In Your Dreams

by MysticWhim

The sight of his own home gave Starsky an excited rush of energy.  He didn't realize just how deeply he missed this place until he returned to it.

"You okay?" Hutch asked from behind.  He had been close on Starsky's heels, lugging the suitcase and one of the 'get well' plants.

"Oh, sorry," Starsky replied sheepishly, stepping aside to allow Hutch to come in, too.  "Just good to be home," he explained.

Hutch grinned at him.  "I'll bet.  Did the steps wear you out?"

"No," he answered truthfully.  "I'm okay.  I don't feel tired at all."  He walked gingerly to the kitchen and pulled a root beer out of the refrigerator.  He had chugged a couple gulps before Hutch spotted him.

"You're supposed to avoid carbonated drinks," Hutch chided him.  "Not to mention caffeine."

"No caffeine in this.  It's root beer."

Hutch shook his head disapprovingly.  "It's still carbonated.  Your doctor said-"

Waving a dismissive hand, Starsky interrupted the chastisement.  "It's not gonna kill me to have a little pop.  Besides, I'm sick of everybody watchin' over me like I'm made of glass.  Relax, will ya?"

"Suit yourself," Hutch surrendered.  He had a small grin on his face, though, as if Starsky's annoyance pleased him.

A grin played across Starsky's face.  "You gave up easy.  Glad to have me home, aren't ya?"

Hutch's grin spread to a smile.  "Yeah.  I am glad you're home.  Now I don't have to knock myself out taking care of two apartments and entertaining your sorry butt during visiting hours."

Starsky's eyebrows shot up.  "So you were entertaining me, were you?  I don't remember being entertained."

"You don't, huh?"  Hutch gave an exaggerated sigh.  "Well, I guess the next time you decide to turn your body into Swiss cheese, I won't bother to stop by every day to visit you, then."

"Oh, okay.  You win," Starsky answered.  "I guess your ugly mug is kinda entertaining to look at."  He flung a kitchen towel in Hutch's direction, and the cloth caught the other man right in the face.

Hutch snatched the towel and threatened to snap it at Starsky, causing him to flee the kitchen.

"You hungry?" Hutch asked, peering into the refrigerator.  "I could make us something."

Starsky appeared in the entrance to the kitchen again.  "Why don't I make something?  I haven't been able to cook for a long time."

Surprised, Hutch straightened and turned to face him.  "You up to that?"

Starsky nodded.  "Sure.  Why not?  It's not like I'm bedridden here.  I think I can manage slinging some hash."

Hutch shrugged.  "Okay.  Knock yourself out."  There was a soft, prideful look in his eyes.  "Something simple."

Rummaging through the fridge again, Starsky asked, "How about tacos?  That's easy."

"I don't think that's on Powell's dietary guidelines," Hutch complained.

"Yeah, well Powell's a sadist," Starsky snapped.  Then he conceded, "But he's probably right on that one.  That might be kinda rough on my stomach.  How about eggs?"

"That works for me," Hutch called back.

Starsky proceeded to make the agreed upon meal.  The longer he stood there, however, the worse he was feeling.  His stomach began to ache, and when he allowed a little belch, he thought he might lose what little was in his belly.  A few hard gulps seemed to keep the bile at bay, but he felt hot and prickly all over.

Hutch appeared in the kitchen.  "Oh hey, you don't look so good!" he exclaimed in an alarmed voice.  "You all right?"

Starsky put down the spatula.  "I'm not feelin' so hot," he confessed.  "I think I need to sit down."

Placing a hand on Starsky's arm, Hutch asked, "You okay?  You need some help?"

Annoyed, Starsky shook his head as he pulled his arm out of Hutch's grasp.  "No, thanks, I'm fine.  Just wanna sit down for a sec.  Can you take over the eggs?  They're almost done."

"I got it," Hutch nodded.  "Sit down.  I'll bring it out to you."

Sitting down on the sofa, Starsky carefully propped his legs up on the coffee table, and let his head fall back against the cushions.  His stomach was still rebelling a bit, but the prickly heat was abating.

"Here ya go," Hutch offered softly.  He had a wet cloth in his hands.

Accepting the offered cloth, Starsky swabbed his face and neck with it, then ran it down his arms for good measure.  He could feel Hutch's watchful gaze even without seeing it.  "Thanks; feels good," Starsky sighed.  He added sheepishly, "I think you were right about the root beer.  My stomach wasn't too happy with me."

Surprisingly, Hutch didn't gloat.  "You still want the eggs?"  The concern had not left his voice.

"Yeah, I think I'm okay," Starsky nodded.  "Maybe it'd help to have something healthier in there."  He smiled weakly.  "I'll steer clear of the root beer, though.  Maybe some milk or something."

"I'll get it."

Hutch quickly disappeared to get the meal, but as soon as he was out of sight, Starsky had scrambled off to the bathroom, unable to hold onto the contents of his stomach any longer.  He promptly regained control, and splashed some cool water on his face to chase the flush from his cheeks.

By the time he returned to the living room, Hutch had laid out the plates and silverware, and he eyed Starsky with a suspicious look.  Ignoring it, Starsky sat down to take part in the meal.  This time, his stomach gave him no grief, and he was able to eat, though conservatively and slowly.  To his relief, Hutch didn't hassle him, nor fuss about his stomach problems.  In no time, he was feeling quite good again.

Captain Dobey stopped by for a visit, joined a short time later by Huggy Bear.  The four men had a good time catching up, and just enjoying Starsky's newly found freedom.  After a long while, though, the visit became taxing.  Starsky was getting very tired, and it must have showed, because Hutch soon brought their visits to an end and ushered them to the door, promising to invite them back very soon.

Before Starsky knew it, Hutch had cleaned up after their departed guests, and busied himself in the kitchen, washing their glasses and dishes.  The apartment was soon returned to its former cleanliness, leaving no work for Starsky to worry about.

"You didn't have to clean up before you left," Starsky told him.  "I woulda just straightened up in the morning."

"I'm not leaving," his partner insisted.  "I told you I intend to stay a while, until you're back on your feet."  He went to the closet and pulled down a blanket and pillow.  "It's all been settled."

"Hey, I am on my feet," Starsky countered, defensively.  "I'm not an invalid, ya know.  Not anymore, anyway," he added.  "I don't need a babysitter.  You don't have to stick around to nursemaid me.  Go on home.  I'm just gonna crash anyhow."

"Powell wasn't going to release you unless you had someone willing to stay with you a while, remember?"  His eyes twinkled, "Besides, I cleaned your apartment, I didn't clean mine.  I don't want to go home to that mess."  His voice became soft, but firm.  "I'm staying, Starsky."

