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We're living in a world of fools breaking us down when they all should let us be -- we belong to you and me. -- The Bee Gees, How Deep Is Your Love
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"No, see, you're doing it again. You can't stiffen up like that every time."
"Well, it's weird having someone touching me there, okay? That's just my natural reaction."
"That's why we gotta practice. Otherwise they'll see right through us." Hutch put his hand on the back of Starsky's neck again; Starsky tensed his shoulders up, again. "Shhh. Just relax. Get used to it." He stroked his fingers through Starsky's hair until the other man exhaled and let the tension fall from his shoulders. "Yeah, there you go, just like that."
The sound of Captain Doby clearing his throat made them both jump.
"If you don't mind me asking," he said, "Why the hell are you doing this in my office?" The words were punctuated by a slam of his fist onto his desk that made both him and Starsky wince – he'd only recently stopped wearing his sling, and Starsky still had a tendency to look suspiciously guilty about it.
"Sorry, Chief," Hutch said, standing. Sometimes the best way to defuse a situation was to get away from it, as quickly as possible. He tapped Starsky's shoulder, prompting him to follow. "We can work out the details at home."
"That's a good idea," Starsky mumbled as he shrugged into his coat and followed Hutch out the office door. "We should probably get out of here, before-"
"Well, well, well."
Starsky froze, grimacing, and Hutch resisted the urge to put his hand on his partner's arm, which he knew would only make whatever Manetti was about to say even worse.
"Got a new case, fellas?" Manetti asked, even though he obviously already knew.
"Yeah," Starsky said. "Because we actually closed the last one."
"Nice to hear it," Manetti said. "This one shouldn't be too hard for you either. Undercover questioning, huh? Shouldn't be too much of a stretch for you, Starsky."
Hutch could feel Starsky's rage – he was nearly shaking with it. Don't, Hutch thought, as though that might actually help. It isn't worth it.
"Unless this one's a little too personal?" Manetti continued. "Getting a little too emotionally involved, huh?"
Starsky was pulled taut now, just on the verge of snapping, and Hutch brushed his fingers across Starsky's elbow as he stepped between his partner and Manetti. Not that he didn't think Starsky was capable of fighting his own battles, but this one was getting a little intense, and besides, Manetti pissed Hutch off too.
"You know why Starsky's 'involved'?" Hutch said, punctuating the word with air quotes. "Because he's a good cop, and that's his job. He gives a shit about people, and about stuff like justice, and maybe if you gave a shit you'd actually solve a case once in a while."
"...since when do you give a shit, Hutch?" Starsky asked as they pushed past Manetti and out the front door. Hutch heard the smile in his voice, and echoed it.
"I dunno," he said. "I guess you're a bad influence."
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"So have you thought about what your name's gonna be?" Starsky asked over fast food burgers. They'd taken them back to Starsky's place, because Hutch's house was still only partially reconstructed and neither of them really felt right talking about this case in public.
"Not particularly," Hutch said, taking a sip of his soda and trying not to laugh at how easily Starsky got into the whole undercover-identity thing. He wondered if Starsky ever just made up potential identities for fun. It wouldn't surprise him if there was a whole notebook of them somewhere.
"A name that's kind of boring, I think. Kevin? No, too boring. Mark. No, too rugged. Eric? Hmmm. James. James... Jamie."
"You look like you could be a Jamie," Hutch offered. "Hey, if you're not using Kevin, can I have it?"
"Sure." Starsky chewed on a french fry and stared vaguely up at the ceiling. "Jamie Anderson. Boring job, some kind of clerical office worker, I'm thinking-"
"Does it really matter?" Hutch asked. "I don't think these guys usually share a lot of personal information anyway, you know?"
"Maybe you're right," Starsky said. "Anyway, Jamie is terrified of his mother finding out he's in a gay club because he doesn't know how she'll react and he doesn't want to disappoint her."
"Really." Hutch raised an eyebrow. "That part came pretty easy, huh." Starsky ignored him; maybe he hadn't heard, or maybe he was too lost coming up with details of Jamie Anderson's backstory, or maybe he'd deliberately decided not to react. "So how did Jamie and Kevin meet? At work?"
Starsky shuffled in his seat. "Do we really have to do this as a... a couple?"
"No, we don't," Hutch said. "But if we go in there pretending to be together, we can talk to each other and no one will find it suspicious, plus it should keep guys from hitting on us."
Starsky suddenly got very intent on his burger; Hutch was pretty sure he was blushing. "You think guys are gonna hit on us?"
"The way your ass looks in those jeans you wear all the time? Yeah, I'd say it's likely."
"Jesus, Hutch."
"No, see, this is exactly why we have to practice," Hutch said. "You keep getting weirded out like that every time someone says anything a little bit suggestive, they'll know something's up. You want to solve this thing, right?"
