Starsky slouched comfortably in his chair, spine curved, feet resting on the table, watching Hutch. Two a.m. at the Pits was quiet, almost mellow. He smiled, cradling his latest beer to his chest. This was his fourth, tipsiness slipping inevitably down the slope to happy drunk, drowning all memories of the shitty twelve hours he and Hutch had endured. Investigating not one but two shootings, young men dead who should have been going to the spring prom.<\/p>\n
Starsky scowled, taking another long swallow. He really wanted a fifth beer\u2014once there was nothing but foam left in his glass. For now, he was content to sit, gazing at his partner.<\/p>\n
Hutch\u2019s blond hair gleamed in the light from the small table lamp with a radiance that was almost ethereal. He was beautiful, some Nordic god, maybe Thor, stepped down from Asgard for the day\u2014minus his hammer. In direct contrast to Starsky\u2019s sprawl, Hutch was hunched over a pad of paper, sketching while staring intently at the objects clustered around the lamp: two empty beer steins, a bowl of peanuts, shells scattered halfway across the table like Hansel and Gretel had left a trail through the detritus, and a couple of crumbled dollar bills. Not enough to pay the bar tab Starsky and Hutch had racked up at Huggy\u2019s place, but proof that they did pay a portion now and again.<\/p>\n
Across the room, Anita was wiping down the bar one last time, her wet sponge leaving a slick path across the wooden grain. Huggy stacked chairs on top of the tables, glancing now and again at Starsky and Hutch as if resigned to the fact that they wouldn\u2019t be leaving any time soon.
\n<\/p>\n
Starsky grinned, downing the rest of his beer, eyes on his partner. Hutch cocked his head, inspecting his drawing critically. He frowned, the line between his blond brows pinching inward for a moment before he erased some flaw and redrew a more satisfactory line with a slight nod. Starsky wanted to thread his fingers through the soft, fine hair on the crown of Hutch\u2019s head, spread his palm across Hutch\u2019s scalp, and hold him close. Just the thought made his heart thud and his groin ache.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatcha gonna call it?\u201d Starsky asked lazily, now that he could see the pencil sketch from around the bend of Hutch\u2019s arm. It was rendered to near photographic realism. The glasses appeared transparent, a hint of peanut shell visible through one of them, although elongated and bowed as it would be when seen through a curved surface.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo a. m.,\u201d Hutch said with a laugh. \u201cThis art class I\u2019ve been taking is really paying off. I never could have gotten that\u2026\u201d He paused, gesturing at the picture. \u201cEssence\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s beer glasses and peanuts,\u201d Starsky teased, but he still liked it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to improve,\u201d Hutch made half a dozen more lines, adding in the dollar bills. \u201cSo that I can\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cC\u2019mon, you two!\u201d Huggy called, leaning on the last\u2014except for the two chairs they sat in\u2014of the chairs up on the table. \u201cPolice\u2019ll raid me if I\u2019m selling liquor after closing hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPolice are already here,\u201d Starsky corrected, waving a hand between him and Hutch. \u201cWe could close up for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah, the last time I did that, you two never left.\u201d Huggy stomped off to put the broom away.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, when Maurice opened up to prep for the lunch crowd, you two were sleeping in the booth!\u201d Anita laughed. \u201cI\u2019m off, Huggy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBye,\u201d Starsky called, setting his beer glass on the table. Apparently, he wasn\u2019t getting another drink any time soon. There was always the six-pack in his fridge. Or Hutch\u2019s for that matter. They had days off, and luckily, the shootings required no investigation. The boys had shot one another\u2014leaving pain and heartbreak in their wake, the questions of why outweighed by how and when. Detectives had to shut off their own empathy to concentrate on the investigation. Exactly why Hutch channeled his compassion into alternate areas. Getting drunk and drawing was a heck of a lot less difficult than holding on to the grief of the world.<\/p>\n
He knew that. Getting drunk and getting fucked. That\u2019s what he wanted. Holding Hutch inside his body, merging their\u2026what word Hutch had used? He really was drunk when he couldn\u2019t think of words.<\/p>\n
