Title: Insomnia

Author: Kaye Austen Michaels

First Posted: November 3, 2001 at Love of Me and Thee

Summary: Hutch has insomnia and Starsky is determined to rescue his partner, but will Starsky's unorthodox method succeed...or threaten something more than Hutch's sleeping pattern?

Notes: A response to a story challenge onlist. This isn't an elaborate, plotted piece. Otter's lovely slash challenge stirred something in my heart and got my fingers flying across the keyboard.

**In this posting, I have corrected punctuation and spacing glitches that must have occurred during the original transformation of this document to HTML.**

Insomnia


David Starsky stood propped against the streetlight and allowed his gaze to revolve between the Torino and the impressive façade of Venice Place. The road less traveled. Safety waited in the darkness of the car. In the other direction the lights were on. Insomnia. Three days of watching Hutch stumble wearily, eyes red-rimmed and weepy, through their shifts. Sleeplessness wasn't an inconvenience for a cop; it was a landmine poised to explode underfoot. Starsky held a hand to his mouth, blew into the palm, and rested the warmth against his cheek, for one second pretending the moisture originated from a mouth pressed lovingly to his skin. What's the worst that can happen? God, we've got a longer history than the damned Mayflower. Images of rejection, hurt, betrayal reflected by the depths of a May California sky encapsulated in two eyes flowed over Starsky like a pail of ice water flung in his face. He wrestled down a wave of what-ifs. If you wanted to debate the frigging issue, you should've stayed home, snug in your own bed and let yourself get some sleep so you can keep a good enough eye out for him tomorrow. That's not what you want, though, and you know it. Face it like a man, fight for it like a man, fight him like a man if you have to. Starsky groaned, kicked the streetlight with the foot he'd propped against it, and jogged over to the entrance.

As usual his hand scratched along the top of the door and located the key. How many times had he badgered the stubborn--? Starsky abandoned that thought for a more vital one. Hutch was into the fourth night of zero sleep. Waking visions, paranoia, and who knows what else might have come calling by now. He could be sitting on the sofa, Magnum aimed and ready. Better safe than sorry. Ruin the surprise but save the trauma docs at Memorial extra business. "Hutch? It's me, I'm coming in!" He had the key halfway into the lock when the door swung open.

"Starsky? Do you have any idea what time it is? I'm trying to sleep!" The snap in the voice perfectly matched the sour expression on the weary face.

Starsky couldn't stop the laughter that rushed up his throat. "Yeah? And if you were any good at it, you'd be sacked out on that bed instead of playing doorman. Now, move, Rip van Winkle, I'm here and I'm not leaving."

"You're. Not. Leaving. Starsky, why are you here? Just curious."

"Hutch, Dobey's panicked. The fellas at the station are giving you a four-foot wide berth on all sides. Now, what're we gonna do about that?"

Hutch's face cycled through outrage, embarrassment, and confusion. "We? Starsky, I'm the one with the sudden sleep disorder. Now, scram and let me get back to staring at the ceiling."

Starsky tilted his head and winked. "Want to stare at something besides the ceiling? Or how about the ceiling with someone obstructing your view?"

"I'm not going to play rat in the maze of one of your riddles tonight, Starsky. Come right out and say what you mean. Save me the headache."

"Maybe I'll do just that if you'll move that beautiful body and let me in the damn apartment--"

Confusion slipped into outright disbelief and Hutch fell back a step, just enough that Starsky brushed by him. "B-beautiful body. Starsky? Uh buddy, if this is your idea of shock therapy, I hate to tell you, but they do that with electricity."

"Um hum. Same here." Starsky's hands were gripping, tugging on the sides of Hutch's face before the blond could whisk himself into a corner or behind a piece of furniture. No escape. The mouse hunkered down and gave up on finding a way out of the maze. "Electricity. Feel it?"

Hutch jerked away from the warm, callused hands. "I'm feeling something, all right. I'm not sure if I should be pissed or worried about your sanity-- or mine for that matter! Starsky, I haven't slept in four days. I've tried ten different herbal teas. I put some foul-smelling powder I got from this ancient Chinese guy Huggy knows into this atrocious mud-tasting drink. Damn stuff would have made you think my protein shakes are chocolate malts. Nothing has worked. Meditation, music, feathers…."