His tone told Starsky that he wasn't going anywhere.  "Suit yourself," Starsky shrugged.  "But you don't have to."

"I know," he blinked innocently.  Starsky could hardly see any triumph at all in that look.

As Hutch bedded down on the couch, Starsky downed the multiple meds the doctor prescribed him and donned his favorite pajama bottoms.  It felt good to slip into those silky sheets instead of the harsh hospital issue.  He luxuriated on the spacious bed, glad for the peace, the expanse of mattress, and the soft, familiar pillows.  It took time to find a good spot to lay in, where none of his scars tugged or ached, but when he finally found the perfect position, he was soon unconscious to the world.

***

The morning hit Starsky hard.  He woke up stiff and sore, every muscle screaming in protest.  He grunted as he tried to pull himself from the bed, and collapsed back onto it, reconsidering leaving it at all.  "Fuck!" he muttered into his pillow.

Hutch must have heard the expletive, for it wasn't long before he popped his head in the door.  "Good morning," he greeted quietly.  "I've got coffee.  It's decaf."

Starsky tried to force himself to get out of the bed.  This time he let his legs drop off first, in hopes that the momentum would help pull his upper body up off the mattress.  He hissed at the painful effort.

His partner was instantly by his side.  "Don't push it, Starsk.  Why don't you lay back down.  I'll bring the coffee in here."  He gently eased Starsky back down onto the bed.

"Damn!" Starsky groused.  "Why am I in so much pain?  It hasn't hurt like this in a long time."

Hutch slipped Starsky's pain meds into his hand, and held out a mug of coffee.  "Take these."

He received no argument as Starsky followed his instruction.  "My gut is on fire," Starsky muttered.

"Lay still.  Give the drugs a chance to work."  Hutch splayed his hand across Starsky's belly, exerting almost no pressure at all.  "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere!"  Starsky grimaced, grinding his teeth.  "Shit!"

Very gently, Hutch started to massage the left side of his stomach, careful to avoid undue pressure on the healing scars.  His actions were soothing to the pain, and calming.  Starsky felt his own ragged breathing start to slow and smooth out.

"You're in knots," Hutch noted.  He worked his hand to the other side, then continued up Starsky's chest to his shoulders.

Starsky moaned, appreciative of the care.  "You've got the touch," he murmured.  "Feels better." He shrugged his shoulders to prove his renewed ability to move.

Hutch gazed down on him, seriously concerned.  "Will you be okay for a couple minutes?  I need to make a couple calls."

Starsky nodded.  "Yeah.  Go ahead."  Before Hutch made it to the bedroom door, Starsky added, "Thanks."

Turning around, Hutch gave him one last look before going into the other room.  Starsky could tell he was worried.  There wasn't much he could do about it now, so he just surrendered to the welcome bed, trying not to abuse any more muscles.  In the distance, he could here Hutch talking on the phone, but his voice was too quiet for Starsky to make any sense of it.  He hoped his friend was canceling his physical therapy appointment, because he sure as hell wasn't going to put himself through that torture while his whole body was killing him.

After a while, Hutch returned, heating pad in hand.  "I called Powell," he informed Starsky.  "He said this wasn't unexpected."

"Oh yeah?  Nice of him to warn me about it."

Hutch grinned.  "Seems it's pretty common, after you come home.  You're not used to all the extra activity, and your muscles are getting more of a workout than they have been getting."

"Terrific."

"He wants you to take it easy, and back off when you start to feel tired or sore.  He's cancelled your therapy session for today."  He looked at Starsky sympathetically.  "You know, just functioning in your own apartment is very different from living at the rehab center.  When you were cooking last night, you were reaching for dishes, lifting heavy skillets; even taking a shower involves climbing into your tub.  Not to mention that set of stairs to get up here.  You didn't have to deal with any of that where you were.  You're using more muscles, stretching, straining.  It's good for you, but it won't feel good for a while yet."  He handed him the heating pad.  "Doc said to use this until the muscle cramps subside."

"You've already done the job on that," Starsky told him with a grateful glance.  "I think I can move now."  To demonstrate, he again slid his legs off the bed and let the momentum pull his upper body up off the bed.  "Geez, I feel like an old man."

"Well, now that you mention it," Hutch teased, "you aren't as young as you used to be."

Casting an aloof eye in his friend's direction, Starsky announced, "You know, you can be replaced."

"I seriously doubt that," Hutch grinned.  "Nobody else would put up with you."

Starsky snorted as he gingerly exited the room.  Suddenly, he turned back and leaned against the doorframe.  "I'm glad you're here, Hutch."

***

That first night he had no trouble falling asleep, but the next few nights did not prove to be as accommodating.  Starsky struggled to get comfortable, with no position offering relief to his aching muscles or his stinging scars.  Each day, his demeanor and his appearance suffered from the lack of restorative sleep.

One night, he was so frustrated, he just sat up in bed with his elbows propped on his knees, his face in turn propped on his hands.  He sat like that for a short while when he heard footsteps approach.

"Can't sleep again?" Hutch asked.

"Uh huh.  Can't seem to get comfortable."  He let his head roll back on his shoulders, trying to work some kinks out of his neck.  "I guess I'm not used to a flat bed anymore.  I got spoiled by those beds that raise up."

Hutch grabbed Starsky's pillows and stacked them up against the headboard.

Starsky shook his head.  "Thanks for tryin', Hutch, but that ain't gonna work.  I tried it.  It's not enough of an angle."

To his surprise, Hutch slid onto the bed, propping himself back against the pillows.  He pulled one leg up and opened his arms, indicating to Starsky that he wanted him to move into his embrace.  "Come 'ere."

Shifting over to sit between Hutch's legs, Starsky allowed Hutch to steer him backwards, so that he leaned his back against Hutch's chest.  At first he was resistant to the offer of help, but when he laid back against his friend, he found that his whole back was supported against Hutch, and most of his weight was supported by his own hips, taking the pressure off his injured back.  It was the first time in days that he could lay back and not be in pain.  "Oh damn, that's great."  He completely relaxed and felt the groggy sleep quickly descend on him.  Fighting off the urge to fall asleep, he started to pull away.  "I can't do this, Hutch.  You're not gonna be able to sleep sitting up like that."

"Don't you worry about me," Hutch answered quietly.  "I'm fine.  Sit back."  He gently pulled Starsky back into position.  "I'll let you know when I get uncomfortable.  In the meantime, you can at least catch a few z's."

Starsky was too tired to resist.  "Thanks, Hutch.  Just for a few minutes..."  He was quickly asleep.

