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"Mail's here!" I called out, coming back into the hobby room.
We had spent most of the afternoon just laying around, resting. The movie had gone off long ago and Starsky had already finished another bottle ship. We had ended up playing a game to pass the time. Some days we wondered where all the time went and then there were days like this where the hours stretched out so far that it felt like a mini-vacation.
Sitting back down, I saw that Starsky still hadn't finished his turn. "Can't figure out a word?" I asked, sorting through the stack of bills.
"Genius takes time," he said, concentrating on his tiles and not on me.
I snorted, "So we'll be here till next Tuesday."
He looked up at me with an evil eye. "You keep that up and I'm not playing again."
I grinned as I went through the envelopes. "Water bill, lights, phone. Hey, did we ever get that charge taken off last month?"
"They said they're working on it," he said, shuffling his tiles to get a better look. "I don't hold out much hope in convincing them that we don't know anyone in Thailand, but you never know." He finally found the right combination and his face lit up. Placing the word down on the board, he seemed pleased.
I looked at it. "You spent fifteen minutes coming up with ladder?"
"I'm down to few words here. Besides, I took my turn didn't I?" he asked, scribbling down the score. "And you better figure out a real good one, too, because winner gets taken out to dinner by the loser."
"When did this bet come about?"
"Just now."
He smiled at me, but failed to mention that it didn't matter who won or lost since it was all subjective anyway. We'd be going out to dinner, that was the extent of it. A side bet was just another way to infuse some kind of purpose to our game.
"Humor me, I need some excitement."
"My witty remarks aren't amusing you?" I joked.
"Not yet, no. What else did we get on the mail?"
I started sorting through again. "A special offer from the garage, an insert about the grocery store specials, and...." I pulled out a thin white envelope. "Something from the Dobeys." I looked up at him. "I bet you it's the invitation."
"I just can't believe it."
I pulled out the paper and started reading. "Harold and Edith Dobey announce the forthcoming wedding of their daughter Rosalyn Dobey to Gregory Foster on November 23rd, 1993."
"She's so young! Still a baby," Starsky tried.
"Starsk, she's twenty-three years old. We watched her graduate last year. Face it, she's not a little girl anymore."
"Doesn't seem like she should be that old. She's not supposed to be that old, Hutch."
"And we're not supposed to be fifty, but we are. Face it, we're all getting old," I told him, smiling.
He reached his hand out for the invitation and I handed it over. After reading it, he looked up. "He better treat her right. I mean, she's a good girl and..."
"Starsky, you're starting to sound like Dobey now. You met him; Greg's a wonderful man and Rosie loves him."
"Yeah, well...." He laid the invitation aside. "Doesn't mean I can't still think of her as Little Rosie Dobey."
"Little girls grow up, everyone does," I said, smiling at him. "Pretty soon you'll be watching Katie walk down the aisle."
"Uh uh," he denied, shaking his head. "She's not gonna grow up, I won't allow it."
"You won't allow it?" I laughed. "I don't think we have much say about that."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I wish Anna and Katie could come out."
"Anna's tried to get time off, but it's not looking good. We'll see them at Thanksgiving, so it's not like we've got a long time to wait."
"Still wish they were here," he sighed, fingering the invitation. "Hey, did you invite Rosie and Greg over for our party?"
"Rosie's coming, but Greg said he could only drop by for an hour. He's gotta work."
"Better hope we don't," he told me. "That'd be a laugh, a house-full of guests and we're nowhere to be found."
"Life of a cop."
"Nice work if you can get it," he joked. "And you're trying to distract me here. It's your turn!"
"Spoilsport."
I studied my own tiles. The game was nearing an end and there was very few tiles left to play. I pondered a few minutes as Starsky impatiently kept watching me. Finally, I decided on a word.
"Coquet," I said, laying down the tiles on the board. "Now let's see that's...."
"You can't just make up words!" Starsky said, stilling my hand.
"Just because you don't know a word doesn't mean it doesn't exist," I teased.