"Feathers?!" Starsky choked, mouth moving against a bubble of laughter that threatened to push from his nostrils in snorts. Hutch glared at him, intellectual, self-righteous indignation lifting his cheekbones even higher.

"Feathers. This German friend of my mother's said to empty a pillow of feathers, spread them out on my mattress, and sleep on them. Nothing exotic or kinky, I can assure you."

Starsky smiled. "Kinky's better with two people anyway."

"Starsky, I don't know what you think you're accomplishing, but--"

"I'm trying to solve your problem, stuffed-shirt, if you'd just give me half a chance."

"By doing what? Battering me with meaningless innuendo? A crazed partner is just what I need after eighty-odd hours of sheer, waking misery."

Starsky's smile wavered. This was Hutch's first weapon. The first obstacle in the course. Maneuver around it carefully, light-heartedly. "Jeez, Hutch, if they could make a sleep-aid out of sarcasm, you'd be all set. Bottle it up, sell it, and rake in the dough. You could quit police work, tool around in luxury of your own making, keep me as your slave."

Hutch strangled, coughed, and seemed to be contemplating passing out. "You think I haven't tried the sex-route, Starsky? That's the oldest remedy in the book. Good lay equals full night's sleep. Myth, Starsky. That's what you're offering me in this strange double-talk of yours? Not interested."

Second obstacle. It's not just a river in Egypt, and if it is, just cross the damn thing, crocodiles and all. If he doesn't want his hands on you what the hell do you care anymore if your precious package got bitten off anyway? "You know that's not what I'm offering you, Hutch. Now, sit down before you land on your ass."

"What? Knocking me down is the new idea?"

"No, Hutch, you're wobbling like one of those newborn giraffes on that nature show you watch. Now sit down!" The order came out in a bark that surprised even Starsky. Hutch shrugged and plodded over to the sofa, where he fell with a heavy sigh back against the cushions. Starsky just stood over him, looming and determined.

"So, what are you offering, Mr. Sleep Therapist?"

"You don't have to ask me that. You think I didn't hear you a week ago, when I got the wind knocked out of me in that alley and you ended up nearly crushing the rest of me to death, looking for wounds I didn't even have and whispering love words? I had to come around fast before backup arrived and found you pawing at me."

"P-pawing? I think the operative phrase is 'assessing physical condition.'"

"Don't give me that pre-med baloney, Hutch. I've been in the ER enough to know I never had a doc running his hands over me and breathing, 'God, I love you' repeatedly in my ear at the same time. Not a good example for you? How about another one, much farther back? Ever wonder just why I scrawled my name in lipstick on that glass?"

"Comfort," Hutch said, eyes full of memories and gratitude. Starsky shook his head fiercely.

"Comfort? Hell, no! I wrote it to let you know just who wasn't going to let you give in to that virus. Not that career-minded beauty with her gloves and mask. Me, Hutch! Me, I was gonna be the one to save you. I had to be the one to save you. You understand? That's what I'm offering you. No way is that just sex."

"Starsky, this is -- um sweet. I'm -- I feel special. Humbled, actually. I don't want you physically, though. I'm sorry."

"Bullshit. You know it. I know it. Time we quit screwing around." At Hutch's broad grin, Starsky laughed. "Uh, allow me to change one word in that sentence."


Hutch pulled himself with extreme effort off the couch and wrapped his long arms around his partner, kneading the muscles behind Starsky's shoulders firmly enough to register despite the thickness of impeding leather and cotton shirt. "Starsky, you have to be the best friend anyone in the world could want, but you're far too impulsive. You can't just decide to show up when I have insomnia and declare some kind of-- what exactly are you declaring, anyway?"

Starsky relaxed in the embrace and rubbed his nose against Hutch's neck. "Haven't you been listening to me? I want to be your knight-in-shining armor. If you got me talking like that, don't you know what that means?"

Hutch laughed and allowed one hand to stroke the curls at the base of Starsky's neck. "Rapunzel, I'm not, Starsk."

