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<\/a><\/i><\/p>\nIt\u2019s the first really hot day of the year, and Starsky sneaks glances at the droplets of sweat gathering at Hutch\u2019s hairline. Starsky imagines them trickling down Hutch\u2019s forehead, his face, meandering along his neck, imagines Hutch laid out on clean white sheets, tilting his head back so that Starsky can run his tongue along his neck.<\/p>\n
Starsky has to attack his strategically purchased popsicle with fervor in order to pull himself back to the present.<\/p>\n
Hutch gives a derisive snort. \u201cEnjoying yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n
Starsky removes the popsicle from his mouth with an audible pop. \u201cFeels good sliding down my throat.\u201d He doesn\u2019t even try to hide his smirk as Hutch grips the steering wheel more tightly than is strictly necessary.<\/p>\n
An otherwise uneventful day ends with a drawn-out 211, trickier because the criminals aren\u2019t particularly smart, but are especially desperate. They\u2019re both famished by the time they manage to leave the station, and little is said as they polish off their hamburgers. The silence is more companionable than it\u2019s been all day, and Starsky has nearly forgotten about his little game, until he finds the pickle at the bottom of the bag.<\/p>\n This time he gives Hutch a wink as he slides it into his mouth, and Hutch says nothing, doesn\u2019t even give a look, just attempts to be casual as he starts up the car and pulls into traffic.<\/p>\n Starsky is concentrating on the contrast between the olive tint and dark hair of his legs and the smoothness and cream-color of Hutch\u2019s shoulders. He really had thought that their positions would be reversed, but Hutch had pulled some kind of bait and switch on him once he\u2019d locked the door to his apartment, pouncing on Starsky, pushing him backward until he fell onto the bed, pulling his jeans off of his body as if he were starving. Starsky had considered protesting, but his train of thought had quickly derailed as Hutch slowly enveloped his cock with his mouth. Starsky had fully expected Hutch to keep him on the edge, draw it out to make him crazy, but Hutch only slows down enough to savor, or to make Starsky\u2019s toes curl, or maybe both.<\/p>\n The sun has set and there\u2019s a cool breeze wafting through the open windows. Starsky is aware of his fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping tightly with each one of his partner\u2019s thrusts.<\/p>\n \u201cStarsk, look at me.\u201d<\/p>\n Starsky opens his eyes slowly to see Hutch looking feral, with an expression that says, mine. The expression morphs as Hutch shudders, his orgasm softening his countenance.<\/p>\n Starsky feels the loss keenly when Hutch pulls away, and wonders if he should be slightly worried that he counts the number of seconds it takes for Hutch to walk to and from the bathroom to retrieve damp towels for the two of them.<\/p>\n \u201cYou give \u2018tease\u2019 a whole new meaning,\u201d Hutch murmurs after they\u2019ve cleaned up and are laying sleepily side by side.<\/p>\n \u201cIt was a slow day; had to give you something to look forward to.\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s too dark to see the skin of the corners of Hutch\u2019s eyes crinkle as he smiles, but Starsky can picture it. \u201cIt\u2019s not as if you have to try to be sexy, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n Starsky just smiles in the dark and listens to Hutch\u2019s breathing even out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Hutch is looking down at Starsky, and he has the strangest look on his face, as if he can\u2019t decide between irritation and confusion, and this causes Starsky\u2019s own sense of irritation and confusion. Hutch shouldn\u2019t be that surprised that … Continue reading <\/a><\/i><\/p>\n<\/a><\/i><\/p>\n<\/a><\/i><\/p>\n