***

When Starsky opened his eyes, it was sunny in his bedroom.  He started to move, and realized that he still lay back against Hutch's chest.  Hutch inhaled a quick intake of air, as if Starsky's movement had awoken him.

"Good morning," Hutch murmured groggily.

"Shit, Hutch, why didn't you wake me up?" Starsky complained.  "Your back's gotta be killing you."

Hutch stretched and turned slightly, first one way, then another, testing his back.  "Not too bad.  I've slept worse in the front seat of your car," he teased.  "Really, it wasn't too bad with these pillows behind me."

"Bull," Starsky challenged.  "You didn't need to do that.  I woulda fallen asleep eventually."  He looked at Hutch's unrepentant expression and smiled, shaking his head.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome.  I'll see if I can't find something today that'll help you sleep tonight.  If I'd known you were having so much trouble laying flat, I'd have taken care of this days ago."

"I was okay the first night, but I haven't been able to get comfortable since then," Starsky admitted.

"You were probably so exhausted that first night you couldn't keep your eyes open," Hutch surmised.  "We'll figure something out today.  Maybe we can do something with the couch cushions in here, so you're propped up better."

"First you offer your chest, now your bed?  Don't you figure on sleeping in the near future, or are you finally giving up and heading home?"

Hutch chuckled at him.  "You can't get rid of me that easy, partner."

Starsky shook his head.  "If you're giving up your couch cushions, then you're sleeping in here with me," he insisted.  As much as he hated to admit it, Hutch was right in his assumption that Starsky needed his help, at least for the time being.  "If you're gonna be helping me out like this, the least I can do is make sure you're comfortable."

***

As promised, Hutch rigged up a cozy wedge for Starsky to sleep on, using a couple sofa cushions and some throw pillows.  The slight elevation served to keep much of his weight off of his upper back, and off of his scars.  While Hutch could see the bullet wounds and surgery scars were healing nicely, they still harbored some tenderness for Starsky, and at times still throbbed if he over-exerted himself.

That night, Starsky fell asleep effortlessly.  Hutch peeked in on him a few times, checking to be sure the cushion wedge was doing the trick, and was satisfied the sleeplessness had been resolved.  After a while, he settled into the wicker chair to watch an old Cagney movie before joining his partner in the bed.  Halfway through the movie, Hutch heard a loud, terrified scream come from the next room.

He raced into the bedroom, and stopped dead in his tracks.  Starsky had knocked the cushions off the bed, and lay curled on his side, his body contorted in pain, on top of the burgundy blanket.  Suddenly, Hutch was not seeing Starsky laying on his own bed, but rather, laying on an asphalt parking lot, his body riddled with bullets, a pool of dark red blood gathering around him.

Frozen, Hutch couldn't breathe.  Tears burned at his eyes, and a crushing pain descended on him.  He tried to call out Starsky's name, but no sound would come.  Then Starsky screamed again, a blood curdling scream, and the vision of him in that parking lot vanished as quickly as it had formed.

Hutch rushed forward and gathered Starsky into his arms, cradling him gently.  He finally found his voice, though it now came out pained and raspy.  "Starsky!"  The other man seemed unable to hear his shout, and his body jolted again and again.  Hutch realized Starsky was reliving the shooting in his dreams, and tried again to wake him up.  "Starsky!  Starsky!"  Still the form in his arms jolted again, as more bullets hit his body.  "STARSKY!" Hutch screamed.

***

Starsky opened his eyes, overcome with terror.  Am I dead?  Who called me?  He waited for the excruciating pain to hit, as it did when he was shot before.  Before?  Was I shot before?  What the hell? 

He saw Hutch hovering over him, but his eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness in the room.  Hutch was chanting something.  What was he saying?

"Starsky, can you hear me?  You're dreaming!  You're all right.  You're all right.  You made it.  Starsky!"

Dreaming?  Am I dreaming?  The confusion was starting to lift, and his eyes were finally seeing more clearly.  He saw Hutch's face now, hovering over him.  That face was so filled with pain, that it shocked Starsky.  He had seen Hutch look like that once before, and he prayed to God back then that he would never see that look on his face again.  "Hutch?"  He grabbed Hutch's arm with his right hand and squeezed.

There were tears in Hutch's eyes, and on his face.  His expression was grimaced in grief.  He choked on a sob, and tears fell on Starsky's chest.  Starsky reached up with his left hand and lightly patted Hutch's wet cheek.  Hutch sniffed and whispered, "You were lying on your side...bleeding...I-I-I felt for a pulse..." he shook his head.  "No, no pulse..."

"Hutch," Starsky whispered.  He couldn't tell if Hutch were reliving the shooting, or if he was telling Starsky about it.

"God no!"  Hutch sobbed.  "You can't die...no...I never told you....No... you're not breathing..."  Hutch curled forward, burying his face in the crook of Starsky's neck, still cradling Starsky in his arms.

Starsky had tears in his own eyes now.  He had finally escaped the terror and unreality of his own dream, and now he was thrown right into Hutch's nightmare.

Hutch was crying against Starsky's neck and shoulder.  "I need to tell you...You can't give up...can't leave me...You have to let me tell you..."  Hutch sniffed and pulled himself up to gaze down at Starsky.  Then he slowly bent down and kissed Starsky's hair.  "I love you," he whispered, then he softly pressed his lips to Starsky's.

Completely stunned, Starsky didn't resist.  He let Hutch kiss him, lightly at first, then more firmly.  The kiss deepened, and Starsky responded, still confused and heartsick for his friend's pain, but fully aware of what was happening.  Hutch kissed him lovingly, sweetly, brushing the tears from Starsky's face as they fell.  Starsky no longer knew if they were Hutch's tears, or his own.  The kiss continued for a long time, until Hutch finally pulled back slightly, gently ending the kiss.  Before Starsky could speak, Hutch whispered, "I kissed you that day...  You stopped breathing.  I pressed my lips to yours, and I breathed life into your lungs.  I pressed my hands to your chest, and I pressed life into your heart.  I kissed you that day..." his voice trailed off.

Starsky reached up and ran his thumb lightly over Hutch's lips.  "Hutch..." he whispered.

"I forced your heart to beat," Hutch continued, "and I kissed you again, until I felt your breath against my face.  I wanted to tell you I loved you.  My best friend...I love you...I wanted to say goodbye.  But they pulled me away from you.  I never got to tell you..."

"You're telling me now," Starsky whispered back.  "You love me."

"Yes."  Hutch visibly calmed.  "I love you."  He looked away.  "You died.  Right there in that parking lot.  I was kneeling in your blood.  It was on my hands, my clothes, my face.  I was covered with your life, but you died, not knowing that I loved you..."