"No one would ever think you're sweet and submissive, Hutch. It's a metaphor."

"Metaphor, hm?" Hutch's arm shifted.

"Right. Move that hand and I'll break your jaw."

"Feels good?" Hutch asked, smiling. Starsky sighed.

"Yep, but I guess you'd better stop, after all, because it'll put me to sleep and that's not the object of the game here."

"Starsky, why are you doing this now?"

Starsky pressed his face harder against Hutch's neck. "Took me this long to get my cock, brain, and heart all on the same page. They've never had to work together before."

"Oh, that's a lie. You're not just the sleep-around, careless man you portray. I repeat, why tonight? My wild, sleep-deprived look some sort of turn-on for you?"

Starsky wrested free of the arms and shoved Hutch back down on the sofa. "'Cause I'm practical, too, Hutch. I know what you want. Call me a liar, and I'll return the favor. So, you won't admit to it. Fine. I figure I'll get you off so hard you won't even hear me pick up the phone tomorrow morning and tell Dobey you're off the roster for two days. Then, when you come back to the land of the living and decide it's not what your brain -- and mine -- have been building up, we can blame it on the damn insomnia and --"

"And pretend somebody's heart hasn't been ripped out and left oozing blood on the floor? No way, buddy. I'll take thirty more days of insomnia."

Third obstacle. Guardian Hutch with the shield of self-sacrifice. Show him, you damn fool. Choke down that useless pride of yours and let him see how needy you are never been before for anyone elsebut you are for him You, David Starsky, needy and you don't care.

"And get yourself killed on the street!" Starsky shouted, falling down on his knees and wrapping his arms around Hutch's legs.

"Starsky, you're blowing this way out of proportion. I can't sleep. It's not like I have some terminal illness and this is your way of fulfilling my last request."

Starsky emitted a pained moan. "How many times we've been down that road, too, though, Hutch? How long are we gonna pretend we're not playing a dangerous game? Wanting something so bad, needing it, craving it, not ever even whispering about it."

"No! Starsky, I don't want this. I certainly don't hold your wanting it against you, but--"

Starsky sprang to his feet with the rapidity of a cobra and leaned over Hutch, bracing himself against the cushions with hands on either side of Hutch's shoulders. "You--you don't hold it against me? Well, thank you, Jesus Hutchinson Christ! Let me spell something out for you, Hutchinson. You think I just want to dirty those sheets in there and use your insomnia as an excuse to make myself feel better in the morning. Farthest thing from the truth, but you can't handle the truth. So, I'll make you handle it. We're gonna do what I really want and at the end of the night, I'll give you one more chance. You say you don't want it then, and I'll walk away and never open my mouth about it again. Deal?"

"D-deal," Hutch murmured, resistance clearly splintering under the weight of Starsky's eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, the nearness. Hutch batted at the arms beside him and growled, "So do it, already. Do what you really want, Starsky. I'm giving you permission. You don't have to take it by force."

"You still don't get it, do you?" Starsky asked, a sly smile wiping away the ferocity.

Hutch sighed.

"I'm clinging to a quarter of my brain cells at present, Starsky. The rest have crawled out of my ears and run for mercy during the last few days."

"Get your jacket."

"I'm not leaving this house in a ratty sweat suit, thank you very much. Where the hell are we going anyway?"

"To Huggy's."

Hutch's face showed signs of sudden alertness. "Huggy's? Why, it's got to be, what, two in the morning? The Pits isn't even open."

"Not open for business, but he's there and whipping us up a late-night meal as we speak."

Hutch groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Fine. Huggy's. Jacket. Sweat suit. I'm too damn tired to care."

Starsky kept a light hand just under Hutch's elbow as they descended the stairs. When the blond stumbled on the third step, Starsky's supporting hand turned into a gripping two-armed hold. Hutch struggled briefly and went limp. Starsky applied the barest hint of lips to Hutch's temple and let him go, hand back under the elbow. Once in the car, Starsky turned on Hutch's favorite radio program, an artsy public station that crawled on Starsky's last nerve and vibrated, that Hutch found soothing.

