Burning Away

Type:  Slash


Rating:  R


Categories:  Committed Relationship, sexy-humorous story


Summary:  Starsky’s going to surprise his partner with an unforgettable performance.


Feedback:  Yes, please




“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Starsky grumbled, while his partner pushed him forward.


“Stop complaining, Grumpy,” Hutch patted the muscled shoulder. “It was your big mouth that got you into this.”


“Not my big mouth.  You jumped to it the moment I said it; as a joke, I may add.”  Starsky twisted his neck to speak to Hutch’s face as they followed the shortening queue.


The blond shrugged matter-of-factly.  “Well, you said you couldn’t understand why I got the jitters every time I had to sing in public.  Now you got the chance to find out.”


Starsky mumbled something.


“What?” Hutch asked.


Starsky turned about and pinned him under his stare.  “Grrmmbllpff,” he grunted, most explicitly.


“It’s the first time you said something that makes sense,” Hutch smiled from ear to ear.


Starsky looked at his partner as if Hutch hadn’t taken a shower in six months.


“My, my, my, Abbott and Costello,” Minnie commented from the table she was sitting at, noting down people’s names and numbers.  “Are you considering a twosome this year, fellas?”


Hutch spluttered and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his reaction.  He was in a glorious mood today, and Minnie’s words only reminded him of the “twosome” they had engaged in only two hours ago, after waking up.  It had been years since he had last gone to work in such high spirits.  Sure, some one-night stands and the occasional girlfriend had made him go to work whistling and smiling from ear to ear, but it was the first time that happened three months in a row.  Day after day.  Nothing and no one could ruin his happiness, not even Starsky’s quicksilver temper.


Even their banter had changed dramatically after getting together.  Sure, it was there; it always would be.  It was an outlet for many things and an intrinsical part of their relationship; but since they were together, it had lost that ‘edge’ that could get quite nasty, especially during their bad times.  Now it was totally harmless.  It just kept them grounded and healthy.


Hutch sighed dreamily.  Then, realizing he had sighed out loud, he cleared his throat and composed himself.  “Sorry, Minnie.  I’m afraid it’s another solo.” He just couldn’t keep himself from smiling.


“Ahhh, again,” Minnied nodded to herself, grabbing her pen.  “Do you have enough Valium in store, Blondie?”


“Actually, Starsky will be the troubadour this time,” Hutch corrected, grabbing Starsky’s shoulders and turning him toward Minnie, as if presenting him for an auction.


The woman’s eyes popped open.  “Wow, that’s new, all right!  Lots of people will attend the party, if only to witness the historical moment.”  She started writing eagerly.  “What are you gonna sing?” She asked Starsky.


Starsky turned to Hutch and made a last attempt to get off the hook, pouting like a terrified puppy.


Hutch shook his head adamantly.


Seeing there was no way out, Starsky’s face hardened and he turned to Minnie.  “I still don’t know.  Would you mind waiting till tomorrow?  I’ll think of somethin’,” he asked, his voice strangely subdued.


“Sure,” Minnie agreed, writing an asterisk beside Starsky’s name.


Nodding to himself in resignation, Starsky turned around.


“But tomorrow at the latest, okay?” Minnie pointed at him with the pen.  “I have to give the list with everybody’s names and acts at the end of the evening.”


“Right.” Starsky made a gesture with his hand and took off, followed by a snickering partner.



“So,” Hutch asked, while they were leaving the precinct and heading for his LTD, “what’s it gonna be?  Pop?  Rock?  Soul?  Gregorian chant?”


“I was thinkin’ of Sesame Street’s tune,” Starsky replied, oozing irony.


“You’d make a great Gonzo, I’m sure,” Hutch commented, opening the driver’s door and getting in the car.


“Maybe I should try a miming routine.  The less I speak the better.” Starsky paid no attention to Hutch’s words, lost as he was in his own world.


“Ah-ah-ah-ah.” Hutch turned to him immediately, giving him the Hutchinson finger.  “You’re gonna sing, buddy, whether you want it or not.”


Starsky snorted and rolled down the window, being careful not to end up with the crank in his hand.  He looked out, brooding already.


“Oh, c’mon, Starsk,” Hutch ribbed, starting the car, “don’t tell me you’re getting the jitters already.  As you’ve been telling me the last seven years, ‘it’s only between us, brother cops’.  And besides, the money will go to various charities.  Think about that while you’re performing.”


“Thank you.  That does help.” Starsky folded his arms across his chest.


