Blindfolded by Elizabeth Alexander

Banging trash cans, then nothing.

Starsky opened the door and yelled, “Hutch?”

No answer.

Still grinning, he yelled again, “Hey, Hutch, you okay?”

Silence.

Starsky frowned, dashed down the stairs at haphazard speed.

The bottom of the stairs, where the trash cans were.

Hutch was very still, flat on his back, arms spread out, eyes closed, long blond hair tousled.

No blood.

No blood visible.

Starsky got to his knees next to his partner, hand outstretched.

Breathing? Was Hutch breathing?

“Hutch.”

Hutch felt a trembling hand on his chest, travelling up his neck to check his pulse. Starsky’s fluttery movements carried the warning that he’d probably not see the joke in this.

“Gotta get an ambulance,” Starsky whispered to himself, turning to the stairs.

Hutch jumped up. “Gotcha.”

Starsky whirled, eyes impossibly large, catching his breath in what sounded like a sob.

For interminable moments, they stared at each other.

Finally, Starsky drew a deep breath, turned on his heel and climbed the stairs.

Puzzled, Hutch hesitated, then ran after Starsky two steps at a time.

Starsky was sitting on the couch, bent forward, his arms on his knees, his head resting on his folded arms.

He looked exhausted and vulnerable, and once more Hutch cursed his timing. The case had been hard on Starsky, he’d felt so guilty about that girl - and he had nothing better to do than add more guilt to the pressure? Some partner that made him.

Hutch knelt in front of Starsky, an uncertain hand gently touching the dark curls. “Starsk – hey, I thought you’d just pounce on me.”

Starsky lifted his head, sapphire eyes swimming in tears. “You scared me.”

Hutch sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“I thought you’d realise you were outside. I didn’t think you’d fall down the stairs.”

“I didn’t fall. I knew I was outside, “ Hutch admitted. “I just rearranged the stupid trash cans and lay down.”

“Jerk,” Starsky said with feeling, giving him a shove. “You smell like a trash can yourself. Go and have a shower.”

Hutch grinned. “I’ll have to steal some of your clean clothes. If you have any, that is.”

“Probably more than you,” Starsky grumbled. “Help yourself.”

When Hutch returned from his shower, Starsky had put the room to rights and was lying on his back, his left arm over his eyes, the other dangling off the sofa.

“Hey, make room. You can’t have the whole place to yourself.”

“Why not, ‘s mine,” Starsky muttered, but moved over nonetheless.

Hutch lay next to him, pulling Starsky into a gentle embrace.

Starsky sighed contentedly, and snuggled closer, his face pressed against Hutch’s shoulder.

They held on tightly, neither man speaking.

Physical closeness had helped their relationship survive this past year.

Somehow, they had reached a stage where a lot of their communication wasn’t verbal anymore. But even when they couldn’t talk, normally they could still hug.

During the last few months, they had taken to sleeping on each other’s sofas, very often in each other’s arms. By mutual consent, neither had ever suggested that a bed might be more comfortable and easier on their backs.

It had been a hard year for both of them. Crazy Diane and Rosey Malone had seen to that, and John Blaine’s death had contributed. Hutch had contracted the plague, and because of Vanessa’s death had been charged with Murder One.

Hutch wasn’t terribly proud of faking amnesia after their car crash. It had taken him two whole days to realise that Starsky actually hadn’t caught on, instead believed every word he said.

Then there was that inexplicable something that seemed to oscillate in the atmosphere between them... something they both were acutely aware of, yet which neither dared give voice to.

The only meaningful relationship either man had been able to maintain over the last ten years was the one they shared, and that relationship became all-important, grew in intensity as their lives were slowly sucked into the whirlpool of a cop’s life. A whirlpool of duty, the closeness between partners and the things that only a cop saw and heard, which separated them from the rest of humanity, even wives and family, so that cops sought the company of other cops and had few friends outside the precinct.

There had been instances where Hutch thought that Starsky would walk away from him – but he hadn’t. Starsky had been there – in sickness and in health, in good times and bad.

Only person in the world who’d ever done that for him.