Huggy greeted them with a laugh and a concerned side-glance at Hutch. "Blondness, you look like someone in a line-up. Sit your weary buns down and let me feed you something guaranteed to aid the pursuit of vivid, sleeping fantasies."

Hutch colored and plopped down in a booth without another look at Starsky, who beamed and joined him. Huggy trotted off and returned with two steaming bowls. Hutch eyed the bowl placed before him suspiciously. "Huggy, this is not that green junk you brought over when Starsky caught a chill that time? Tell me you wouldn't do that to me."

Huggy seized his hips in hands and frowned. "Can't you see it ain't green? Hutch, just shut your mouth if you're not gonna fill it with something I slaved an hour over since this self-professed healer called up and said he wanted to salvage your ungrateful tail. It's salmon stew. Good friend of mine swears by it. Not something I cook up regularly, mind, but for you anything." He huffed, winked surreptitiously at Starsky, and stalked back to the kitchen. Hutch glared across the table.

"Salmon stew?"

"Try it, Hutch. You like seafood."

"I have a feeling there's more than salmon in this stew, Starsky, and there are some culinary surprises I don't appreciate."

"You don't eat it, you're going to be wearing it," Starsky replied.

Hutch gaped at him. Sufficiently convinced by his best friend's tone of voice, Hutch brought a spoonful to his mouth and sipped at it delicately. Within two minutes the only sounds around the booth were slurping, swallowing, contented feeding noises.

"He likes, he likes," Huggy approved, whisking away two empty bowls a few minutes later.

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "Huggy, you didn't—uh--slip something into--"

Huggy let one of the bowls crash to the floor in his shock. "H-Hutch, I'm--Brother, I feel like hitting you. You know I know--! I mean, after--! I wouldn't ever--"

Hutch felt his entire upper body flame and sweat beaded on his forehead. "Hug, hey, slow down. I wasn't referring--I wasn't thinking about that."

Huggy relaxed. "I know. I'm just saying I know how you feel about--um--medicinal agents. I respect that. You got all natural ingredients in that stew, Hutch. Hey, even Curly liked it. Can't be too sophisticated."

"Shaddup," Starsky tossed his spoon at Huggy, who nabbed it deftly in mid air and walked away, ignoring the fragments of bowl on the floor.

"So what now?" Hutch asked. Starsky grinned.

"You've had your food. Now you need laughter."

"Oh, really?" Hutch sat back and folded his hands across his stomach. "Gonna perform for me, Starsk? Where're your striped jacket, cane, and funny hat? Brought the house down with that routine, remember? Or emptied it, I should say."

Starsky kicked Hutch's shin lightly under the table. "Downplay my skills all you want, gorgeous. See who's sleeping at the end of my therapy."

"Um hum. You. I'll be picking dead leaves off my plants again."

Starsky slid out of the booth and confiscated Hutch's hand, pulling him toward the jukebox. "Oh, no, not tonight."

Hutch backed away from the music machine with undisguised terror. "Starsky, what have you got up your sleeve? May I remind you we are at Huggy's?"

"Don't I just know it," Huggy said, seizing a stool and propping his elbow on the bar. "I get to watch the show as payment for the stew."

"S-show?" Hutch's two feet tangled together and he ended up leaning half over Starsky's supporting shoulder. Huggy snorted.

"If I didn't know how un-fun it is to spend sleepless nights, I'd be tempted to laugh, Hutch. Just lean on Curly; he won't let you fall down."

"Not right now anyway," Starsky whispered in the vicinity of Hutch's ear. He steadied his friend so he could devote his attention to the jukebox. Hutch tried to look over Starsky's shoulder but was thwarted. At the first strains of music, however, Hutch's eyes doubled in size.

"Humiliation the new substitute for counting sheep, Starsk?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Hutch," Starsky reached for a hand to twirl his partner into a section of the bar with more floor space, but Hutch resisted.

"I will not dance to any song by that band!" Hutch snarled. "'Dancing Queen,' Starsky?"

"Only seventeen…." Starsky crooned, spinning Hutch despite his vehement protest. Huggy cupped his mouth with a hand that couldn't hold back the laughter.