Essence<\/em>, that was it.<\/p>\n Starsky didn\u2019t resist the pull of Hutch\u2019s allure, admiring his beauty like an art connoisseur. The way the light picked out the individual hairs on Hutch\u2019s right arm, dancing and moving with the shadows each time his wrist shifted to control the fine movements of the fingers clutching the pencil. Hutch used the side of his thumb to smudge a line, softening the hard edge.<\/p>\n \u201cA couple of slobs, that\u2019s what,\u201d Huggy muttered, advancing on Hutch\u2019s still life with a whisk broom and dust pan.<\/p>\n \u201cHey!\u201d Hutch protested.<\/p>\n He shoved out a hand to barricade against the onslaught, but Huggy swept around him and scooped up all the shells. The glasses were trundled away as well, in Huggy\u2019s last ditch cleaning effort.<\/p>\n Starsky snorted, chuckles rising from his belly like waves on the sea. Hutch\u2019s affronted expression was too funny.<\/p>\n \u201cI was\u2026creating here!\u201d he groused, holding up the pad.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll hang it behind the bar,\u201d Huggy said with a skeptical eyebrow.<\/p>\n \u201cI haven\u2019t finished it yet.\u201d Hutch examined the drawing for a moment.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks done to me.\u201d He dunked the remaining dirty glasses in a pan of water. \u201cYou two need to skee-daddle now, closing time done passed already.\u201d He waggled his fingers, palm up, for the glass Starsky held.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll lose business with this kind of attitude.\u201d Starsky carefully pulled himself to a stand, very aware of his woozy state. Still wasn\u2019t quite three sheets to the wind, who- cares-what-the-hell-he-did, and the half-way between sensation was slightly unnerving when he was fully erect. Erect in posture, and in the nether regions, he realized with a shock. Didn\u2019t usually come over him like that without forewarning. With the jeans he had on, the bulge was quite evident.<\/p>\n Flipping his pad shut, Hutch looked down, unerringly centering in on Starsky\u2019s target. \u201cGuess it is time to leave,\u201d he said in a husky voice that did nothing to deflate Starsky\u2019s arousal.<\/p>\n Now not able to walk straight, for reasons completely unrelated to beer consumption, Starsky had to turn his back on Hutch\u2014and Huggy\u2014to stagger to the front door. He tried for his usual swagger, but missed that by a mile. He almost missed the door frame, too.<\/p>\n \u201cHey.\u201d Hutch scooped an arm around Starsky\u2019s shoulder, propping him up. \u201cGuess I\u2019m driving, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe came in your car!\u201d Starsky pressed back against his partner, evidence that Hutch was as turned on as he was hard against his butt crack.<\/p>\n \u201cStop it,\u201d Hutch hissed into his ear, shoving Starsky out the door. \u201cOr we\u2019ll be arrested for indecent exposure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExten-u-ating circumstances, Oss-fer,\u201d Starsky giggled. \u201cAny judge\u2019d understand just lookin\u2019 at you.\u201d He took the four steps to the squash unaided, and turned, leaning against the hood to watch Hutch walk.<\/p>\n \u201cMe?\u201d Hutch shook his head with a shrug, tucking the drawing pad under his arm. \u201cD\u2019you know why I want to improve my drawing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCause you\u2019re never satisfied?\u201d Starsky replied honestly and then regretted it instantly when he saw Hutch\u2019s expression. The warm fuzziness of his drunk drained away as if it had never been. \u201cHutch, I didn\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cNo, you hit the nail on the head all right.\u201d Hutch marched rapidly around the car and got in, starting the engine so fast Starsky had to scramble to open his door and drop into the seat.<\/p>\n \u201cI am quite aware\u2014\u201c Hutch inhaled fast and deep as if coming up for air. \u201cThat I never quite achieve what\u2026that I keep seeking. But you\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n Starsky tensed, expecting one of Hutch\u2019s nit-picky assessments. He squeezed his knees together in a vain hope of maintaining his erection, but it was softening. So much for getting some tonight from Hutch. He\u2019d probably gripe for hours.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re unique. One in a million.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat a dig or a left handed compliment?\u201d Starsky sniped. \u201cYou\u2019re the one with the classical looks, all that blond hair and chiseled nose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDime a dozen, Starsk,\u201d Hutch dismissed with a wave of his right hand. \u201cAll my life, people commented on my looks\u2014it\u2019s all surface. There\u2019s nothing underneath.