Hutch sighed as he realised the direction his thoughts were travelling – a direction they had taken all too often recently.

He felt Starsky relax further and grow heavier against him, and smiled to himself. “You falling asleep, pal?”

Starsky blinked and mumbled, “Yeah, ‘fraid so. Sorry. I guess I’ll move.”

“No, don’t,” Hutch tightened his hold. “Unless you’re uncomfortable. I only asked because I’m dozing off myself and didn’t want to fall asleep on you.”

“I’m okay,” Starsky said, settling himself again. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“Mh.”

Satisfied, Hutch registered the warmth of the hard body against his, the gentle but firm hand on his waist and allowed sleep to claim him.

He woke to the sound of a teasing voice breathing words into his ear. His body registered the sensation before his brain did, and reacted. Fortunately, Starsky seemed oblivious to the reaction his warm breath caused.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty – if you wanna get to that party you’d better whip us up something to eat while I hit the shower.”

“What about my shower,” Hutch asked, aware he didn’t really want to move.

“Another shower? You’ll shrink,” Starsky grinned and – with the ease of much practice – managed to slide off the sofa without flattening Hutch in the process.

Hutch groaned and stretched. “You really wanna eat before we get there?”

“I’m starving,” Starsky called over his shoulder, vanishing into the bathroom.

“So what else is new,” Hutch muttered to himself and went to inspect the refrigerator.

He was putting the finishing touches to the tossed salad when he heard Starsky rummage through drawers. Unusual for a guy who knew the way around his house blindf... Hutch shied away from the rest of the thought.

“What you looking for, buddy?”

Starsky looked up, dark curls glistening with dampness. “Scissors. You seen them?”

“Nope,” Hutch said after a moment of collecting his thoughts and controlling his roving eyes. “What d’ya need scissors for?”

Starsky mumbled something, pushing the drawers he’d been inspecting shut and opening the next. “Can’t get the knot out.”

Belatedly, Hutch realised the first unintelligible word had been “hair.”

“Sit down,” he indicated the chair. “Where’s your brush, I’ll do it.”

Starsky shrugged and mounted the chair, wondering at Hutch’s steadily increasing will to touch. Need to touch?

Cautiously at first, then with growing confidence, the brush toured through auburn tangles.

Starsky rested his forehead on his crossed arms on the back of the chair, desperately trying to govern a wildfire emotion. He brushed his hair several times each day... how come he had never registered how the sensation collected under his scalp, making the skin tingle all over his body? What was it that made him hope the sweet torture would continue forever – what prompted him to jump up the next instant and wrestle the brush from Hutch’s too clever hands?

Laughing, Hutch refused to relinquish the brush, hiding it behind his back. “Okay, boy, down. Down I say! I’m not finished with you.”

With a mock growl, Starsky launched himself at the challenger. Hutch took a step back and landed on the bed, the wind knocked from him.

Starsky tried to pin Hutch down, but they were too evenly matched for that. Soon they were rolling on the bed, engaged in breathless mock battle. Hutch lost the brush, but they didn’t even notice – instinctively they both knew that their brotherly fights were one way of releasing tension between them so that they could endure another harrowing day.

Finally, Hutch managed to get Starsky underneath him, using his weight and greater reach to keep him down.

“Now look at yourself,” Hutch laughed, panting, “And I had you so nicely brushed.”

“And then what – were you gonna make me wear a collar and lead?” Starsky showed his teeth, somewhere between a snarl and a very wide grin.

Hutch grimaced. “At least that way I could make sure you don’t stray.”

Starsky raised his eyebrows, momentarily at a loss for words – there was something in Hutch’s voice... sounding so forlorn. And the expression in his eyes...

Overly loud ringing broke the moment, and Hutch let go to reach for the phone. “Yeah?”

Starsky rolled off the bed, securing the brush in the process and running it through his hair in an impatient gesture. Impatient with himself, or with the interruption?

“Sure, but we’ll be late. Starsky’s not even dressed,” Hutch said to the caller.