“Starsky, I know I’m the official singer of this partnership, but you’ve got a gorgeous voice, too.  It’s stronger than mine and I love it every time we sing along.  I just wish you’d consent to do it more often.  You know I’m shy and a klutz.  That’s what scares me every time I’m singing in front of an audience.  But you’re the most self-confident man I’ve ever known.  You’re the kind of person who comes out of a sewer smelling of roses.  It’ll be fine.”


Starsky looked at his partner with his eyes wide open.  He had expected their banter to go on for a little longer.  He didn’t expect it to end so soon.


Hutch knew what Starsky was thinking and he shrugged bashfully, meeting his eyes.


Starsky shook his head and nudged Hutch’s arm with his elbow, affectionately.  “Since we’re a couple, this is getting much too soapy for my taste.”  He raised one eyebrow meaningfully.


“Sure it is.  Just listen to you: ‘since we’re a couple’,” the blond replied, in obvious amusement.


They looked at each other and burst out laughing.


There was a comfortable silence for some time, both of them savoring the sweet, quiet joy of being in love.  In love for real.  For good.  Forever.


“Hey, listen.  If there’s a reason you haven’t told me why you don’t like singing in public...” Hutch began.  But a warm hand on his cheek stopped him in his tracks.


“No, Hutch.  No.”


The deep, thick voice made his skin fill with goosebumps.  “Okay, then,” Hutch said, swallowing with some difficulty.  “If it’s just fear of making a mistake, the trick is non-stop rehearsals.  And when the time comes, you only have to look for me in the crowd.  My eyes will see you through.”


“Or they’ll distract me and instead of whatever song I’m singing, I’ll start reciting an ode to your baby blues.”


“Well, as long as it’s to my eyes...” Hutch winked at him playfully, before looking back at the road.


Something in the way Hutch looked at him left Starsky breathless.  That man made his blood boil, his heart swell, his soul throb.  It hurt.  He ached inside with love for his partner.


He studied the beautiful profile for the umpteenth time.  Hutch was breathtaking.  Perfect.




And just like that, Starsky knew what was he going to sing.



For weeks, Hutch asked Starsky what song was he going to sing, and Starsky adamantly refused to tell him. 


Hutch alternated asking, begging, demanding and sucking up to him, metaphorically and literally; but Starsky didn’t give an inch, metaphorically, of course.


When only four days remained for the charity party, Hutch was getting desperate.  He was nowhere near finding out what fucking song his partner was going to sing.  And it was a matter of pride now. 


That morning, Hutch came up with the solution.  Great cop he was!  He only had to slip in the rehearsal room, and hide.


But when he was trying to sneak in the room, a 6’ 5” security guard made him reconsider his plan.


Fuming, Hutch returned to the squad room.



It was dress rehearsal, less than 24 hours before the party, when Hutch had the perfect idea.  Since some technicians were still hanging up spotlights and some wiring in the hall where the party would take place, and most of the participants had to rehearse while they were still at work, he only had to put a transistorized transmitter in one of the worker’s tool-kits and listen. 


But getting one transmitter from Bigelow proved to be too much for his already tried patience.  Only when Hutch grabbed him by his tie and threatened him with shoving the 14692-A up one of his orifices, did the man get the hint and give him one.


Slipping the transmitter in a tool-kit was a piece of cake, so he returned to the squad room and sprawled on his chair, waiting patiently for his partner’s turn to rehearse.  He had to admit the level of talent was pretty high in there.  He listened to some lovely renditions of some well-known songs, both old and new.


Finally, half an hour later, a familiar, beloved voice began singing.  Hutch sat up and pricked up his ears.  Three seconds later, a big smile illuminated his features.  “Why, why, why,” he muttered to himself.  “Who would have thought?” His smile grew bigger as he leaned back in his chair, a pleasurable thrill going up and down his spine, his heart singing along those lyrics he also felt down to his very core.



“Nervous?” Hutch asked Starsky, while his partner drove them to the precinct.


“A little bit,” Starsky admitted, squeezing the steering wheel in an attempt to calm down.


“It’ll be okay.  You’ve rehearsed a lot.  Nothing’s gonna go wrong, you’ll see,” Hutch reassured him.


“Sure,” Starsky replied.  He was visibly stiff, so Hutch reached out and massaged the back of his neck and his right shoulder for a while.  Starsky let him.  It’d be stupid of him to reject the touch of the man he loved.  It was soothing and comforting, and he needed it.


Starsky parked the car outside the precinct and the two men got out.  Hutch bent the passenger seat to pick up his partner’s suit on the rear one, but Starsky stopped him.