"You're flinging me around like one of your blondes in a nightclub, Starsky," Hutch gasped into a convenient ear when Starsky's face neared his. "In front of Huggy. Just filling you in on what's going on here since I'm the only person left with an ounce of common sense."

Starsky laughed and whispered, "I'm hamming it up, Sexy. He's knows I'm a nut when it comes to proving a point to you. I'm s'posed to be wearing you out so you'll sleep. So relax and admit you're having fun." He pulled Hutch up tight against him and then, as his dance partner suddenly relinquished the fight, lowered him in a lightning quick dip.

Huggy clapped his hands and then pointed at Starsky, frowning. "Watch the super-sonic dance moves, twinkle-toes. You make him barf on my floor and you're cleaning it up."

"I couldn't get any more embarrassed," Hutch sighed, valiantly biting down on a smile as Starsky gripped him around the shoulder and waist and turned him into a series of dizzying spins. Hutch felt the tightness of the arms around his body, heard the skipping of Starsky's heartbeat, and couldn't deny the subtle seduction of ABBA's anthem in the background.

"You couldn't get any more uptight. Jeez, Hutch, we're at Huggy's, you can let go. The man would roll under a train for both of us; you think he minds us dancing together?"

"Let go? You want me to let go? Fine, Starsky. You just invited a humiliated insomniac with two left feet to let go. Don't ask me to pay for your medical bills."

Starsky's first instinct after that speech was to run. He panicked for the sake of his insteps, but Hutch had already taken control of the dance and swept Starsky away on the wave of the song's upbeat chorus.

Five minutes later they were in a collapsed heap on the floor, holding onto one another, and laughing uncontrollably. Huggy tapped Hutch on the shoulder and proffered a glass. "What's this?" Hutch wheezed, recovering from the giggles.

"Hot milk, honey, and cinnamon. Drink this down and I'm kicking you out of my bar. Starsky can finish wearing you out somewhere else."

Now it was Starsky's turn to match Huggy's red velvet sweater. Hutch accepted the glass meekly and drained the contents, avoiding Starsky's eye.

"Late night basketball anyone?" Starsky asked brightly.

Hutch gulped down the last swallow of Huggy's concoction. "B-basketball? After salmon stew and ABBA? Starsky, are you trying to kill me? There are easier ways, you know."

"You have absolutely no sense of adventure, partner," Starsky groused, snagging Hutch's arm and yanking him off the floor. Hutch held out the glass but barely had time for Huggy to take possession of it before he was pulled out of the bar.

"Oh, no. No sense of adventure. I'm just a street cop in the worst section of town. I face bullets, high-speed car chases, and torturous lunatics on a regular basis. Cowardly little me."

Starsky pushed Hutch up against the Torino's door and stroked fingertips down Hutch's cheek. "Brave, beautiful you." He paused for a deep breath and turned his head to take advantage of the position of Hutch's lips. Hutch's wide eyes showed he recognized the intention immediately, and he put a hand on Starsky's chest.

"Basketball, remember? Want me to wipe the court with you now?"

Starsky stepped back and raised both hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, sure. No need to interrupt the therapy when it's working so well."

They drove to a deserted park with an outside court in the relative safety of a decent neighborhood. Hutch's first comment was an accusation that Starsky just really wanted him arrested for disturbing the peace.

"They'd arrest both of us, smartass. You think I want that?"

"Yeah, you'd have me locked up in a little cell with you all night."

Starsky couldn't hide the honest hurt, and Hutch stopped in mid-stride as the bouncing of the basketball ceased, Starsky clutching the ball to his chest. "I don't want to put you in a prison, Hutch," he said all too seriously.

Hutch swallowed hard. "I was joking, Starsky. I've had less sleep than God since Saturday. Take anything I say with a grain of salt."

Sunshine broke through the clouds and dwarfed the moon's brilliance. The grin caught Hutch off-guard and he had to take refuge in jogging the rest of the way to the court. For the next half hour all thoughts of insomnia, therapy, and allusions to a special nightcap were forgotten in brotherly competition and trash talk.