"Of course I do," Starsky said with a sigh. He wiped his hands on his napkin, jammed it and the burger wrapper into the bag, and got up to throw the whole thing in the trash; he stood looking around the kitchen for a second, as though he didn't know where he was, and then poured himself a glass of scotch. He did not offer one to Hutch, who sucked the last of his soda through his straw loudly and pointedly.
Starsky was downing the end of his glass when Hutch got up to throw away his own garbage. He looked at the bottle like he was considering pouring another, so Hutch said, gently, "Hey, Starsk. If it's that hard for you we can give this thing to someone else."
"No, we can't," Starsky said, setting his glass down and running a hand over his face. "Who're we going to give it to?" He gave a snort of laughter. "Who else is going to care about some John Doe found in an alley behind a gay bar? Manetti?" His shoulders were shaking; at first Hutch thought he was laughing, but then he realized he was fighting back tears. "...you really think I'm a good cop, Hutch?"
"'course you are. Hey, I meant what I said back at the station. Don't listen to Manetti, he doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He does, though." Starsky kept his back to him, slumping against the kitchen counter. "I just don't know how- it's like, you spend your whole life trying to hide this one thing, and it seems like everyone somehow knows anyway."
"Knows what?"
Starsky slammed his palm onto the edge of the counter. "Don't play dumb, Hutch."
Hutch was not dumb. He knew exactly what Starsky was getting at – had guessed it for a while. But he also thought it was something Starsky needed to say for himself. "I'm not a mind reader here, Starsky. You gotta tell me what you're thinking."
"What do you want me to say?" Starsky asked, head bowed, voice rough."That I'm a fag?" He sucked in his breath, as though he'd just surprised himself with the word. "That I'm a, a cocksucking homo faggot?" His voice was shaking and, yeah, when he turned around, his eyes were wet. Hutch grabbed onto him in the tightest hug he could manage.
"Oh my God," Starsky said weakly. "This is not actually helping."
"Shhh," Hutch said, hanging on until he felt Starsky's shoulders start to relax. He pulled back, and cupped Starsky's chin in his hands; the sun had nearly set while they'd been talking, and the soft orange light coming through the windows accented the dark of his eyelashes and the slope of his nose. He looked almost pretty. It felt totally natural for Hutch to tilt his head and lean in.
"Oh, no," Starsky said, stepping back. He bumped up against the counter, holding Hutch at arms' length. "No, no way. You don't get to- no."
"What? You don't want me to kiss you?"
"Of course I do," Starsky said. "No. No, you're supposed to get disgusted and storm out or something, or be calm and sympathetic and tell me it's fine, if I'm lucky, but you're not supposed to- damn it, Hutch." And then his hands were on the lapels of Hutch's shirt and Starsky was kissing him, all sloppy and eager; Hutch tasted the scotch on his tongue. He put one hand on Starsky's waist and the other on the back of his neck, working his fingers into the thick curls. But when he pushed his knee between Starsky's legs the other man pulled back with a gasp.
"What?" Hutch asked, and Starsky gaped at him, lips damp and cheeks flushed.
"How the hell are you acting like this is no big deal?"
"It is a big deal," Hutch said, rubbing at the back of Starsky's neck like he was an animal Hutch was trying to keep calm. "But that doesn't mean you have to be scared of it. Look, David, it's not going to change things, if that's what you're worried about. You're my partner, and that's the most important thing, okay?"
"Okay," Starsky said. "But it's still illegal."
"Illegal?" Hutch couldn't quite fight back a surprised laugh. "That's what you're worried about? That it's illegal?"
"Well..."
"Well maybe it's stupid that it's illegal. Maybe what two adults want to do in the bedroom should be their own damn business."
"We're not in the..." Starsky said, trailing off with a nervous glance toward the living-room windows, which did seem awfully big and exposed. He cleared his throat. "Do you think you could carry me upstairs again?"
It was actually easier this time, with Starsky fully conscious, even though halfway up he buried his face against Hutch's neck and said "I feel really, really stupid right now," which made Hutch laugh and kiss the top of his head.
When he laid Starsky down on the waterbed Hutch wondered, not for the first time, what might have happened that night if things had been just a little bit different – if they had known each other a little longer, if Starsky hadn't been coming off an accidental cocaine high, if there hadn't been two hot cheerleaders waiting for Hutch downstairs. Even then Hutch hadn't quite been able to keep his hands off Starsky, and now he had no reason to. He could unbutton Starsky's shirt, slowly, Starsky's eyes on his hands the whole time, and he could give in to the urge to run his fingers over the hair on Starsky's belly, which made Starsky jump and the waterbed surge violently under him for a few seconds. And he could climb carefully onto the bed, straddling Starsky's legs, and follow the path his fingers had just taken with his tongue, smiling when Starsky swore and dug his fingers into Hutch's hair. As much as Hutch loved women's bodies, their curves and softness, taut wiry muscle was pretty damn good too.