"I knew."

Hutch looked back at Starsky's face.  "You knew?"

"Yes."

Hutch smiled.  And sniffed.  "You knew."  The smile faded.  Hutch burst into tears and buried his face in Starsky's neck once more.  Starsky wrapped his arms around him, and held him tightly.  "You died...you left me...you died..."

"Hutch."  Hutch did not pull back.  "Hutch.  We made it.  We're here.  We're okay.  We made it.  Hutch..."

Leaning back enough to see Starsky's face, Hutch scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.  He sniffed again, and gazed down at Starsky.

"I love you, Hutch," Starsky announced.  "You know that?"

"Yes," Hutch grinned sadly.  "I know."

Starsky smiled at him.  "Just wanted you to know.  Didn't want to die, and never tell you."

Hutch embraced him.

***

Starsky woke the next morning, wrapped in warmth.  He felt so cozy, snuggled into the bed, he was reluctant to emerge from the comfy cocoon.  But as he moved his arm to stretch, he felt a responding movement from behind.  It was then that the events of the previous night flooded back to him.  He remembered his own nightmare, recalling the shooting with terrifying clarity.  He remembered Hutch, reliving his own experience that day, confessing that he had found Starsky lifeless on the pavement, and his attempts at CPR to bring his friend back to life.  He remembered Hutch's kiss, so achingly tender, and his friend's need to declare openly, how deeply he cared for him.  He remembered Hutch's crying, and holding the sobbing man long into the night, reminding him that they had made it through, had survived the shooting, had survived it all.  And he remembered finally, in complete exhaustion, giving in to sleep wrapped in Hutch's arms.

"Are you in pain?" Hutch asked him, the concern audible in his voice.

Starsky shifted slightly in his embrace, and inhaled slowly and deeply, expecting the ever-present aches to rise up and claim him in searing intensity.  Strangely enough, the pain remained at bay.  "No," he exclaimed in surprise.  "Not at all."  He turned to lie flat on his back, without the familiar aches there as well.  He smiled.  "I'm getting better."

Hutch smiled down on him, but the smile soon faded.  He reached up and touched Starsky's face, lightly skimming his thumb over Starsky's lower lip, evidently remembering last night as well.

The grief still hung like a ghostly mist in Hutch's eyes, though he was not enveloped in it as he had been last night.  His eyes drifted up Starsky's face until he met his gaze.  Starsky knew the pain still haunted his friend, that the need still demanded him to make contact, to claim what he so nearly lost, to affirm life.  He parted his lips and swiped the tip of his tongue against Hutch's stroking thumb.

Startled, Hutch jerked his thumb away, but did not pull away the hand from his face.  He looked questioningly at Starsky.

"You want to kiss me," Starsky said.

"Yeah," Hutch answered hoarsely.

Reaching up, Starsky coaxed Hutch's head down until they met once again in a kiss.  The kiss was long and deep, intimate and innocent.  When Hutch pulled away, reluctantly ending the affection, he watched Starsky a moment.  "You don't mind?"  Starsky shook his head.  "You'll let me do that again."

Starsky nodded, though he knew it wasn't really a question but a statement.  "Any time, buddy."

Hutch acknowledged the open offer with a single nod, satisfied of its sincerity.  He pulled himself from the bed and proceeded to ready himself for work, no longer visibly haunted, looking more at peace.

Starsky wished Hutch had not listened to him and returned to work so soon, ending his leave of absence.  Even though he was only back on limited hours, Starsky wasn't at all sure his partner was up to the stress and pressure.

He watched him prepare for work with unease.  Before falling off to sleep that night, Hutch had told Starsky about his flashback to the accident, and how he saw Starsky on the bed as he had been the day he was shot down, lying on his side, bleeding out, lifeless and hopeless.  The traumatic events that the man had witnessed obviously still had a stranglehold on Hutch, in some ways more than they had on Starsky himself.  Much of what Starsky experienced during and after the shooting were unremembered, as blessed unconsciousness saved him from recall.  Only in his dreams, blanketed in unreality and disconnectedness, did Starsky hear the gunshots or feel them pierce his body.  Awake, the day was lost to him, as were many of the days that followed.

Worried that his partner and friend still suffered lingering effects from that ghastly day, he contemplated how best to help him.  He thought of the Vietnam vets suffering from post traumatic stress, and wondered if the same could be said of Hutch.

After Hutch left for work, Starsky resolved himself to discuss the matter with Dobey, and ask his experienced opinion.  Later in the day, Starsky reached their captain in his office.

Dobey's voice was animated.  "Starsky!  How are you, son?  Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Cap, I'm fine.  But I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What can I do for you?"

"Sir, it's about Hutch," Starsky began.  "I'm kinda worried about him.  Last night, I had a dream about getting shot, and I guess I yelled out and stuff, and it threw Hutch into a flashback of the shooting.  It really hit him hard.  I'm starting to wonder if he doesn't have some kind of post traumatic stress thing."

Dobey's voice sounded compassionate.  "That's to be expected, Dave.  You don't just get over seeing your best friend gunned down right in front of your face.  And it's harder on a partner.  You automatically feel responsible, as if you failed in your ability to cover his back."

"He's not himself, Captain.  Geez, I haven't seen him look like that since Gillian died. And he's gotta tell me he loves me, like I can't just know about it, I hafta hear it, see it, feel it.  It doesn't make sense.  This isn't like Hutch.  We've never had to tell each other anything!  He knows I know how he feels about me.  And I never had to tell him my feelings, either.  We just always knew..."

Dobey sighed into the phone.  "That's not uncommon."  He paused for a second before asking, "You know I lost my partner..."

"Yeah, Cap.  Elmo Jackson, I know."

"Right.  When he was killed, it tore me up for a long time.  One thing that I couldn't let go of, is that I never told him goodbye.  Never told him how much he meant to me.  Never said the words.  It can eat you up, if you let it."  He sounded tired, and sad.

"Yeah!  That's what he said, only he's gotta keep telling me, keep showing me, and he...he..."  Starsky's voice drifted off, unsure if he should tell him about the kissing, if his captain would understand that.

"Be patient with him, Starsky.  He's not going to get this off his chest in an afternoon.  You two have a real bond, like me and Elmo, and that goes deep.  He's gonna have to work through some things.  I'll talk to him.  I've been there; felt what he's feeling.  It'll help to have someone who understands."

Starsky sighed in relief.  "Thanks Captain."

"Just let him say what he's gotta say.  He'll work it out, son.  You know, Hutch's got something going for him that I never had when I went through this."

"What's that, Cap?"