"Feeling sleepy yet?" Starsky queried, brushing sweaty bangs away from Hutch's forehead, as they sprawled on the court, winded, deadlocked and neither wanting to concede defeat.

"Nope. Sorry, Starsk. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I don't think your endearing home remedies are going to do the trick."

"Endearing?" Starsky smiled. Hutch stood quickly and lowered a hand to his fellow basketball warrior.

"Grain of salt, Starsk. Remember?"

Starsky paused in mid-stretch for the hand offered him and chose to stand on his own without aid. He walked away and left Hutch to gather the basketball. Once Hutch settled in the passenger seat, Starsky started the car and said, softly, "I'll take you home now."

"Okay."

~~*~~

The drive to Venice Place seemed hours long despite Starsky's catching every green light and taking the shortest route. Hutch stared out the window, attempting to ignore the sounds of breathing within a few feet from him. His partner's breathing. His best friend. The glue that held the fragments of his soul in a recognizable whole.

When Starsky killed the engine and turned to open his door, Hutch laid a hand on his friend's arm. "No need to follow me up, Starsk. Listen, I really appreciate what you've done tonight. I've had a blast, really, even if I've been an ass--"

"I'm walking you up those stairs, Hutch, and that's final. You almost fell down 'em when we left. I don't put it past you to fall up stairs even when you're not in the middle of a sleep drought." The words sounded strange, the voice detached, and the facial expression was remote. Hutch felt chilled.

"S-sure."

At Hutch's door, Starsky shoved his hands in his pockets and coughed nervously. "Thanks, Hutch, for letting me do what I wanted--well, at least part of it."

Hutch blinked. "I don't understand. We didn't do anything special. What you were talking about earlier doesn't make sense and I don't think it's because I'm probably oxygen-deprived at this point."

Starsky touched one of Hutch's eyebrows lightly and let a fingertip drift down to Hutch's chin. The hand fell away. "What I wanted, Hutch? I wanted to be with you. To live each of our normal, regular days together, doing all our usual things, having fun just being who we are -- with each other -- and then ending it each night by making love until you want to cry 'cause you don't think you'll survive how good it is. That's what I want. You gave me a lot of that tonight. I said I'd ask you one more time and if you turned me away, I'd leave. Do you want the rest?"

Hutch stared at his feet, the opposite wall, at anything but Starsky's pleading eyes. "No. I-I'm sorry. "

~~*~~

Starsky bit down on his lip, tasted blood, and commanded his chin not to waver. He did not cry in front of anyone. He'd only let Hutch see a few stray tears at desperate times and never because of anything his partner did or said. Even the fiasco with Kira had left him simply dry-eyed and seething. He hadn't sobbed his way through the horrific recovery process following his near-fatal shooting. He'd be damned if he would cry over Hutch's refusal when beautiful women had occasionally turned him down and he'd had the confidence to grin at them with a 'your loss, baby' light in his eyes and walk away.

"Try to get some sleep, partner. G'night." He turned sharply and walked steadily down the hall.

~~*~~

Hutch wasn't oblivious to the tremor in Starsky's back. He let himself into the apartment and leaned against the door, as it slammed shut behind him. He rubbed his eyes. He scuffed his running shoes on the floor. The emptiness in the apartment assaulted him and he felt iron-bands clench shut around his chest. A kaleidoscope of images and their significance flew past his mind's eye at a blinding rate of speed. Lipstick on glass… shattered glass… blood… a still form in an alley… laughing eyes… a grin so easily recovered from hurt feelings… infinite forgiveness… limitless capacity for fun and adventure… the perfect flex of athletic muscles… the sensation of being swept around a floor in strong, loving arms….

"I should be tossed into Cabrillo State!" Hutch shouted at his furniture. "I'm insane." He turned to the door. "Starsky!" Flying down the hall to the stairs. "Starsky!" Leaping groups of stairs in his haste to make it down to the street. "Starsky!" Into the night air, tossing frantic looks around for a red-and-white striped car. "Starsky!"

"Easy, easy, Hutch. What's wrong?"