“Hands off, Blintz!” He exclaimed, making Hutch jump.  “Don’t touch that cover!”  He reached in and grabbed the suit he had rented, drapping it over his arm almost reverently.


Hutch threw up his hands in surrender, in a mocking gesture.  To tell the truth, he was in no hurry to find out what Starsky was going to wear.  His mission was accomplished: he already knew what song was Starsky going to perform.  In any case, it had to be either a tuxedo or a very elegant suit, judging from the song.  Besides, he’d rather be surprised by this one.  His mouth watered at the mental image of Starsky in a tux.

Side by side, they entered the precinct.  Once inside, they took the elevator and then walked several corridors until they got to the hall where the charity party was going to take place. 


Starsky turned to his partner.  “Well, this is as far as you can go,” he told Hutch, taking a deep breath to control his now wildly beating heart.


The blond reached out and squeezed the tense shoulder affectionately.  “Break a leg, partner.  You’ll be great.  Look for me in row six,” Hutch smiled.


Starsky made a face.  “As if that will help.”  He shook his head and looked at Hutch up and down.  “You had to dress in black, didn’t you?  You know very well what that does to me.  I’ll forget the lyrics and...”


Hutch burst out laughing.  “In that case, I’ll prompt you; don’t panic.”


There was a short silence.  Starsky took another deep breath, and making up his mind, he turned about.


Hutch watched him go with a fond smile.  When Starsky was about to cross the doors, he called, “Hey, Starsk!”


Starsky looked back at him.


“Relax,” Hutch advised him again.  “After all, we only do this once in a ‘blue moon’.”


Starsky blinked stupidly.


Hutch looked at him naughtily, turned about and walked away, laughing his guts out.


When his partner disappeared round the corner, Starsky grinned mischievously and entered the hall head-on.



Hutch was quite impatient when he finally entered the hall one hour later.  He had been talking to his workmates, their husbands and wives all that time, and although he had really good friends there, all he wanted now was to find a comfy seat and enjoy Starsky’s performance.  His libido was running rampant, and he was having serious problems with the mere thought of Starsky all dressed up.


The hall was full to bursting, and after shaking several hands and chatting with a few fellow officers, he quickly looked for his seat, taking the programme a leggy brunette handed him.  He took off his black leather jacket and draped it across his lap, knowing himself only too well.


It was an informal party, but most people had chosen to wear their smarter clothes for the occasion.  Hutch looked around, studying people as they came in.  Some of them had alcoholic beverages in hand.  He made a face.  He remembered only too well the time he had to go on as one of the final performers.  People were pretty tipsy by then, and they kept on whistling and crying out some quite distracting words that made him so nervous, he almost forgot the lyrics of the song he was performing.  Fortunately, before panic settled in, he looked at his partner in the crowd, and Starsky’s intense eyes gave him back the focus he needed.  He learned his lesson that day and from then on, he demanded to sing amongst the first five performers.


He decided to take a look at the programme, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw Starsky’s name in the last place.  He was going to be the last one to sing!!  Just the thought made him start sweating in alarm.  He didn’t know if Starsky was aware of that fact, but he deeply sympathized with his partner.  This was the worst thing that could happen.  There he would be, singing one of the most romantic songs ever, before a teasing crowd blowing raspberries and whistling to him to distraction.



Hutch was unable to fully enjoy the show, dreading the moment when Starsky would have to perform, but there was nothing he could do.  His eyes would have to see his partner through.  He prayed for them to be enough.


Eighty minutes later, the next to last performer finished singing Beatles’ “We Can Work it Out.”  Hutch tugged nervously at the collar of his black turtleneck.  People looked tipsier than ever this year. Jensen’s performance had been good and it showed he was used to singing in public, but a couple times, he had been distracted by people’s rude noises and his fingers had hesitated while strumming his guitar, although he had composed himself quickly enough.  He could only hope for Starsky to keep as calm as that young man.  But he didn’t fool himself for a moment.  This looked grim.


When the host presented Starsky as the final performer, Hutch’s heartbeat went off the scales with downright fear.  He crossed his fingers automatically.  Anything to help his partner through this, even superstition.


Loud and somewhat obscene applause preceded his partner’s appearance onstage.  Swallowing hard to relieve his dry throat, Hutch watched his beloved walking up to the center of the stage wearing...  a cape?!  Yes, it was a cape that covered him from his neck down, feet included.  It was wrapped all around him, hiding everything he wore beneath.


The image immediately reminded him of a vampire, and Hutch felt a pleasant warmth spreading all over him.  He sat up in his chair, collecting himself.  He had to remain calm and help Starsky in any way he could.  He could hear people murmuring already, and he feared the worst.