"He's got you.  He's got the chance to right the wrongs, fix what hadn't been done.  That's no small thing, Dave."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."  Starsky paused for a moment, reflecting on Dobey's insights.  "Hey, Captain?  Can I tell you something?"

"Sure, Starsky.  You can tell me anything.  What is it?"  He shuffled the phone for a second and announced, "Hutch is here with me now.  Hi, Hutch, sit down."

"I just wanted you to know, Captain.  You and Edith, and Rosie and Cal; you're like family to me."

"Well," Dobey seemed slightly flustered by the declaration.  "Thank you, son.  You know we feel the same about you."

"My dad's been gone a long time now, Cap, and I just wanted you to know that you've always felt like another dad to me.  Like real family.  And I feel real lucky to know you, sir."

Dobey sounded choked up.  "Well, now.  That's good to hear, son.  Edith and I, well, we look at you like one of our own.  You and Hutch.  We feel real blessed to have you in our lives."

Starsky smiled.  "Thanks, Cap.  And thanks for lookin' out for Hutch."

***

During dinner, Hutch announced, "I had a nice talk with Dobey today.  He told me he spoke to you."

 

"Yeah?  Did he tell you I was worried about you?"

Hutch looked up with a shy grin.  "Yeah, he told me.  He said you wanted him to talk to me, about how he lost his partner."

Starsky nodded.  "You need to talk to somebody about this, Hutch.  Not just me.  Somebody who's been there before."

"We did," he assured him.  "We talked for a long time.  It did help."

Starsky was pleased.  "Good!  I'm glad.  I felt better after calling him, too."

"He told me what you said."

"Hm?"  Starsky looked up.

"He told me what you said about him being like another dad to you."

"Oh, that.  It's true, you know.  I mean, I know he's our boss and all, but still, he means a lot to me, you know?"

Hutch smiled.  "I know."  He picked up his dishes and carried them toward the kitchen.  Along the way, he stopped behind Starsky's chair and bent down to place a noisy kiss on the top of his head.

Starsky ducked, too late to avoid the smooch.  "What was that for?"

Hutch chuckled as he walked away.  "I think I'm wearing off on you."

A large smile crossed Starsky's face.  "Okay, so maybe you are."

***

Starsky went to bed early, still feeling the exhaustive effects of the night before.  Earlier, he had returned the cushions to the sofa, convinced that he no longer needed the incline to sleep.  The bed felt so comfortable, now that his upper back had healed to the point that he no longer had to worry about laying on it.  He curled up on his side and peacefully drifted off.

It came as no surprise to him when a short time later, he felt Hutch slip into bed, and sprawl out beside him.  Somehow he knew that Hutch wouldn't return to the couch again, even though the cushions had been restored.

A few hours later, Starsky felt hands grasp at him, and brusquely drag him unceremoniously across the mattress.  The move did not alarm him, for he immediately recognized the touch, but it did give him pause to be manhandled so indelicately, considering his recovering body.  His heart beating in his chest, he held still, waiting to see if his barely-healed wounds would protest.  Fortunately, other than a tightness, he felt no repercussions from the rough jostling.  He looked over his shoulder to see what prompted his companion to pull him across the bed like that, but Hutch appeared to be asleep, with his body spooned right up against Starsky, arms wrapped firmly around him, and one leg draped over his thigh.  Starsky chuckled softly at the unexpected position he was in.  "Um, Hutch?"  He received no response, other than a light nuzzle to his hair, and a steady breath against his neck.  He gave up and closed his eyes to fall asleep.

***

Starsky never bothered to tell Hutch that he pulled him into his arms at night.  There didn't seem to be much reason to, since his actions were not conscious, and he probably couldn't control them if he had known.  So the action became a ritual, as each night Hutch reached out and pulled Starsky into an embrace.  It didn't matter if they went to bed at the same time or not, or what position either man fell to sleep in.  At some point, Hutch would always reach out and tug Starsky into his arms.

After a while, Starsky had to admit to himself that he kind of liked the late night clinch.  He had always liked being held as he slept, and it had been a long time since a woman curled up against him.  With Hutch, it felt warm and comforting, and it gave Starsky a good feeling.  He felt cared for, nurtured, and he appreciated it.  Days turned into weeks, and the sleeping arrangement became serene and complacent to him.

Sleeping contentedly in Hutch's arms one night, Hutch's hand slipped down to Starsky's stomach, the move waking Starsky from a peaceful dream.  The hand moved slowly and carefully, though Hutch was incontestably still asleep.  Starsky tried unsuccessfully to still the hand, by placing his own hand on top of Hutch's.  Hutch stirred restlessly, freeing his hand, only to resume his tender caress of Starsky's belly.  Again, Starsky tried to hold Hutch's hand, but this time, Hutch pinned his hand firmly with his right, and continued to caress his friend with his left.  Giving up the useless protest, Starsky relaxed.  What the hell.   Hutch was just rubbing his stomach, something he'd done many times before, especially when Starsky's muscles cramped or his belly rebelled against food during his recovery.  It was soothing.

He quickly accepted Hutch's touch, just as he accepted his embrace.  Sometimes he would caress his belly or his chest, other times he would rub his arms or caress his hip.  It, too, became a pattern of their sleep, something Starsky accepted and privately luxuriated in.  It was sensual, but not sexual, and it left him feeling pampered.  In all, his sleeping arrangement with Hutch seemed to deepen his relationship with him.  He felt closer to him, and more free to express himself to his friend.  There was also a comfort level that had grown, and intimacy, that made him feel more connected with his friend in ways he didn't before, as if he could depend on him for any need, for any support.  He had always had the emotional intimacy with Hutch, but now it encompassed more, a physicality that brought a new serenity and sensuality to their friendship.  Even Hutch seemed to sense it too, seeming more at peace lately, and happier.

When Starsky was first released from the rehab facility, the doctor recommended that he have someone present round the clock for at least the first few weeks, and to gradually reduce that dependence until it is no longer needed.  Yet as the weeks passed, neither man considered altering the living arrangement, both content to leave it as is.  Starsky's dependency on Hutch decreased markedly and swiftly, until he no longer required his assistance or presence.  He graduated from physical therapy, and began working toward preparing his body for the rigorous physical test of police work.  But he never spoke of Hutch's services being unnecessary.  And Hutch never spoke of moving out.

****

Hutch returned from work looking tired and tense.

"Hi.  Bad day?" Starsky called from the couch.

"Full moon," Hutch rolled his eyes.

Starsky laughed.  They seemed to have an increase in strange crimes and eccentric suspects when the moon was full.  They never bothered to verify if the correlation was true, but both accepted it as fact that they would get more than their fair share of lunatics on days when the moon was in its full glory.  "That bad, huh?"