“And whose fault is that?” Starsky grumbled, suddenly very aware he was only wearing his briefs. He tried not to be obvious about the alacrity with which he got dressed, but the grin on Hutch’s face told him he hadn’t managed.

“You really must be starving, partner.”

“Told ya I was,” Starsky said, knotting his tie.

Hutch met his eyes in the mirror, smiling. “Glad you bought that outfit. Suits you.”

Starsky blushed, remembering that little scene in the shop all too vividly. Not only had Hutch – for whatever reason – insisted on helping him choose, he’d also commented on how well the powder-blue suit and nightblue shirt matched his eyes.

Starsky couldn’t get that look on Hutch’s face out of his mind. The affection, the appreciation shining from those sky-blue eyes were still taking his breath away a whole week later.

“Come on, let’s eat. We’re running late already.”

Starsky shrugged and followed Hutch into the kitchen, eyeing the salad with suspicion. “That all I’m gettin’?”

“Knowing you, you’ll stuff yourself with lots of unhealthy things at the party. Just making sure you’re getting your vitamins.”

Starsky shrugged again and started to eat, rather enjoying Hutch’s concoction – of course, he’d never tell him that.

“You want a beer before we go?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Hutch said, his mind on something else entirely.

Starsky crossed to the refrigerator, and grabbed two cans of beer. Without turning, he asked, “You looking at me, buddy?”

“Yes,” Hutch said, surprise colouring his voice. “How do you know?”

“ ’cause that laser look of yours is burning holes into my shirt.” Starsky replied, leaning against the table and giving Hutch his beer.

He popped his own can open and took a deep swallow, studying Hutch’s face. “I feel your eyes a lot recently, Hutch. Analysing, kinda. As if ya were tryin’ to get inside my head. That what you’re doing, pal – trying to read my mind?”

“Kind of,” Hutch confessed, sipping his beer in an attempt to hide his confusion. He wished those sapphire eyes would look at something else. Then again, if they ever looked at anything, anybody else with quite that kind of expression he knew he’d get as jealous as hell.

“C’mon Hutch, out with it. What is it you’re thinkin’ about, huh?”

“A lot of things, Starsky. I don’t know where to start.” Hutch looked at that intent face, then quickly turned his eyes back to the surface of the table.

Starsky pulled a chair over, straddled it, crossed his arms on the back of the chair, trying to read Hutch’s face.

Hutch smiled, an embarrassed little smile. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Starsky sounded honestly puzzled.

“You’re making cop’s eyes at me.”

Starsky grinned. “Sorry pal. I only got one sort of analytical look.”

Hutch took a deep breath. “Yeah. I know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That... you’re always the same, buddy.”

Starsky put his chin on his crossed arms, his eyes never leaving Hutch. “And you’re not?”

“No. I’m not. You know that I’m not.”

“Your moods change. You don’t.” Starsky said it firmly, and Hutch shot him a surprised look.

“Didn’t know that two days of amnesia are a mood,” Hutch replied, his voice not quite steady.

“Aw come on, Hutch. And I let you walk out the front door with a blindfold on. I think we’re even.”

Hutch shook his head. “That’s not the same, Starsk. I mean... you knew I’d feel the sunlight on my face and know I was outside, and I did. Besides, I’d bragged about how I’d be able to find my way around. You had every right to get back at me.”

Starsky sighed and drained the rest of his beer. “And I drove at an idiotic macho speed to prove that my car was better than their car – and landed you in hospital. We were lucky – th’ accident could’ve been much worse. So, you had every right to tell me you didn’t appreciate my drivin’.”

“Stop finding excuses for my behaviour, Starsky.” Hutch finished his beer. “I didn’t have the right to treat you the way I did.”

Starsky frowned, got up and collected their cans, throwing them in the trash. “Want another beer? I think we oughta finish our discussion before we go.”

“Do we have to go?” Hutch asked. “Would you mind staying home?”

Starsky was about to take another two cans of beer out of the refrigerator, and now he threw Hutch a quick look over his shoulder. “You wanted to go to th’ party in the first place. I wasn’t so keen to start off with.”

