..." Anger contorted his face as he seemed to remember something.
Starsky's smile froze on his face. "White wine - who?" Starsky asked, confused and more than just a little alarmed at the dramatic change in Hutch's behavior.
"Van!" Hutch spat out. "I didn't have cold wine - she sent me downstairs to the restaurant to get a bottle...and... she had her overnight bag with her..." As he spoke, he eyed the potting mix bag with a livid expression.
"Hutch?" Starsky took two steps toward him. "What the hell is wrong? What is this?" He nodded at the bag next to Hutch. It seemed to be about three quarters full. His hand reached out toward the open top of the thick plastic bag. Hutch's hand shot out to stop him. "Don't touch it. Prints."
"Prints? What are you worried about prints for?" Starsky was genuinely confused now.
"It's evidence Starsky. I'm damn lucky I had my gardening gloves on -" Hutch said.
"Evidence? Prints? White wine? What the hell are you goin' on about Hutch?" But even as he was saying it his initial confusion was clearing and in its place was the glaring light of dawning awareness. " - Oh...shit," Starsky looked at Hutch, knowing he was right.
Hutch nodded back.
"She hid it in the mix, Starsky. Van planted the fuckin' parcel of meth inside a twenty pound bag of potting mix. It's been out on my balcony since the first night she came here."
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Authors Note: Parts of this chapter have been edited to conform with technical issues of police procedure and story plot. It does not affect the overall direction or tone of the story.
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