Hutch went to the kitchen and returned with two beers.  "That bad, and then some.  I actually had some guy try to break into the pawn shop by going in through the ceiling.  He had a flashlight, and was trying to unscrew the vents to crawl in.  The fool had the flashlight in his mouth so he could see what he was doing and have both hands free to work.  The idiot fell through the opening, face first, to the floor.  The damn flashlight rammed him in the back of his skull and killed him.  Can you believe that?"

Starsky shook his head and took a drink of his beer.  "Takes all kinds.  You hungry?"

"No.  Maybe I'll get something later.  Anything on tv?  What're you watching?"

"There's some fireside chat tonight.  I didn't feel like watching it, so I've got PBS on instead."

"What is it?"

"It's some special on the Kinsey Report.  Have you ever heard of that?"

"Sure, it's that study on human sexuality."

"Do you know that according to Kinsey, the majority of men are really bisexual?"

"Yeah, I've heard that."  Hutch listened with Starsky to the report for a few more minutes.

The television announcer continued."...Ten percent of American males surveyed were mostly or completely homosexual for at least part of their adult lives..."

Starsky's mouth dropped open.  "Ten percent?!  Do you think that's true?"

Hutch shrugged.

"That can't be right.  Have you ever had a homosexual experience?" Starsky asked, confident of Hutch's negative response.

A grin turned up the corners of Hutch's mouth.  "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?" he replied mischievously.

Starsky's head shot around.  "Huh?"  Then a thought occurred to him.  "Oh wait.  You don't mean kissing me, do you?  That doesn't count!" he proclaimed dismissively.  "It was just a kiss.  They're talking sexual encounters here.  There wasn't anything sexual about that kiss."

Hutch raised a single eyebrow and looked at Starsky.  "Are you absolutely certain of that?"

Starsky's mouth dropped open.  "Oh, come on!  You were dealing with a traumatic experience!  You were just glad I was alive.  You're not gonna make me believe you wanted some kind of sexual relationship with me."

"You seem pretty confident of that."

Starsky snorted.  "I am confident of that."  He folded his arms across his chest defiantly.

Hutch grinned again.  "And there was absolutely nothing sexual about it at all for you."

"No!"

"Are you sure?"

Turning to glare at him, he noticed that Hutch was laughing behind his hand.  Starsky grabbed a pillow on the couch and smacked Hutch across the face with it.  Hutch was laughing hard now.

"The gentleman doth protest too much, me thinks," Hutch teased.

"Very funny, Hutchinson.  Very funny."

"Geez, you are too easy sometimes," Hutch chuckled.

"Well, it still proves my point," Starsky argued.  "That report can't be right.  Neither one of us has had a homosexual experience in our history."

Still chuckling, Hutch replied, "You don't know that."

"Why?  Have you?"

Hutch shook his head and stood up.  "Like I said: Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

"You trying to tell me you're gay?" Starsky challenged.

"So you think one homosexual encounter makes you gay?"

"What?  One?  No, I guess not.  Is that what you're talking about here?  You had one encounter?"  Starsky was really curious.

"I see.  So you think two homosexual encounters makes you gay."

"Huh?  No!  Wait!  I didn't say that!"  Starsky was getting frustrated.  "What are you saying?  Have you had sex with a guy?"

"My point is," Hutch replied patiently, "is that sexuality is dynamic, always changing.  That's one of the things the study demonstrated.  You can't just divide up the population and slap 'gay' or 'not gay' labels on them.  It isn't accurate.  And it doesn't matter if I have or I haven't.  All of us have the potential to be attracted to the same sex at some time or another, no matter how determined we are to be viewed or labeled as straight.  It's rare to find people who are a hundred percent heterosexual, just like it's rare to find people who are a hundred percent homosexual.  The vast majority of men are bisexual."

Starsky frowned.  "You still didn't answer the question."

Hutch grinned.  "I know."  He looked at Starsky and wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

Starsky laughed.

****

Hutch's arm snaked out and wrapped around Starsky's chest, pulling him into his arms once again.  Starsky sighed peacefully, melting into the warm embrace, a faint smile on his lips.

The tender hand ran over his chest soothingly.  Hutch nuzzled his hair, and placed little nibbling kisses down his neck, across his shoulder.  Starsky opened his eyes, unused to the feel of Hutch's lips on his skin.  Goosebumps skittered down his arms.  The kisses stopped almost as quickly as they began, and Starsky closed his eyes to let the caresses lull him back to a restful sleep.  Hutch's hand dropped lower, caressing Starsky's belly, then glided down his waist, his hips, his thigh.  The heel of his hand pushed on Starsky's hip, pushing him onto his back, as Hutch's leg slipped over Starsky's leg.  Starsky gasped, feeling himself suddenly pinned under Hutch's leg.  "Hutch?" he said aloud, uneasy about the turn in Hutch's attention.

Hutch didn't seem aware of Starsky's voice.  His hand roved over Starsky's body, exploring.  Starsky grew alarmed.  The touch felt very different, very hungry.  "Hutch?" he tried again, but his voice was a little strangled by his surprise, and Hutch was deeply engrossed in his exploration of Starsky's body.  Hutch was kissing his shoulder again, his upper body now half turned on top of Starsky.

Starsky jumped as he realized that Hutch was aroused.  He could feel his friend's erection against his hip, and felt his own cock jump in response.  Hutch's hand slid lower again, under his waistband, capturing Starsky's growing erection in his firm grasp.

"Hutch!" Starsky cried, shaking now.  His own desires rose up and engulfed him, frightening him with their intensity.  He wanted Hutch, wanted this to happen, wanted to share it with his partner.  "Oh damn!"  This was so wrong.  Hutch wasn't even aware!  He had to stop it now.  "HUTCH!"

Hutch's head whipped up.  "Starsky?"  He shook his head to clear it, blinking in confusion.  "Starsky?"

Starsky closed his eyes, panting for air.  "Hutch...stop..." were all the words he could form.

Hutch looked down at Starsky's chest.  "Starsky, what-?"  His eyes and his hand both became aware of his actions simultaneously.  He released Starsky, jumping back across the bed.  "My God!" he gasped, as far across the bed as he could get from Starsky without falling off.  "Starsky!"  He looked to his hand as if he had never seen it before, as if it were strange to him.

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, Starsky buried his face in his hands.  He was shaking uncontrollably now.  He was aroused, alarmed, afraid.

Crawling slowly back toward Starsky, Hutch placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.  "I'm sorry," he said.

Starsky's head jerked around to face Hutch.  "You?  No!  I'm sorry, Hutch.  I tried to call your name, tried to wake you up.  I couldn't get the words out."