Hutch grinned and accepted the proffered beer. “I guess I got lucky. Any lady would’ve yelled at me about having gotten dressed already.”

Starsky’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t one of your ladies, and you’d better remember it, pal.”

“I know that,” Hutch said, and thought that it made things that much more difficult.

One quick look at Starsky, then Hutch pondered the table again, unaware that there was a smile on his lips. It was a sweet smile, a smile Starsky had begun to miss because it had been replaced by a rather sarcastic smirk in the last few months.

“So – what’s that about the way you treated me?”

Hutch sighed. “I ... I’ve been pushing you around. I don’t know why you put up with me, really.”

Starsky sat on his chair again, eyes dark and serious. “You’re not pushing me around. You’re trying to figure out how much I’ll let you get away with.”

Hutch met the contemplative violet eyes with some trepidation. “Kind of. How do you know?”

Starsky sighed. “Gimme some credit, Hutch. You told me what your parents are like. You’re behaving the way you are to see whether I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“If you know that...” Hutch broke off, not certain how to voice the thought.

“I’m your friend, Hutch. You ain’t gonna get rid of me.” Starsky took another mouthful of his beer. “It would be kinda nice if you could drop the games and just tell me what you want from me. But it seems you can’t do that – so I’ll play along.”

“Why?” Hutch wondered aloud, not really expected an answer.

Starsky met his eyes, shook his head. “You don’t expect me to answer that.”

“No,” Hutch acknowledged.

“See – that’s the difference. I have nothing to hide, and I don’t pretend. I’ll tell ya. I’m playing along because you mean more to me than anybody else in the world.”

Hutch closed his eyes, caught up in a rainbow storm of feelings, fantasies and fervour. “I needed to hear that.”

Starsky’s eyes softened. “You wanted to tell me what you’re trying to figure out.”

“No. I don’t want to tell you.” Hutch sighed. “Only it’s gotten so that it’s unfair not to tell you.”

A quick flash in sapphire depths, like a shark surfacing in the waves of the ocean. “Talk to me, Hutch.”

Hutch looked up, swallowed, his expression helpless. “I don’t know where to start. I ... don’t think I have the nerve to start.”

“Does it take nerve to talk to me, Hutch?” Starsky tried not to sound hurt. “You really think there’s anything you can tell me that I don’t know yet?”

Hutch took another deep breath, his eyes on his beer can. “Yes there is.”

“I don’t believe ya,” Starsky said, but couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.

“You remember when John Blaine got killed?”

“I remember.” Starsky said flatly. It was difficult to forget the pain and the betrayal he had felt.

“You thought you knew all there was to know about John.” Hutch whispered.

“Yeah. But he wasn’t my partner, and I wasn’t as close to him as I am to you.” Starsky sounded defensive in his own ears, and wondered why.

Hutch sighed. “You were upset with him for being gay.”

Starsky frowned. “No. I wasn’t. I was upset about him lying to people Lying to me, and lying to his own wife. He never gave us a choice. He didn’t give us a chance to understand.”

“I don’t get you,” Hutch said, frowning back.

“ ‘s easy. If he had told me I could’ve made up my own mind. He was my friend, but he didn’t trust me. He didn’t even trust the woman he was married to, and in my opinion she’s one fine lady.”

Starsky tossed down some of his beer, remembering that it was John’s death that had forced him to face his own reality and his own lies. He had felt rather bad when it occured to him that John at least had been honest with himself.

And how long had he been lying to the man in the mirror? How long had he known Hutch for – almost 9 years. That’s how long.

“So – if I told you I was interested in a guy, you’d not be upset about that?”

Starsky held his breath – had he heard that correctly? Had Hutch really said that?

Slowly, he answered, “It’d be a surprise, when I look at the string of ladies you been with. But no, it wouldn’t upset me.”

Hutch tried to hold his eyes. “You ever thought about guys like that?”

“Guys? No.”

Hutch felt his heart stop.

Starsky smiled. “One particular guy, yes.”

Hutch’s heart started to beat again, fast and hard and electrifying. “Who might that be, pal?”