Hutch whirled around and almost fainted at the sight of Starsky propped casually against a street lamp. "Why didn't you leave? You said you'd--"

"I lied," Starsky said.

"So did I," Hutch breathed. "Oh, God, Starsky, so did I!" His relieved brain put an instant lock-down on coherent thought as he seized Starsky's arms and pulled him into a choke-hold, his lips fumbling crazily down the side of his partner's stunned face to his mouth.

"Hutch, we're in the middle of the sidewalk outside your apartment," Starsky mumbled around the insistent lips.

"D-don't care," Hutch gasped out, hands traveling to Starsky's waist on their migration south. Starsky cried out and grabbed Hutch's face as the kiss turned wet, crushing, and clumsy with desire. Hutch brushed his lips away from Starsky's relentless mouth long enough to squeak out, "I w-want-- what I need, Starsky-- you. Take me, dammit. Now."

Starsky shifted his stance in the manner of alleviating a sudden unbearable tightness. "Hutch, we don't have to climb the whole mountain in one night."

"You say I have no sense of adventure. Never pegged you for a hypocrite."

"Hutch!"

"What happened to getting me off so hard I won't hear you call Dobey in the morning?"

"Hutch, you don't know--!"

"I'm insane. I'm wired and probably minutes away from hallucinating. Do you think I won't start stripping you down right here in front of whoever cares to watch?" Hutch's words were delivered as an edict.

~~*~~

Starsky felt his jeans shrink three sizes. He grabbed the elastic of Hutch's sweat pants waistband and clasped Hutch behind the neck simultaneously. "Two can play that game, Blondie!"

Try as he might later, Starsky couldn't remember how he and Hutch managed to make it back into the apartment with only jackets removed and hair tousled. What he did remember was the tornado that cut a swath to the sleeping alcove and blew away only when they crashed onto the bed, wearing nothing but determined and passionate smiles.

He would always remember the novice fumbling of two men who only knew that they wanted to love each other with ten times the intensity they had wasted on women who couldn't fill the gaps in their souls. He'd look back on the sweetness of discovering that Hutch's hip and ankles were startlingly erotic treats when he kissed them and induced an ecstatic shout. Or how Hutch's fingers, teasingly tickling his toes or stroking his Adam's apple, could bring him to the verge of ecstasy long before Hutch was ready for that to happen.

And when they'd spilled half a tube of lubricant and laughed themselves silly, in the middle of kisses and fondling, about their inability to complete the act with any semblance of dignity, Starsky found himself staring down into Hutch's love-heated smile. Hutch expelled a long, contented breath. "Now, Starsky."

Starsky's hands shook where they rested, one spread lovingly over Hutch's chest and the other on the smooth, inner thigh. "Can -- can you wait for that, Hutch?"

Hutch groaned, the palpable frustration in the sound attacking Starsky's resolve. "Why what's wrong, Starsky?"

"I-I'm seconds away from exploding, Hutch," Starsky answered breathlessly. "I just can't. Not like this. I don't have the control. I'll hurt you and I don't -- oh, Hutch, I don't want our first time to be about pain even if it ends up feeling good. Please?"

Hutch rose up and captured Starsky's face with frantic hands as a prelude to covering Starsky's eyelids, cheekbones, and the soft skin just beneath his lips with warm moisture. The calming gesture only sent Starsky's need spiraling. Hutch withdrew one hand and Starsky shouted, nearly convulsing, when it lightly stroked his volatile erection.

"I've wanted you inside me for close to a decade," Hutch whispered, words as hot as the trail of moisture he'd left on Starsky's face. "Don't you think I've waited long enough?"

"You -- you decade? What?" Coherency was beyond Starsky's grasp at that point. He wanted to kiss Hutch into a soft, flowing orgasm, but the hand caressing him and the implication of Hutch's confession paralyzed his muscles.

"I'm an idiot, Starsky. For all the brains you think I have, I tend to poke my own eyes out rather than make wise decisions about personal, life-changing matters."

"I love you, dummy," Starsky responded appropriately, "but how can you think so clearly right now?"