"I can't believe I did this," Hutch shook his head.  "I've never acted on it before.  I would never do that to you."  He looked Starsky in the eye.  "I never should have slept here.  I never should have allowed this to happen."

The words confused Starsky.  Acted on it before?  "Hutch, this was my fault.  Not yours.  You were asleep.  You didn't have any control over what happened.  I should have been able to stop this.  Wait, what have you never acted on before?"

Hutch bowed his head.  He pulled himself from the bed and grabbed a robe.

"Hutch, don't."

"Don't what, Starsky?  Don't get out of bed?  I just sexually assaulted you!  Don't leave the room?  Do you realize that I'm attracted to you?  That this whole scene is just blowing my mind?"  He angrily ran a hand through his hair.  "My God, what have I just done?"  He slammed his fist down on the mattress.  "I've never done anything like this before!  Why now?  Why?"  He suddenly stopped, staring directly at Starsky.  "What's with that look?  What?  I have done this before?"  His eyes were icy.  "Goddamnit!  What the hell aren't you telling me!"

"You haven't touched me sexually before," Starsky answered quietly.  "You have touched me before."

Hutch came around the bed until he was directly in front of Starsky.  "What the hell is the difference, Starsky?  Tell me!"

Swallowing hard, Starsky stood up to face Hutch.  "You touch me.  In your sleep.  You hold me.  Touch me."

Breathing heavily, Hutch stared back at Starsky.  "I touch you."

"Yes."  Starsky faced him.  "You grab me in your sleep, and you pull me into your arms.  You hold me.  You stroke my chest, my belly, my hips-"

"You never said anything," Hutch said angrily.

"No, I didn't."

"Why the hell not?"  His voice sounded cold and demanding.

"Because I liked it," Starsky blurted.  "A lot."  It was the first time he had admitted to himself, let alone to Hutch.  "Because I didn't want it to stop."  He was on a roll now.  "Because I was afraid you'd leave if you knew."  He felt his voice crack as he spoke, but he said it anyway, "Because I wanted more."

The anger seemed to leave Hutch's eyes as his gaze softened.  "Starsky –" he began, then snapped his mouth closed.  He spoke slowly.  "I'm not – "  He couldn't finish the sentence.  He shook his head.  "I never – "

"Hutch, you said you were attracted to me."  When Hutch nodded in response, Starsky asked, "Is that what you never acted on?  This attraction?"

"I've been attracted to you," Hutch confessed, "for a long time now."  Hutch's voice became exasperated.  "Starsky, why didn't you tell me what was happening?

Shrugging, Starsky answered honestly, "I don't know.  At first, it was just you grabbing me in your arms.  It wasn't any big deal.  I kinda liked being held.  I liked that it was you holding me.  After that, it wasn't so hard to accept your hands on my chest, or on my stomach, whatever.  It kinda crept up on me.  Pushed me a little further than what I was used to.  This is the first time you ever touched my dick."

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut.  "I seduced you," he realized.

"Come on, Hutch, it wasn't like that," Starsky reasoned.

Hutch's eyes flew open.  "Oh no?  You weren't seduced, step by step, into this?"

"Not consciously!" Starsky defended.  "Hutch, you were asleep!  I'm the one who shoulda put a stop to it!"

"Yes, you should have!" Hutch shouted.  "Damn it, you should have been honest with me!"

"Like you?  Like how you told me you were attracted to me?"  Starsky cocked his head.  "No wait, you never did tell me that, did you!"

"We both made mistakes!" Hutch snarled.

Starsky crossed his arms on his chest.  "Question is, what are we gonna do about it?"

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do about it," Hutch said dryly.  "I'm gonna get the hell out of here."  He grabbed at some clothes and started to dress.

"What!  Hutch, you can't leave!"

"Watch me."

"Hutch, hold it!  I don't want you to leave!"

Hutch stopped what he was doing and stood before Starsky.  "That's the problem, Starsky.  You don't want me to leave.  You want this.  You want me."

"Yeah!  Yeah I do!  And you want me!"

Grabbing Starsky by both arms, Hutch got right in his face.  "No, Starsky!  I don't want this!  I never wanted anything to happen!  I didn't act on my feelings for a reason!  You're my best friend.  My partner on the force.  I never wanted to bring sex into this!"

"But you're attracted to me!  You said so!"

 

Hutch released Starsky and stepped back.  "I don't have to act on every attraction I feel."

"So you're walking out?"

"Yes."

"For good?"  Starsky felt a choking tightness grip his heart.

"I need to think.  I don't know what I want right now!"  He grabbed a gym bag and stuffed some clothes into it, zipped it, and turned to Starsky again.  This time he spoke calmer.  "You've had a lot of time to think about this.  To accept this, a little at a time.  I went to bed last night beside my best friend.  I can't just switch gears and be right here where you are."

"Do you want to be where I am?"

Hutch didn't answer.  He grabbed the gym bag and headed for the door.

"I didn't get here alone, Hutch.  And sometimes you had your eyes wide open.  You've had this attraction for a long time.  That's not something that happened in your sleep."

"I've made choices, Starsky.  I chose to put my feelings aside to have my friendship, to preserve my professional relationship, to maintain my professional standing, to preserve my family relationships..."

"So you made those choices for me, too?"

Hutch turned and walked out the door.

****

Starsky sat up the rest of the night, unable to sleep.  He ran the events of the past night over in his head, berating himself for his silence, condemning Hutch for his.  As morning slowly came to life, he grabbed the phone and dialed Hutch's phone number.  There was one thought left in his head:  He had to make this right.

The phone rang and rang without answer.  Frustrated and angry, Starsky pulled the plug from the jack, and threw the phone across the room.

Several days passed, and Starsky heard nothing from Hutch.  He retrieved the tangled telephone and restored it to its rightful place.  Resigning himself to the fact that Hutch would not be moving back, he mentally prepared himself for the worst.  He pulled out his old resume and used it as a guide for an updated one.

Hours later, he pulled the revised resume from the typewriter's roller and set it on his desk.  He was too tired now to pull out the classifieds, so he dragged himself off to bed.  Stripping off his clothes, he crawled between the sheets and collapsed.  Several sleepless nights made it possible for him now to fall asleep quickly and easily.

Sometime after two in the morning, Starsky heard the key scrape in the lock of his apartment door.  The sound snapped him awake abruptly, apprehension raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.  He wasn't absolutely positive that the sound was real; it may have been a part of his dreams.  But when the apartment door slowly creaked open, he instantly moved to action.  Pulling open the nightstand drawer, he felt blindly in the darkness for his gun.  His fingers found the holster and nimbly flicked the snap that held the gun within it.  He slipped the gun under his pillow and clicked the safety off.