“I give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.” Starsky’s smile widened.

“Let’s see. Not Dobey, and not Huggy Bear.” Hutch mused, his eyes wicked.

Impulsively, he hooked his foot around the leg of Starsky’s chair and yanked hard. The chair slid towards him, tilted, bringing Starsky into his reach. Hutch quickly grabbed the back of the chair.

Sapphire eyes were dancing with provoking lights. “I prefer blondes.”

Hutch pulled Starsky closer still, his hands tangling in the soft curls. “If I do what I want to do now ... will I end up with a black eye?”

“Depends,” Starsky’s voice was soft. “How many black eyes have I already given you?”

Hutch felt himself drowning in the sparkling sapphire seas, and knew that he had to find himself a safety ring. He finally found it by touching his lips to the inviting mouth of his partner.

Starsky sighed appreciatively and closed his eyes, letting Hutch determine their fate.

“Come here, you,” Hutch smiled and pulled Starsky to his feet. Starsky moved into his arms confidently, snaking his arms around Hutch’s waist, holding tight.

Hutch helped himself to another gentle kiss, then suddenly became fully aware that he - finally, at long last! - had Starsky in his arms and that Starsky was responding to his kiss. It was like having been injected with an overdose of happiness and excitement, and he’d never felt quite like this before.

Lovingly, his tongue played across Starsky’s enticing lips, tenderly asking to be let in. Starsky finally opened his mouth, and Hutch had his first tantalising taste of Starsky sweetness, with a hint of beer and salad sauce. But Hutch wanted just Starsky, so his tongue began to lick, lick, lick at the alien tastes, absorbing them until he could savour Starsky alone.

Eagerly, Hutch ran his tongue across Starsky’s teeth, his palate and his gums until Starsky couldn’t stand to remain passive anymore. Their tongues met, replayed their many mock battles – and as in those battles, there was no room for victory, only for mutual need and a whole lot of love.

Hutch could feel Starsky cling to him, lean into his hold – with so much trust that it brought tears to his eyes. Why had he waited so long?

Somehow, he managed to undo Starsky’s white tie, and with his eyes asked permission to unbutton the shirt.

Slowly, lovingly, he ran his hand across the tufts of hair on Starsky’s chest. “I’ve been dying to do that,” Hutch murmured, nibbling an earlobe and then travelling back to the tempting mouth.

Starsky moaned and buried his hands under the T-shirt Hutch wore.

Hutch gasped at the touch of those warm fingers and felt his legs buckle.

Unwillingly, he broke the kiss, holding Starsky in a protective embrace. “If I don’t get you to bed now, we’ll never make it.”

Starsky smiled, a smile that lit a thousand fires in Hutch’s heart. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Hutch smiled back, somehow feeling very substantial and yet light enough to float away on a breeze. “I mind. I want you comfortable.”

“ ‘s that so,” Starsky murmured, tracing Hutch’s neck with moist lips.

Hutch gasped and tightened his hold. “Come on, Dave. Bed.”

Somehow, they made it into the bedroom, neither caring that the bed was in disarray already.

Hutch supported himself on his elbow, looking into Starsky’s eyes, those lovely pools of pure emotion. He suddenly knew that he had always been allowed to see Starsky’s mind because those eyes had always met his with candid honesty.

In all those years, all he had ever seen in those eyes was concern, friendship, love – sometimes hurt, confusion and once or twice, terror. Never hostility, never malice – and he had seen those in Vanessa’s and other people’s eyes often enough to identify them.

Right now those dark blue eyes were radiant with rapture and anticipation, and Hutch vowed to himself he’d make them shine like this all the time from now on.

Slowly, tenderly, their lips touched, the feather-light caress a loving promise.

When Starsky opened his mouth invitingly, the kiss became passionate again, and Hutch finally had to break for air. “I think I’m becoming addicted to you,” he murmured, his hands playing with the dark curls.

Starsky smiled. “I’ve been addicted to you for a long time, lover.”

Hutch’s eyes widened with delight. “Say that again. The last word will do.”

“Lover,” Starsky repeated. “Lover. Lover. My lover.”