"You'd be amazed at what I'm capable of doing for you, Starsky. Now, please, I want this. Controlled or not. Hard, fast, punishing. I don't care. I just want you."

"You've talked me into it," Starsky said in a passion-strangled moan, but Hutch wouldn't react to his efforts at gently rolling over his lover for the consummation.

"Face to face," Hutch pleaded. "Eye to eye. We're going to watch each other the whole time. Got it?"

Starsky trembled, panting. "Got it, Hutch. God, I love you."

"I think that's my line, remember?" Hutch smiled, assisting Starsky with positioning his legs.

For a minute, in that small Bay City apartment, all of the continents realigned. The unavoidable pain was simply a cleansing rite they experienced and weathered in perfect sympathy. Starsky forced himself to watch for the smallest change in Hutch's expression while they merged. When one labored push threatened to close Starsky's eyes, he bit down hard to keep them open and staring into Hutch's. Hutch's look was that of a penitent striving for absolution and Starsky shrieked inwardly at his body to cease movement. Suspicion whispered in Starsky's ear that Hutch's determination to endure pain stemmed from a desire to atone for giving Starsky any doubt about his true feelings. Hutch must have sensed the growing concern in his partner, because he allowed his body to melt against the sheets and he forced a smile.

"So good, Starsky. " Soft, coaxing, a cool breeze against Starsky's perspiring flesh. He didn't fool Starsky in the slightest.

"No, Hutch, I'm pulling back. Rest easy. This is supposed to be about heaven. You look like you're in the wrong place." Starsky winced and braced against his body's determination to carry him forward instead of the reverse. Hutch tossed his head violently on the pillow, struggling to reach for his partner.

"No! Don't--don't stop!"

"I'm -- this is torturing you, babe. To my knowledge, I've never hurt anyone with sex, Hutch, and I'm damn well not breaking that record with you."

"Starsky!" Hutch cried, freezing Starsky in place with his verbal desperation. He took deep breaths in preparation for a longer speech. "Look, my pain threshold is probably screwed up right now because my body's so far off schedule. But, do you know, I've -- I've never felt more alive than I do right now? Pain, heat, pressure all coming from you. From that part of you touching me. I love it. I love you. Please give me this miracle."

Starsky had managed to silence any hint of tears in the hallway earlier, but he could not battle the lump born of admiration, love and relief that filled his throat as he watched Hutch's face relax with the first dawning of bliss on the classic features. Starsky realized he could not move once his body rubbed against the one quivering beneath him. The sensation of being led into the sunlight after a decade in a cold, dark cave nearly ruptured his heart.

"Dance with me, Starsky. To your music. That's always been my favorite. You walk around to it everyday. I can almost hear it sometimes."

Starsky gave in to the impassioned request with a burst of strength and a shrill cry of unadulterated delight. Hutch thrashed mindlessly, hands gripping the muscles in Starsky's upper arms without a thought to bruises. Starsky tried to lose himself in the rhythm of the sex but Hutch's eyes held him fast and what he saw in those windows to Hutch's soul only heightened the intensity of his thrusts. One by one layers of dirt, grime, bad memories, and shredded illusions were falling away from Hutch's deepest internal being. Because of him. Because of his love. because of their love. That thought was enough to unfurl Starsky's wings. He surged forward attempting to reach Hutch's lips for a loving, grateful kiss and paused in mid-thrust, eyes clenching shut, and mouth opening in a scream.

"Hutch! My Hutch! Mine."

"Starsky! Love you!! Oh!"

As soon as he could lift his head and see straight, Starsky exercised every ounce of his willpower and strength to go in search of a warm washcloth. He bathed his lover with consummate care and affection, following the washcloth in places with soft kisses. Hutch sighed and his eyes closed. After a moment, the rise and fall of Hutch's chest proclaimed Starsky's therapy a success.

Starsky curled up beside Hutch and pulled him into an almost protective snuggle. "I know damn well it wasn't the salmon stew or hot milk that's responsible for this, baby. Sleep tight."

"Ish ever'thin' my brain built up, Starshky, an' more." Hutch mumbled, mouth numb with long overdue sleep, eyes still closed.

"Love you too, Hutch."

The End