A few quiet footsteps were audible in his living room.  Starsky strained to hear any sound that might give away who the mysterious prowler was or what they were up to.  He considered sneaking into the living room, but feared the light from his window might reveal his presence.  Deciding to sit tight for the moment, he readied himself for the trespasser to come to him.

Starsky felt the bed dip, and he whipped around cocking the gun as he moved, until he leveled it right in the face of his prowler, as best as he could make it out in the darkness.

Hutch's hand shot out and grabbed Starsky's wrist, slamming the man backwards into the mattress, his arm pinned over his head.  "Starsky!" he shouted.

Instantly, Starsky released his weapon and lay limp in Hutch's grip.  Hutch snatched up the gun, turning on the safety, and crawled over Starsky to return it to the holster and close it safely away.

Starsky watched the shadowy figure move back toward the middle of the bed and nestle into the covers.  Arms reached out and grabbed him, roughly dragging him toward the center of the bed.  Starsky put up no resistance, uncertain what to expect.  Hutch's arms wrapped around him, and Starsky felt Hutch's hot skin against his back, his ass, the backs of his thighs.  To his surprise, he realized Hutch was naked, too; kissing and biting his way down Starsky's neck and shoulder.

Starsky's heart was pounding in his ears.  He tried to breathe, but his breath was coming in harsh and rapid pants.  The kisses on his neck were making him crazy, a far cry from the little nibbles and pecks from the sleeping man of his past.  Hutch's hands roamed freely over Starsky's body, squeezing, teasing, stroking.  Starsky gasped audibly when Hutch's hand firmly squeezed his ass, surprised at how big his hand felt against his flesh, and how much he liked the feel of his hand.

Hutch was whispering in his ear, his voice low and commanding.  "Turn around and kiss me, Dave.  You said you'd never deny me your kiss."

Turning within Hutch's arms, Starsky obeyed the edict of his partner.  Kissing Hutch this time was very different than before.  Hutch claimed him with his lips, and ravished him with his tongue.  His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, teasing him and exciting him, as the full length of Hutch's body pressed Starsky into the mattress and Hutch's erection was stroking against his own.

Hutch ceased the flaming touches, and reached up to take Starsky's jaw in his hand.  Gazing down at him, Hutch mischievously asked, "Still think there was nothing sexual in my kisses?"

Starsky chuckled.  "Absolutely certain."

Hutch smiled.  "Is that so?"

Taking Hutch's ass in his hands and squeezing the firm flesh, Starsky crushed Hutch's hips into his own.  Smiling, he answered, "Yeah, you never kissed me like this before."

"Oh, so this is different, huh?"

"Night and day."

"I'll give you that," Hutch conceded.  He kissed Starsky again, a sweeter and more tender kiss.

Starsky lightly pushed on Hutch's chest, ending the kiss.  "Tell me, Hutch, is this where you want to be?"

His eyes twinkled naughtily.  "Not yet, but say the word and I will be."

Starsky laughed.  Squeezing the man's hips again, he stated, "You don't need any word from me.  You know I'm all yours."

Hutch kissed Starsky deeply, gliding his body against him, crushing his cock against Starsky's.  "Tempting," he purred.  He brushed a curl away from Starsky's eye.  "But I'm not so sure you're up to that yet.  I'm not so sure I'm ready for that yet, either."  He kissed him again.  "But I know this is where I want to be.  Where I need to be.  Where I belong."

"What changed your mind?"

Hutch seemed to consider his answer, his body ceasing it's sexy movements against him.  "My mind didn't change, Starsky.  I knew it all along.  It was just a matter of opening my eyes to the fact that I have nothing without you."

Starsky extended his hand until he touched Hutch's face.  He lightly patted his friend's cheek.

Continuing, Hutch said, "I made my decision, years ago, not to act on my attractions because I thought I would lose your friendship, lose you, lose our partnership.  I was afraid of how it would affect my family and my job and my career.  But I never stopped to think that the reason the job means so much to me is because of you.  And in walking away from you, I walk away from everything that means the most to me."

He ducked his head, shaking it slowly from side to side.  "These last few days have been hell.  I feel you missing from everything I do.  I want you in my life.  In my heart.  In my bed."

"All ya had to do was say so," Starsky replied.  He slipped his hand up into Hutch's hair.  "I want the same thing."

"I need you," Hutch whispered.  "You make my life a joy.  You make my job worthwhile.  You make everything more exciting.  I love you."  His eyes darkened and he bowed his head to kiss Starsky again, his body once again moving against him in sensuous rocking rhythm.

Starsky thrust his hips up, grinding into the gliding Hutch.  He felt the pressure build and push him to the edge.  "I...love...you," he declared, just before the rush of pleasure crashed down on him.   Hutch's orgasm followed on the heels of his, and he felt his come splash against his jaw.  Then Hutch crumpled on top of Starsky, and slipped off to his side rather than crush him any further.  Starsky held him tightly, and felt Hutch grip him back, uncharacteristically tight; almost desperately.  "Hutch?  You okay?"

In response, Hutch wrapped himself around Starsky, holding him close.  "I've never done this before," Hutch said softly.  "Never felt like this before."

"You okay with it?"  Concern swept over him.

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

Starsky sighed peacefully, running his hand over the long sweep of Hutch's back.  "What about your family, Hutch?  You just gonna pretend we're just friends?"

There was amusement in Hutch's voice.  "You think I could hide how I feel about you now?  I didn't exactly do a bang up job of it before."

"Gonna have to," Starsky reasoned.  "Can't exactly let Dobey find out we're screwing around."

"Wouldn't be an issue if we weren't partners," Hutch said carefully, turning to see Starsky's reaction to his words.

"Thought I made your job worthwhile," He reminded his partner.

"You do.  But I don't have to work side by side with you in order to feel that way.  You make me care.  It's not because you're beside me."

Starsky smiled.  "Funny you should say that.  I've been thinking about going back on the streets.  I'm not so sure I can handle it like I used to, Hutch.  Right now, I'm a long ways from being ready to go back.  Don't know if I'll ever get there.  A while ago I was working on my resume, and I was thinking about my options.  Maybe even leaving the force."

Hutch stretched out on the bed, folding his hands underneath his head.  "Well, we don't have to make any decisions tonight," he said thoughtfully.  "We've got lots of time to figure it out."

"I do know one thing," Starsky replied as he interlaced his fingers with Hutch's.  "I know I want this."

"Me too, partner," Hutch curled up over him.  "Me too."  He kissed him, long and slow and sweet.

The end