Taking a deep breath, he studied his partner’s head, since it was the only visible part of his body.  His eyes opened wide at the sight of the mostly wavy hair.  Most of the curls he so loved had disappeared, and he realized Starsky must have spent most of his time backstage battling those curls, forcing them to smooth as much as possible.


Starsky’s look reminded him vaguely of someone, but his mind was too foggy to think clearly.


When he was directly under the spotlights, Starsky made a pause for effect and, all of a sudden, he opened his cape, throwing it aside.


Hutch almost fell off his seat at the shockingly glorious sight that greeted his eyes.


Starsky wore a burgundy coveralls, with spangles scattered in a pattern all over it and sparkling under the lights.  The V-neck opened almost down to his navel, showing that chest he was suddenly itching to roam with his tingling fingertips.  And he had a strapped-on guitar hanging from his left shoulder.


A wild uproar followed Starsky’s unveiling, but Hutch didn’t hear it.  That coveralls left nothing to the imagination.  Every curve, every...  Jeeeezus!  This was...  He had never...  Oh, GOD!  His nether regions went BANG! in the twinkling of an eye.


A tiny part of his brain actually wondered what was Starsky doing in an Elvis costume, when he was supposed to sing “Blue Moon.”  And one heartbeat later, Hutch understood he had been set up.  He had no idea how had Starsky done it, but he didn’t waste a single second thinking about it.  All that mattered was that feast for the eyes standing a few feet away from him, for his eyes only.  Because he immediately understood this was between them.  Starsky’s flashing eyes, already settled on him, were telling him everything.


With a sharp nod, Starsky began an energetic riff and those incredible hips came alive in an unmistakable imitation of The King.


Offhand, Hutch thought that the late Elvis could have learned a couple things from the man-child with the liquid hips he had in front of him.


All of him was suddenly burning; his head felt about to explode.  He snorted like a horse, and he thought he saw a puff of steam coming out of his nostrils.  The temperature in the room seemed to increase a hundred degrees and he was infinitely grateful for the leather jacket across his lap.  God help him, he wasn’t going to survive this!


As if on cue, the sexiest voice began singing, and Hutch thought he would scream.  Starsky’s eyes never left his.



Lord almighty,

I feel my temperature rising

Higher higher

It’s burning through to my soul


Ooh, ooh, ooh,

You gonna set me on fire

My brain is flaming

I don’t know which way to go



Hutch’s face flushed; his eyes opened wide.  Everything around him disappeared and only Starsky and he remained in the world.


He had never been so excited in his entire life.  He was aroused to a molecular level.  What that body and that voice were doing to him couldn’t be real.  He couldn’t take his eyes off that sight, even if his very life depended on it.

Your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir

You light my morning sky

With burning love



Sweat appeared on Hutch’s face and several other places.  He tried to cross his legs, but the throbbing in his groin made him wince and forget about it.  ‘Oh, Starsk!’ he moaned inwardly, his eyes bulging with the fire in his soul.



Ooh, ooh, ohh,

I feel my temperature rising

Help me, I’m flaming

I must be a hundred and nine

Burning, burning, burning,

And nothing can cool me

I just might turn into smoke

But I feel fine


Cause your kisses lift me higher

Like a sweet song of a choir

And you light my morning sky

With burning love



The sensual hips jerked from side to side invitingly.  Those perfect fingers strummed erotically the guitar’s strings as if they were playing their lover’s body.  My body’, Hutch realized. 


Starsky shone under the lights, but it wasn’t because of the lights.  He was shining from the inside.  With love and passion for him.


Hutch was panting, his mouth partially open, as if he was being caressed by invisible hands.


Starsky stuck out his tongue and moved it all over his lips in a suggestive circular motion, and Hutch licked his own lips in an instinctive reaction.  The throbbing in his pants was unbearable.  He squirmed in his chair and Starsky’s hips mirrored his movements.


It was then that it dawned on Hutch.  They were making love.  They were making love with each other right in front of all those people.


His excitement reached a new plateau, if that was possible.  His erection was almost strangled in its confinement, and he didn’t know how to sit in his seat to relieve the pressure.  He was awfully close.



It’s coming closer

The flames are reaching my body

Please won’t you help me

I feel like I’m slipping away

It’s hard to breathe

And my chest is a-heaving


Lord almighty

I’m burning a hole where I lay

Cause your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir

You light my morning sky

With burning love

With burning love



Starsky was totally out of control.  He was thrusting his hips in a shamelessly sexual motion, completely oblivious to the roaring crowd, his eyes riveted on his partner, his beloved, the love of his life he was making love with right here and now.