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHutch, that ain\u2019t true!\u201d Starsky turned in his seat, watching Hutch\u2019s classic profile highlighted with every streetlight the car passed. He\u2019d never realized that Hutch\u2019s insecurities were dug in so deep. Beauty had always seemed its own reward when he was coming up as a kid on the street. No one had ever said he was good looking\u2014a skinny, short kid with unruly curls and a hawkish nose. Unique? Yep, that about fit him.<\/p>\n Hutch on the other hand–<\/p>\n \u201cWhen we were in the academy, you remember you used to sit right up front?\u201d Starsky asked, picturing that bare neck in front of him, the fine blond hair cut so short that Hutch\u2019s scalp was visible. Starsky\u2019s head had itched for weeks until his hair grew beyond the crew-cut required of academy cadets. He\u2019d never gotten it cut that short again, despite a couple of reprimands on his official report. Luckily, his prowess with a gun, strength on the obstacle course, and driving savvy had overcome other shortcomings. Hutch had kept that regulation style until they were out of uniform and Starsky\u2019d convinced him that undercover detectives needed to blend in with the guys on the street.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d stare at you in class,\u201d Starsky said softly. \u201cIt was like I couldn\u2019t take my eyes off you. And not cause you were sitting in front of me. I never felt anything\u2026instant like that before.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d Hutch slowed to take the turning to Venice. \u201cI\u2019ve always sat in the front of the class\u2014that\u2019s my habit. But I think I did it then, particularly in Sergeant Bowman\u2019s lectures\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cBlowhard Bowman!\u201d Starsky groaned. \u201cThe man had it out for me from day one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen you shouldn\u2019t have antagonized him,\u201d Hutch chided, with a slight smile when he glanced over at Starsky.<\/p>\n \u201cMe?\u201d Starsky tapped his chest, playing up wounded pride. \u201cI can\u2019t help if his knowledge of current firearms was out of date.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou made me laugh,\u201d Hutch went on, sounding nostalgic. \u201cI couldn\u2019t look away, either, so I sat in front. Your voice would roll over me\u2026\u201d He pulled up in front of his building, stopping the car. \u201cAnd I was married.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d Starsky hadn\u2019t known Hutch\u2019s feelings had started so early. He\u2019d battled his own attraction to Ken Hutchinson in the academy. Until then, he\u2019d dated women\u2014wanted women. Finding himself masturbating late at night while visualizing the curve of Hutch\u2019s pale neck and the scent of his aftershave had been strange and unnerving. He\u2019d been raised that only deviants did it with other men, and he was no deviant\u2014was he? \u201cWe both sat there\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cWanting,\u201d Hutch whispered.<\/p>\n \u201cTook us long enough,\u201d Starsky finished for him, wondering about the wasted time. Not that it had been entirely wasted. They\u2019d spent nearly a decade as best friends, partners joined at the hip, kindling a bond that would never break. Would having sex earlier have changed any of that? \u201cFriendship made us stronger.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d Hutch climbed out of the car, beckoning Starsky. \u201cCome up, I want to show you something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou get me a present?\u201d Starsky joked, following him up the steep stairs. The happy glow was back\u2014and he still wanted that fifth beer. Maybe if he got Hutch schnockered, there would be a little wham-bam, thank you, ma\u2019am as Huggy would say. Make that– thank you, sir.<\/p>\n \u201cNot sure you\u2019d call it that.\u201d Hutch sounded very uncertain\u2014almost nervous. He reached up to the lintel, palmed the key, and then dropped it on the mat.<\/p>\n \u201cAlways knew nimble fingers was your middle name.\u201d Starsky rolled his eyes, getting an embarrassed grin from Hutch, and scooped up the key. \u201cI\u2019ll even spare you the lecture on home safety, Ossi-fer. Didn\u2019t I get you a key chain for your last birthday?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou did.\u201d Hutch nodded, brushing past him once the door was open. \u201cThe Mickey Mouse ears stretched the pockets of my cords.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNice try,\u201d Starsky said dryly, heading for the fridge. He knew there was a six-pack of Coors\u2014or at least part of one\u2014because he\u2019d put it there himself the other day. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hutch duck down to flip through the canvases stacked haphazardly against the far wall of the apartment.<\/p>\n Hutch was\u2014as he\u2019d said in the car\u2014a seeker. Always looking for new horizons, new quests. He played guitar and sang well enough, in Starsky\u2019s opinion, to perform in public, but his stage fright kept him out of the local nightclubs\u2019 amateur hours. He had tried yoga, bio-feedback, even Buddhism and Kung Fu to center himself. Took up and put down the paint brush or charcoal drawing pencil every few years, never actually finishing a single piece. Something inside him was never quite satisfied with himself.<\/p>\n Flipping the ring off the can, Starsky took a long drink. Nothing like it\u2014the beer slid down smooth, warming his belly.<\/p>\n \u201cStarsky,\u201d Hutch called tentatively.<\/p>\n \u201cYou want a beer\u2026\u201d Starsky walked around the kitchen table, stopping abruptly.<\/p>\n Hutch had propped six\u2014no, make that eight\u2014drawings against the baseboard and crouched nervously beside them.<\/p>\n \u201cWould ya lookit this,\u201d Starsky exclaimed, because in all honesty, he couldn\u2019t quite think of anything else to say. Every drawing was of him. A close up of his face, lovingly rendered in near photographic realism: his hair soft and curly, the moles on his face like beauty marks. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks at the second sketch\u2014his illustrated self reclined on a bed wearing only a wife-beater pushed up above his nipples. He stroked his chest with his right hand and grasped his cock with his left, perfect bliss on his face.<\/p>\n The third stirred something deeper and oddly familiar inside. He was curled inward on Hutch\u2019s couch, asleep, with one leg hooked over the end of the couch. It was the glimpse of a book cradled in his arms and the red shawl-necked sweater he wore that sparked recognition. \u201cThat\u2019s the night we played Monopoly after Terry died,\u201d he whispered in shock. \u201cHow long have you been drawing these?\u201d He shook his head, taking in the other sketches. Studies of him driving, grinning, laughing looked back at him. It was awe inspiring and humbling.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve always drawn you,\u201d Hutch said, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to the wall. \u201cBut it\u2019s never right. There\u2019s always something missing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHutch.\u201d Starsky was at a loss. The totality of Hutch\u2019s love, of his devotion poured over him in a rush. \u201cThese are terrific, and I\u2019m not just sayin\u2019 that ’cause they\u2019re of me!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t seem to capture your\u2014\u201c Hutch gestured lamely at his works.<\/p>\n \u201cEssence?\u201d Starsky grinned, reaching down to Hutch. \u201cYou need another lesson?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s exactly what I said!\u201d Hutch ignored Starsky\u2019s hand, scrabbling over to a crate full of art supplies. \u201cLet me get\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cNope.\u201d Starsky grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up and around. \u201cNo drawing pads, no pencils.\u201d He faced Hutch, tipping his head slightly to gaze right into those compelling blue eyes. \u201cYou obviously drew all of those from memory since I never saw any of \u2018em before.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, so?\u201d Hutch hitched a breath as if Starsky\u2019s proximity was doing something fascinating to his libido.<\/p>\n Starsky chuckled, feeling the proof that Hutch was finally interested. His own body was once again very enthusiastic and ready for sex. Unbuttoning his shirt one handed, Starsky stepped in close to his lover until their chests touched, hearts beating against one another. \u201cClose your eyes and picture my lips.\u201d He pressed a kiss onto Hutch\u2019s parted lips, savouring the flush of arousal that came when Hutch latched onto him. The kiss flowed back and forth, imbuing power, connection, love.<\/p>\n Starsky breathed in his partner\u2019s air, joining with him. \u201cSee me, Hutch, see me like you do in all those drawings. They\u2019re all me\u2014what\u2019s missing is you. Put part of yourself in there and they\u2019ll be fucking perfect.\u201d<\/p>\n Hutch spread a palm across Starsky\u2019s belly, kneading softly as if cataloging the muscles just below the skin. He slid his left hand around to the small of Starsky\u2019s back, under the edge of his shirt, stroking the curve of waist down to the butt.