He circled Starsky's belly button a couple of times, light and teasing, then moved back up to kiss his neck, jaw, mouth. Starsky made a muffled noise of impatience, hands bunching up the front of Hutch's shirt, and Hutch got the hint, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor.
Starsky was staring at him in a way that suggested he didn't quite believe this was really happening. Hutch had to remind himself, sometimes, that Starsky didn't share his knack for just going along with things; he'd known for ages, somewhere in the back of his head, not quite acknowledged, that Starsky was kind of into him, that this was a thing that might happen eventually, but Starsky was a tightly wound combination of passion and repression who had probably never really let himself hope, and right now he was starting to overthink things, starting to worry about whether this was really a good idea. Hutch could see it happening right in front of him, Starsky's dark eyebrows drawing together and his shoulders tensing as his thoughts raced, and figured the best thing he could do was keep him distracted.
Starsky still had his watch on, and Hutch took it off and set it on the nightstand, then ran his teeth over the inside of the newly exposed wrist. This made Starsky gasp sharply; he kissed the spot, and Starsky bucked under him and said "Jesus, Hutch, you're gonna make me come in my pants."
"Really?" Hutch said, raising his eyebrows. "Can't have that." But Starsky's hands were on his forearms as soon as he reached for the button of his jeans, squeezing so hard it hurt a little. "Hey," Hutch murmured, "If I'm going too fast for you, just tell me."
"Sorry," Starsky mumbled. "I... I do want you to. Just, uh, you know a little while ago when I called myself a cocksucker..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not-- I mean, I don't have a whole lot of actual experience in that arena."
"Hey, neither do I. But it's kind of a hard thing to screw up." Starsky's hands slackened; big hands, Hutch thought, wondering why he'd never really noticed that before. He grabbed onto the left one, sucked two fingers into his mouth, and watched Starsky's face go even redder. At least he was relaxing. Hutch managed to get the fly of Starsky's jeans open one-handed, a maneuver he was more than a little proud of, but they were so tight it took both hands plus no small amount of cooperation on Starsky's part to actually get them down his legs.
"Yours too," Starsky said, and Hutch obliged. They were both laughing by the time Hutch stretched out next to him in his underwear. Starsky smiled at him, soft and a little shy, and Hutch felt a wave of affection so strong it made him dizzy. Starsky leaned forward to kiss him again and Hutch took the opportunity to finally get his hand into Starsky's underwear and around his cock. It was thick and hard, already a little damp at the tip, and he was still enjoying the weight of it against his palm when Starsky distracted him by returning the favor.
"Hutch," Starsky breathed against his mouth.
"Shit," Hutch said back. He hadn't exactly planned on this, jerking each other off like a couple of teenagers, but Starsky's long fingers sure knew what they were doing. It was all Hutch could do to keep himself together and find a rhythm.
"Hutch," Starsky said again, and then "Hutch," and Hutch realized that this time it was a question.
"Yeah?"
"Will you fuck me?"
Hutch froze mid-jerk. "...now?"
"Yes now," Starsky said, like that should have been obvious, but Hutch had kind of thought they'd take things just a little slower than that. "There's Vaseline in the nightstand, will that work?"
"Yeah," Hutch said. "Yes. It certainly will." If that was really what Starsky wanted, he sure as hell wasn't going to say no.
But he didn't want to entirely miss out on the promise of cocksucking, either. Which was a little strange; he had sucked a few guys off in his lifetime, but mostly just because he was returning the favor. There was a big difference between taking whatever action he could get and having someone in front of him whose dick he actively wanted in his mouth.
Hutch grabbed the Vaseline first, dropping it onto the bed. Starsky was giving him that "oh my God is this actually happening" look again, and Hutch sprawled between his legs, running his hands up Starsky's thighs and nuzzling right up into his balls. Starsky groaned, thigh muscles trembling under Hutch's palms. Hutch licked up the underside of Starsky's cock while he got the jar of Vaseline open. It was cold; he rubbed it between his fingers, even while he sucked the head of Starsky's penis into his mouth.
Starsky bucked, probably involuntarily, but the waterbed amplified the motion and Hutch was barely able to pull back in time to keep from choking.
"Sorry," Starsky murmured, and Hutch just smiled back, shaking his head.
It must have taken every bit of self-control Starsky had not to jump again when Hutch pushed his slicked-up fingers into him, but he just let out a little shaky hiss of breath. "Okay?" Hutch asked, which meant he had to stop sucking on Starsky's cock, which was kind of too bad. He let it rest against his cheek, and smiled when Starsky didn't quite seem capable of looking right at him.
"That's good," Starsky said. "Really... really good, actually."
"You ever done this before?" Hutch asked, and Starsky shook his head, staring at the ceiling.