“Now I got a problem,” Hutch whispered.

“What’s that?”

“I can’t get enough of you saying that. But on the other hand I can’t get enough of kissing you. Now what do I do?”

Starsky smiled, kissed him and whispered, “Lover.” Kissed him again and murmured, “Lover.”

“My god, you sure know how to drive a guy crazy,” Hutch said fervently, his kiss passionately savage. “I love you, David Michael Starsky.”

Starsky fitted his body closer to Hutch’s, his fingers running through golden strands of hair. “I love you as well, Kenneth Hutchinson.”

“How lucky can you get,” Hutch smiled, his fingers roaming Starsky’s chest, mapping the scars of old injuries and tracing body contours.

Starsky drew a sharp breath, his blood suddenly as hot in his veins as molten lava.

Hutch saw the volcano erupt in the blue eyes and his own body responded to their mutual need.

Suddenly impatient, Hutch moved his hand to Starsky’s waistband, opening the zip. “This okay for you, babe?”

“What do you think, lover?” Starsky sounded breathless as he lifted his hips so that Hutch could help him remove the trousers.

Hutch smiled at the sight of the black briefs, remembering that a scant two hours ago he hadn’t dared look for fear of giving his desire away.

Sharing a deep kiss, Starsky determinedly pulled at Hutch’s jeans.

Finally having shed all their clothes, they began a leisurely exploration of each other’s body, discovering what they already knew in a completely new and deliriously exciting fashion.

Hutch marvelled how something as familiar as Starsky’s body could be so exotic and so exciting, his hands quickly becoming used to firm muscles, different textures and unaccustomed strength.

His eyes on Starsky’s face, Hutch closed a cautious hand on the erect cock, saw those beautiful eyes dilate in response to what he thought was an awkward touch and knew that there was no such thing as awkwardness between them.

Starsky’s breath came deep and hard, and their kiss left them both close to the verge.

Hutch shifted, cautiously fitted his body over Starsky’s, rotating his hips to match Starsky’s speed. Starsky moaned and threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

The harmony that had been present from the first moment they met now found a new manifestation when they came to a shuddering climax together, their love juices flowing together, a seal to their pledge.

Hutch gathered Starsky to him with deliberate tenderness, whispering endearments into the wildly tossed curls that he had never dared utter to anyone before.

Starsky sighed, his eyes bright with love, and returned the embrace. “Love ya, lover.”

Hutch smiled. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Starsky’s eyes widened. “Say that again.”

“What? Sweetheart?”

“Mh.”

“Sweetheart.” Hutch pressed butterfly kisses to the beloved mouth until he felt Starsky yield into his touch.

“So – you wanna pick out curtains?” Starsky grinned.

Hutch laughed. “We need a house first.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Seriously,” Hutch murmured, winding a springy curl around his finger.

“You are serious?”

“Yes.”

“You want Dobey to know we got the same address? And the guys at the precinct? You know what you’re sayin’, buddy?”

Hutch grinned. Buddy sounded so familiar... and yet, so different. “Yes. I want us to be together, and we both know you can’t live a lie. Not for long, anyway.”

Starsky looked at him attentively, his eyes dark. “That’s a pretty big leap, lover.”

“Really?” Hutch smiled, stealing a quick kiss. “We’ve been sharing homes right from the beginning, when you think about it.”

“Mh. Your place is too small for the two of us. You need a room to get away from me. And my weird tastes in music.”

Hutch sighed. “And you need to get away from me, and my weird moods. So I guess we need a three bedroom house. At least.”

Starsky laughed. “We don’t have to move tomorrow. But we gotta work tomorrow, so about some shut eye, huh?”

Hutch glanced at the clock and sighed. “You set the alarm?”

Starsky snuggled closer and pulled the cover up around them. “It’s set.”

Hutch sighed again, this time with happiness. “You know, this is nice. Sweetheart.”

“Glad you think so. Lover.”

They shared another gentle kiss, and before long sleep closed their lids and removed the blindfolds of their minds to show them a bright and blissful future.

-----the end-----

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