***

They stared at each other stupidly for a moment, panting, clutching, still pressed against one another. Then both men looked out the broken window to see a black-and-white bounce up the road and lurch to a stop at the gate, siren wailing down into silence, lights still flashing.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Starsky let his face fall against Hutch’s chest for a brief, heartfelt groan. Hutch laughed shakily and hugged his partner hard, then released him – mostly. If he kept his hands on Starsky’s shoulders for the benefit of Starsky’s balance, or his own … what was the difference, really?

He had to clear his throat before he could form the simple words, “Come on,” and urge Starsky toward the stairs. Business before … pleasure seemed a weak, bloodless word for it, but Hutch couldn’t think of another, couldn’t think at all past his battle to calm the throbbing ache in his body.

When they opened the front door, they were greeted with, “What the hell’s going on here?”

Tom Corbin, a uniform they knew slightly, stood beside his squad car while his partner bent over the guy who’d gone through the attic window. Though he was moaning and writhing around, he seemed not to be seriously injured.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Starsky responded as they trotted down the steps. He sounded unbelievably … normal, Hutch noticed.

“Captain Dobey’s been trying to call you. He got worried, said you might have a couple of dangerous parolees here, so he radioed for us to check it out.”

“He still loves us,” Starsky said with a satisfied grin at Hutch, adding, “You’ll wanna cuff him,” as Corbin’s partner hauled the groaning man to his feet. “He’s been a naughty boy.”

Corbin looked up; the partners followed his gaze to the broken glass and  bits of wooden framework trailing down the roof. “He came from there? He’s lucky he isn’t dead.”

“These guys have a lot of padding,” Hutch said. “There’s another one in the basement. I’ll show you.” He led the way and Corbin followed.

“Thought you guys quit,” Corbin remarked.

“So did we,” Hutch admitted.

They went downtown behind the black-and-white and filed a report that ensured the brothers Keller would soon be back behind bars for another healthy stretch, concluding with a promise that they’d continue to look for the missing quarter million. Dobey popped in to check on them, but if he noticed they both seemed distracted, he didn’t mention it. They made their statements as quickly as possible, on separate sides of the room but each painfully aware of the other’s presence and progress; there was nothing strange about it when they finished and stood up at the same instant, heading for the door.

In the hall they paused, their silent communion suddenly awkward.

“Um … what do you want to do?” Hutch said, forcing his nervously roving eyes to his partner’s face. Unlike him, Starsky didn’t fidget, standing still, as if waiting for Hutch to stop fooling around.

“I wanna go home,” Starsky said.

“Your place?” Hutch tried not to sound disappointed.

Starsky shook his head. “Home.” 

Heat swelled in Hutch’s stomach. “Starsk, there’s no –” He swallowed the word ‘bed,’ remembering belatedly they were in a public corridor, and felt the heat in his gut blaze in his face as well. “Furniture.”

“You asked me what I want,” Starsky said in that irresistibly sexy murmur. “I want to go home.”

Hutch’s twitching hands were out of his pockets in a flash, reaching for his partner before he could catch himself and force them down. Starsky smiled, a tiny, devastating smile, and Hutch, completely undone, turned and started along the corridor, concentrating on making one foot move in front of the other, concentrating on breathing, on not stumbling, on just getting to the car, getting home. Home. Jesus. There was nothing comforting in the word; it set his insides on fire, set his heart dancing against his sternum.

He had absolutely no memory of the drive. He first realized the sun had gone down when they stopped in front of the dark house. He hoped he’d remembered to turn on the headlights, but that seemed optimistic considering his state of mind.

“Why don’t you start a fire?” Starsky said, sounding incredibly – infuriatingly – calm. He bounced up the steps and unlocked the front door. “I’ll get some wine.”

So Hutch found himself kneeling in front of the fireplace, cursing at his fumbling attempts to light the fire. When at last the logs caught, he sat back  on his heels and laughed at himself, looking at his hands.

I’m shaking. When was the last time it had mattered this much? When had it ever mattered this much?

“Hey.”

Starsky stood in the doorway, barefoot, shirt unbuttoned and untucked from his jeans, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. Hutch swallowed, painfully, and got to his feet, one hand on the mantel due to sudden light-headedness. No wonder, he mocked himself. Your blood’s all in your dick.