"Use it in a sentence."
"My partner attempts to coquet with me everyday." At his glare, I broke into laughter. "Flirt, Starsky. It means to flirt."
He was not happy at being trumped. "Fifty dollar words. Anyone ever tell you you're too smart for your own good?"
"Only my coquetting partner."
"I'll give you a cocky partner if you don't drop it," he laughed, wheeling himself around the table to me. He leaned in for a kiss. "Then again, you always did like me cocky."
"Or maybe just half-cocked," I played along. "Or for your cock."
"Are you saying you only love me for my body?"
I grinned. "Found me out."
"Well, since you put it that way..." His fingers trailed along my shirt and started undoing the buttons.
"Are you trying to stall on your turn?"
"I can think of a whole lot of other fun games we could be playing," he whispered, his fingers finally finding the exposed skin of my chest. A few feather touches was all he allowed before backing away. "And wouldn't you rather be doing that instead?" He continued backwards before turning towards the door. "I sure would." And then he set off, leaving me dumbstruck for a moment.
"I....Well... Starsky!"
I set off after him, getting to the bedroom almost the same time as him. He started fumbling with his own clothing as I tried to aid in the process. Finally, I took matters into my own hands and picked him up, getting him onto the bed and flat on his back.
"You in a hurry or something?" he laughed, panting.
"Too slow," I complained again, straddling his legs and working on his t-shirt.
After tugging on the material for what seemed like forever, I finally threw the shirt to the floor and turned back to his bare chest. His upper torso had become the focus of my attention over the years, that being where the feeling remained and the stimulation I provided received the most response. I began working on his neck, sucking the skin as he moaned beneath me. My hands roamed freely over his upper body, teasing the nipples as my lips worked on his neck and mouth.
"You play dirty," he shuddered, pulling at my shirt until it was off my shoulders.
"Learned from the master," I said between kisses. I cast aside my shirt, letting it lay beside his.
My attention roamed downward towards his pants. Bless Saturdays and Starsky's habit of wearing his old sweatpants. The material pulled freely down over his hips, only needing a firm tug from me to get them down past his knees.
"You are a naughty boy," I teased, seeing that he hadn't worn underwear yet again. I got off the bed and pulled the pants completely off, casting them aside as well.
"Disadvantage here," he panted, moving under my touches. "You're still dressed."
"Only half-way," I told him, unbuttoning my jeans and quickly throwing them and my underwear into a pile on the floor before getting back onto the bed. "Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," he breathed, reaching for me. His hands pulled my face towards his as we began again.
Years of the same dance and each time the movements were all new, the feelings exploding forth as if for the first time. Before the shooting, we had just begun to explore each others' bodies. After, though, we were forced to learn each other all over again. It wasn't the same, but the differences weren't insurmountable. I remembered when I was retracing his body, relearning the movements that would bring him pleasure. What we could do for one another changed, but the feelings remained. It wasn't about how far we could go, it was the feelings and reactions we could gain. And it still was, still about the commitment and love and exploration that made everyday worth it. It was an intricate dance and we were constantly learning the steps.
"Love you so much," I breathed. My kisses began to wander downward. "So very much."
Tracing each scar with my finger, I kissed each mark as if sealing its place and my own. His breaths shuddered as I trailed over the lighter skin. Some marks were hidden to even the keenest eyes, but I knew where they were. I knew where each mark was, where each event had touched him, and I reconnected with it. Our pasts together, our future to come, they were all represented in this roadmap crossing his body. I had my own scars, my own events that had shaped me, and together we had continued onward.
"Tell me...tell me what you see," he ordered.
"My partner," I panted, letting my hands roam as if to punctuate. "My lover. My friend. The strongest man I've ever known. The only man I want to know."
He was mine, I was his. The path that we had chosen was a life bound to one another. It was not simple, it was not easy, but it was the only life I could ever imagine wanting. We were one, we were forever, and we loved like there was never going to be a tomorrow because we had too quickly learned that someday there might not be. But for now, we always had the present.