<\/p>\n Starsky inhaled, brushing his lips across Hutch\u2019s cheek to gently scrape his teeth on the line of Hutch\u2019s jaw. He could feel the bristles of unshaven whiskers but they were much finer and softer than his own. The sensation of soft skin and slight rasp of hair against his lips was such a turn-on, Starsky did it again.<\/p>\n Hutch moaned his appreciation, cupping Starsky\u2019s ass in both hands as if to lift him up.<\/p>\n \u201cWait,\u201d Starsky panted, suddenly so primed he couldn\u2019t wait much longer. \u201cJeans.\u201d His cock was jammed so tightly in the confining fabric he was sure it would rip right through in a moment.<\/p>\n Hutch chuckled, pushing him back just enough to fumble at Starsky\u2019s waistband. \u201cNude drawing class,\u201d he said with a nod, but somehow the complicated combination of button and zipper seemed beyond him.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll do mine, you do yours,\u201d Starsky said through gritted teeth. Even so, he stopped to watch Hutch liberate his thick, pulsing cock. God, he loved that thing. Hutch\u2019s penis was a sight to behold, and Starsky knew how magnificent it felt when nestled inside his anus. Today, he wasn\u2019t sure either of them had the wherewithal to manage penetration. It was after three a.m. and neither of them had slept. Hand jobs were the way to go.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re falling behind,\u201d Hutch muttered, shucking off his cords. \u201cFirst one to the bed?\u201d He turned tail and dashed across the kitchen, flipping off his t-shirt as he ran.<\/p>\n \u201cNo fair!\u201d Starsky yelled, legs tangled in his tight jeans. He finally managed to remove one pants leg without falling over and hopped the rest of the way to the bed, letting Hutch tug his jeans off completely.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is what I see in my head.\u201d Hutch pushed him backwards onto the bed. He slipped Starsky\u2019s black briefs down so that his cock sprang upwards, ready for action. \u201cWhen I can\u2019t sleep, I get up and draw. \u201c<\/p>\n \u201cYou never told me,\u201d Starsky said, savoring the sensation of Hutch caressing his thighs, moving ever closer to his cock. His whole body felt like an idling engine, the power building, but no foot on the ignition to send it racing forward. He quivered when Hutch palmed his balls.<\/p>\n \u201cI meant to\u2014when I got it right.\u201d Hutch leaned down to lap his tongue along Starsky\u2019s cock. \u201cBut\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cHutch, all of those drawings are right\u2014\u201c Starsky promised, needing to rut, to drive himself into Hutch\u2019s mouth. It was difficult to think. \u201cYou gotta have faith in yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPose for me, then,\u201d Hutch said, scooting closer, his big cock flush against Starsky\u2019s.<\/p>\n That was the foot on the gas\u2014adrenaline coursed through Starsky\u2019s veins.<\/p>\n \u201cNow?\u201d he squeaked, his balls tightening in preparation.<\/p>\n \u201cNo\u2026\u201d Hutch gasped, closing his hands around both penises. He inhaled raggedly, tipping his head back with a cry. \u201cC\u2019mon with me!\u201d<\/p>\n Folding his hands over Hutch\u2019s bigger ones, Starsky howled as they came together. Hutch pulled Starsky down onto his side so they faced one another, hearts racing in unison.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re my inspiration, Starsk,\u201d Hutch whispered in his ear. \u201cI won\u2019t draw myself, but you\u2019re right, I never thought about putting my\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cEssence?\u201d Starsky snuggled into his arms. It wasn\u2019t often he could use such a perfect word so frequently in one night.<\/p>\n Hutch held up his middle finger with a smirk and got off the bed.<\/p>\n \u201cHey!\u201d Starsky groused, suddenly cold without any clothes on and damp with sweat. \u201cWhere you going?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDrawing pad and a pencil. You\u2019re covered in my essence.\u201d Hutch winked, holding up his pointer finger in warning. \u201cDon\u2019t move. Wouldn\u2019t want to miss the opportunity to draw you just like that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot what I meant, Hutch, and you know it!\u201d Starsky slouched comfortably against the headboard, puling the blanket up just enough to provide warmth and a bit of provocative cover. He still wanted that beer. Where had he put it? \u201cHey, bring me a beer while you\u2019re up?\u201d<\/p>\n The end<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Starsky slouched comfortably in his chair, spine curved, feet resting on the table, watching Hutch. Two a.m. at the Pits was quiet, almost mellow. He smiled, cradling his latest beer to his chest. This was his fourth, tipsiness slipping inevitably … Continue reading