“Y’look like you seen a ghost,” Starsky murmured, approaching him with a strangely hesitant step. He might’ve dressed – undressed – for seduction, but Hutch knew there would be no seduction here, no mating dance, no games – and no precedent. Nothing to fall back on.

Hutch blurted, “I’m scared,” the words half nervous laughter, half simple confession.

Starsky  didn’t smile. “Me too.” His eyes searched Hutch’s face, and in his expression Hutch read in turn wonder, desire, and fear – all of them, always, returning to trust. To Me and Thee. Hutch eased closer, until they were two inches apart, body heat mingling, breathing the same air.

Haven’t we always?

Starsky’s eyes locked onto his, blazing, magnetic, and he leaned in.

“Oh … god …” At his exhaled plea the eyes closed, releasing him to cover his partner’s mouth with his own. Starsky’s lips were soft under his, slightly parted, alive and eager as Hutch ventured between them with his tongue.

Starsky moaned softly and opened to him. Heat exploded in Hutch’s stomach, and he slid his arms around his partner, pulling them close. Glass tinkled nearby and Starsky stiffened, drawing back awkwardly. Hutch pursued, echoing Starsky’s gentle evasions, teasing his face and neck with heedless kisses.

“Hu—” Starsky cleared his throat. “Hutch. H—hang on.” Finally he got Hutch to stop by the expedient of ducking his head, though he rubbed his curls against his partner’s chin like a kitten as if in apology.

Hutch let go of him, confused, and Starsky raised his head.

“Hutch. The wine.”

Hutch blinked at him, the blaze under his skin cooling a little. “Wine?” His voice came out a croak.

Starsky smiled, raising the wine bottle and glasses he still held. “Lemme put this stuff down before I drop it.” He deposited them noisily on the mantel and then opened his arms, his eyes dark, mysterious. “Okay. I’m all yours.”

Hutch drew in a shaky breath. Who needed wine when those words went straight to his head – and his groin? He stared hypnotized at his partner, at his throat, the hard curves of his chest, the taut stomach revealing his rapid breathing … those jeans, a thin layer of blue temptation over narrow hips and swelling cock.

This time Starsky moved close, all but touching, his face a breath away.

“Hutch.” Love, need, trust, a little fear … Starsky could put so much meaning into his name.

“I don’t … know what to do,” Hutch said, his hands, in direct contradiction, shaping themselves to the contours of Starsky’s chest. He felt the sharp intake of breath, the racing heart under the hard muscle and wiry hair. Starsky’s palms fell warm over Hutch’s forearms, and Hutch felt that he was shaking too.

Brushing his thumbs across hard nipples, Hutch whispered, “What do you want?” Everything, nothing, whatever you want.

“I wanna touch you,” Starsky said, low. “I don’t ever wanna stop.” He slid his hands up Hutch’s arms, stopping at the edge of the t-shirt Hutch wore. “I wanna touch all of you.” He grabbed the bottom of Hutch’s t-shirt and Hutch raised his arms, letting Starsky pull it over his head and toss it aside. Starsky then pressed his face to Hutch’s throat, to the notch between his collarbones, and Hutch’s arms melted downward, hands draping over Starsky’s shoulders. They were warm, solid and real. He stroked the curve of muscle along Starsky’s upper arms, savoring the strength he’d relied on for so long, and shivered when Starsky’s tongue touched his skin, gliding languorously up to his adam’s apple.

“You taste good,” Starsky murmured, and Hutch chuckled, giddy from this novel blend of desire, trust, fear and … plain old virginal nerves, when it came down to it. He had no idea how to make love to a man.

He groaned as his partner sucked gently at the tender skin between his neck and shoulder. “God … Starsk … mm …”

Starsky raised his head and Hutch looked down at him, at the face so loved, so familiar, he hardly knew how to see it in a new light, even the longed-for light of a lover. He had in his arms all he’d wanted for months – his body screamed at him to take it, take it – but his head nagged him with the consequences of his ignorance.

Starsky said, “You’re worryin’.”