"I mean, not... this. I've done things, just not..."
"I get it," Hutch said, which wasn't entirely true, but he figured the gist was that Starsky had never had a guy's dick in his ass before. He had three fingers in him now, and Starsky's hands were digging into the blanket. "You ready?" Hutch asked.
Starsky nodded, but as soon as Hutch moved his hand he said "Wait," propping himself up on his elbows and finally meeting Hutch's eyes, words spilling out in a rush. "I know you do this thing, this one-night-stand easy-come-easy-go thing, and that's fine, if that's what this is that's okay, but I just feel like I have to tell you that I'm a little in love with you. Maybe more than a little. And I'm sorry, if that messes up your M.O. or whatever, but-"
Hutch kissed him, smearing Vaseline across Starsky's shoulder when he grabbed onto it. "I'm gonna be here in the morning," he said. "Okay?"
"Okay." His voice seemed hoarse.
"Now relax." Hutch nudged him back down onto the mattress, gently. "We have to start slow or this mattress will get rolling and we'll both end up seasick."
For the first couple of seconds after Hutch pushed himself inside he was afraid Starsky was going to panic, from the way he threw his arms around Hutch's neck and dug his fingers into his back. "Okay?" he asked, for what felt like the millionth time that night – but he had to be sure.
"Oh my God," Starsky said, his voice muffled against Hutch's shoulder, and rocked his hips, just a little sliding motion that rolled both of them together and drove Hutch deeper.
It was tight, even with all the lube; almost overwhelming, and the waterbed actually ended up working to their advantage, because when Hutch started moving, shallow rolls of his hips, they both moved, all easy and gentle. Just when Hutch was starting to think that he might be able to speed up a little bit Starsky said "More," like he could read his mind.
Hutch meant to go slow, a little more at a time, but the new rhythm they found was fast and hard and because he knew he was never going to last like that he worked his hand between their bodies and got hold of Starsky's cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts.
"Fuck, fuck, oh my God Hutch shit fuck shit." Starsky tried to pull Hutch down for a kiss but they were too close to undone, coordination slipping, and Hutch ended up licking at the corner of Starsky's mouth as he came, wondering too late whether you were supposed to ask a guy's permission before you shot your load in his ass.
Starsky was obviously on the brink, squirming against the mattress and mouthing at Hutch's jaw, and then he was coming too, all over Hutch's hand and both of their stomachs.
Hutch rolled off of him, trying to catch his breath as the mattress gradually stopped bucking. "Can I get a Kleenex?" he asked, and Starsky tossed the whole box onto his chest. He wiped his hand and belly off the best he could, and handed it back.
Starsky didn't seem interested, though. He was just staring at Hutch, eyes a little glazed over, like he wasn't sure where he was. "You came in me," he said slowly.
"Yeah. Uh, sorry about that."
"No, I... I think I liked it. I don't know. It feels weird, but I don't mind."
"You a cuddler?" Hutch asked.
Starsky finally seemed to pull himself together a little, grabbing a tissue out of the box and wiping come out of his chest hair. "I can be," he said.
"Then you are tonight," Hutch said, pulling Starsky into his arms.
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When Starsky woke up alone, his first thought was that he'd maybe dreamed the whole thing, and that somehow the dream had left him naked with a sore ass.
His second thought, as he crawled out of bed and pulled his jeans on, was Well, what did you really expect?
Part of him wanted to just crawl back under the covers, where he'd never have to think about it, and never have to see Hutch and pretend this hadn't happened. But he had to pee, and his throat was dry, so he walked downstairs (wincing just once, because he was sore but he was not broken), where the sound of dishes clanking in the kitchen stopped him short.
"Pancakes," Hutch said, glancing back over his shoulder as he poured batter into a pan. "I hope you don't mind, I used all the Bisquick."
Starsky's mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before he managed, "You're still here."
"'course I'm still here. You thought I was gonna use you and leave you?" Hutch snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes. "I thought you knew better than that. I said I'd still be here in the morning, didn't I?"
"Yeah," Starsky said around the lump in his throat. "Yeah, but..."
Hutch came around the counter, throwing his arm around Starsky's shoulders. "Hey, and I've been thinking. Your boy Jamie, his mom loves him, right?"
"Oh," Starsky said. He'd actually been entirely distracted from the case for once. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Then she'd want him to be happy. Even if it maybe wasn't quite the way she'd expected. Right?"
"Right," Starsky said, blinking against the wetness prickling at the corners of his eyes. "Thanks, Ken. Thanks for everything."
"You're welcome, partner," Hutch said, pressing his lips against Starsky's forehead and letting him go.
"They're gonna talk, at the station," Starsky said.
"So what? They already talk," Hutch pointed out. "Let 'em talk." And he probably would have pulled Starsky in for a sweet romantic kiss just then if the pancake batter hadn't started to burn.