“God …” Hutch breathed out the word. “I feel like ... I love you, Starsk, you know I do. More than anyone in the world. And … and I want to … t-to make love to you so much … I’m crazy with it.” He laughed again, nervously, and Starsky smiled.

“But you’re afraid of screwin’ it up,” he said bluntly.

Hutch let his head droop, a confession, resting his forehead against Starsky’s and melting into the warm, strong embrace his partner bestowed upon him.

“You can’t screw this up, Hutch,” Starsky said, laughter and desire together blurring his tone as if he were drunk. “It’s me and thee.” He pulled Hutch close, hands sliding down to claim his ass, to press their swollen cocks together. “Just do what comes natural.”

And when the usual arguments about what was natural rose in Hutch’s mind, he lifted his face and looked into his partner’s eyes – and all arguments, all words, all thoughts evaporated.

“Starsk …” He breathed against his partner’s face and gently covered his mouth, desperate, tentative, amazed at every touch, every taste of lip and tongue. He felt as if he’d never done any of this before, as if he’d never even thought of it – Starsky’s tongue against his was a shock, his flesh on Hutch’s flesh an epiphany. Hutch panted into his partner’s hot mouth, his own hands finding shaky purchase on the narrow, hard waist.

Then Starsky laughed into his mouth and Hutch drew away, fingers detailing every bump and curve of Starsky’s back.  

“I don’t know how t’do this either,” Starsky gasped, and they laughed, a warm mingling of befuddled acceptance.

“Bed?” Hutch suggested, nodding toward the air mattress. Not letting go, Starsky maneuvered them both into a kneeling position in the center of the mattress, then pulled Hutch bodily against him and commandeered his mouth, plunging deep, his tongue fucking Hutch’s mouth as ruthlessly as his hands forced their bodies together.

Crazed, Hutch at last pushed him down, onto the rucked-up sleeping bags, his fingers fumbling at the button of Starsky’s jeans as Starsky shrugged off the unbuttoned shirt.

“Need some help?” he asked, his voice strained, and Hutch, still panting from the kiss, shook his head, bending to kiss the taut, straining stomach that begged to be caressed. He rubbed his face against the hot hairy skin and Starsky’s hands came up to cradle his head as his clumsy fingers at last worked the button out and dragged down the zipper. He had to sit up again to work the tight denim down his partner’s legs and out of the way, then he sat back for a moment to admire the body spread out before him in nothing but very tight black briefs.

Starsky rose up a little, on his elbows, his face flushed, eyes glittering.

“What?”

Hutch shook his head. He’d seen this body – seen this man – so many times. Only now could he admit to himself how close to the surface the desire had always been. “Starsk … you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Starsky grinned – then flopped back with a groan when Hutch cupped his erection, almost cuddling the curve of hard flesh through the thin briefs.

“Hutch … God …”

Hutch slid his hands under Starsky’s hips to caress that perfectly rounded ass, then slid the briefs off and away, his own dick pulsing painfully as Starsky’s erection rose before his eyes.

Panting, Starsky reached for him. “God … Hutch … c’mere…” He pulled his partner bodily on top of him, again taking over, kissing him, frantic, hot, plunging kisses. Before Hutch knew it he was on his back, spread-eagled, with Starsky’s mouth sampling his entire body as his hands – much more quickly than Hutch had done – stripped him of his own jeans and underwear.

Hutch kicked the clothes away and raised his head to see Starsky kneeling beside him, all lithe muscled curves and proud cock, smiling down at Hutch’s rosy erection before he took it in his hands – firmly, perfectly, as if he’d done it before – and Hutch nearly choked on his own cry. His body curled upward, needing to be near his partner. Starsky gripped him, the other hand cradling his balls, and said, “How do you like it, Blondie?”

Hutch pressed his face into Starsky’s chest, unable to speak as the hot grip slid up, slid back, perfect, the other hand stroking his nuts, fingers massaging the sensitive area behind. He just nodded, gasping against Starsky’s skin, and wrapped his arms around his partner, inhaling his scent as Starsky worked him with gentle ruthlessness.

He held on, jolted over and over, hips thrashing, mouthing silent pleas against Starsky’s chest until, without warning, he choked out, “Starsk!” and came, hard, almost painfully, shuddering as Starsky stroked him with one hand and pulled him close with the other.

“I gotcha,” Starsky murmured as he pulsed over his partner’s gentling hand. “I gotcha …”

Finally Hutch went limp in release, hanging in his partner’s grasp like a rag doll, but when Starsky would have eased them into lying down he drew in a shaky, fortifying breath and rolled on top of him, pushing Starsky down under him.

“Hutch…” Whatever he’d been about to say, Starsky stopped himself as Hutch put a hand to his lips, asking silently for a moment. Starsky’s eyes, the deep, eternal blue of the night sky, held his as he caught his breath, calming, up on one elbow, the other hand petting his partner’s body.

“Hutch,” Starsky tried again. “You don’t have to …”

Hutch laughed. “Are you kidding?” His own voice sounded strange to him, still breathless, drunk on satiety. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

He let his hand stroke down to Starsky’s cock, now wet at the tip, ready and eager for attention, and when he turned to look at it he felt Starsky gasp. They always could read one another’s minds when it counted, Hutch thought.

“Hutch.” The word was wonder. “You’re not gonna …”

Hutch grinned. “You bet I’m gonna.” Then, belatedly, he remembered that this was new to both of them, and turned to look at his partner’s face. Starsky was again up on his elbows, still flushed, his expression stunned.

“Starsk … you okay with this? I want to.” He gently cupped his partner’s nuts and rolled them in his fingers, and saw Starsky’s adam’s apple work as he swallowed, convulsively.

“Good thing I already love ya,” Starsky murmured, his voice rough with need. “Cuz if I didn’t, after this I’d have to.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Hutch warned, still smiling, and turned to regard the erection curving toward his face.

“Hutch … ” Starsky’s fingers clutched feebly at him as he wriggled under Hutch’s touch. Starsky’s cut cock looked so naked, so hard and needy, it was easy for him to ease his mouth over the red tip, cupping it with his tongue.

Starsky hissed and arched, gasping, “Hutch,” in a tight, strained voice. Hutch sank down over the hard velvety length, working his tongue along the shaft; it tasted clean, it smelled of Starsky, and he closed his eyes and sucked, smiling in his mind to feel his partner’s body tremble under him.

“Hutch … Hutch … god…” Starsky’s voice sank to a guttural, almost pained moan as Hutch slid his mouth up and down, tight and wet, wondering at the feeling of it. Was this what women felt when they did this, this hot sexy length in their mouths, at their mercy?

Shaking, Starsky began to pump his hips – startling Hutch. He withdrew, then came back down, determined to ride it out.

“Hutch … I’m gonna come …” The words were forced out, nearly a cry, and Starsky’s hands grasped at Hutch’s shoulder as if to draw him away. Hutch gently brushed him off and wrapped his fingers around the base of Starsky’s cock, squeezing. Starsky’s body jerked and he released a wail; then Hutch’s mouth filled abruptly with fluid, salty, thick, startling. He swallowed, swallowed, fast, afraid to really taste it, and Starsky drove into his mouth three, four times before stilling, slumping, his dick sliding limp from between Hutch’s numb lips.

Hutch didn’t move for a moment, catching his breath, marveling at what he’d done – at how right it still seemed – and listening to the gentle sounds of release Starsky was still exhaling.

Then his partner groaned. “Come up here.”

Hutch shifted upward – his knees were a little stiff – and Starsky pulled him into a fierce embrace, their bodies hard together, full length, complete and without separation.

“Hutch,” Starsky breathed into his ear. “Hutch … god … I can’t believe you … fuckin’ amazing.” His arms tightened, then eased.

Hutch laughed weakly. Tired, boneless and sleepy, he nonetheless found strength to turn his face into his partner’s neck and kiss the warm hollows there. “Glad you liked it, partner.”

“More than liked,” Starsky said with great feeling. “You …”

Feeling Starsky’s body still – even stiffen a little – under him, Hutch rose up a little to look at the firelit face, grave with thought.

Starsky caught his eyes, held them. “You’ve always been the best thing that ever happened to me. Always.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think we could be better than we were. But …”

Hutch smiled, incipient panic quelled. “Me and Thee, partner. That’s all it takes.”

Starsky’s smile put Hutch’s to shame. “You got that right.”