‘Are you with me, Hutch?  Are you with me, baby?’ he asked in his mind, his own erection flaring in his rented costume.


And Hutch nodded, the beautiful face all flushed, as it got when they were deep in the throes of passion in the sweet privacy of their bedroom.


Starsky thrust his hips forward in a blatant coupling gesture, his muscled arms tensing and making his hands play the guitar so hard he almost broke the strings.  Beads of sweat slid down his chest, neck and forehead; his legs moved from side to side in a steady in crescendo. 


Lust crackled all around them.  Their chests heaved with the same exertion they showed when they were making love in one of their more acrobatic positions.



Ah, ah, burning love

I’m just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love



The sharp, abrupt tempo of the song was so reminiscent of the moments just prior to their joint climaxes, that Hutch thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there.  It was unstoppable.  Nothing could stop them until they reached completion.  Together.


Sweat covered all of Starsky’s body now, but he never wavered.



Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love



Hutch took a deep, agonizing breath.



Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love



Hutch wanted it, needed it, craved it.



Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love



Starsky’s eyes were embedding in his soul and Hutch reached out with all his searing love and fierce passion, and demanded Starsky to join him.  He thrust his own hips forward tantalizingly in his seat.  He knew that Starsky could see it.


‘YESSSSSSS!!’ He cried out in his mind.



Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love




Starsky finished the song with a final powerful riff and fell to his knees, his body arched like an arrow, his head thrown back and his mouth half-opened in abandon.  Thankfully, his guitar covered him from the waist to the top of his thighs, and people didn’t see the spot that appeared in his crotch, at the same time as Hutch came in his pants and bit his lips to hold back a scream that no one would have heard anyway.


The curtain fell, hiding Starsky from the mayhem of screaming and downright howling of all the people who immediately rose to their feet, giving the man a standing ovation.


But when the curtain went up so the performer could soak up his audience’s raving applause, the stage was empty.  So was a certain seat in row six.








Hutch waited for his partner in the passenger seat of the Torino.  He was totally still, unblinking, frozen.  He seemed to be in a trance.


Five minutes later, the driver’s door opened and a covered suit was thrown in the back seat unceremoniously.  It would have to be taken to a dry cleaner’s before it could be returned, anyhow.


An untidy and disheveled Starsky sat at the wheel, started the engine and calmly drove up to his place. 


Neither of them looked away from the road.  Neither of them said a word.  They were feeding from the mounting tension in the air.


Sexual tension.


Finally, Starsky parked by his place.  The two men exited the car and Hutch followed Starsky upstairs.


To anyone who was looking at them, it would seem normal.  Two men heading home, climbing the stairs unhurriedly, footsteps quiet and relaxed.


To anyone who knew them well, they would know that it was a matter of seconds before the volcano erupted.


And erupt it did, as soon as the door closed behind the blond.  There were some scattered noises of a couple objects hitting the floor and breaking and some muffled moaning and whimpering.  And then, some soft thuds of ripped off clothing being discarded, forgotten before they reached the floor.



The late evening light illuminated the two entwined bodies, lying on their sides on the rumpled bed.  They squirmed rhythmically, still in the aftermath of the mind-blowing orgasm they had shared.  Ragged breathing slowly returned to normal, and the two lovers engaged then in some lovely, playful nuzzling and needful snuggling up to each other’s bodies, that couldn’t possibly get any closer or they would become one flesh.  Something neither would have minded.


Shaking hands roamed chests, backs, arms, faces; raising goosebumps in their wake at the unashamed, reverent worshipping.


“Penny for your thoughts,” Hutch asked softly, his fingers burying themselves in the wildly tousled hair, now all curly again.


Starsky turned his head and kissed the pulse on the wrist so near his lips.  “I just wondered if the guys at the precinct will let me live down to what I did today.”


Hutch laughed softly.  “It’ll take some time, but I’m sure that in a few years you’ll be able to go an entire week without someone bringing it up.”


Starsky tried to control his imminent blushing.  “You won’t bring it up, will ya?” he asked, almost fearfully.


Hutch pretended to think about it.  “Well, maybe once or twice, but don’t panic.  I won’t make you bleed.  You’ve been mostly nice to me these past years, whenever I had to sing in public.”


“I see.  You’re treating me the same way I treated you,” Starsky smiled.


“Good deeds always have their reward,” Hutch teased, tweaking gently a curl that had wrapped itself around his forefinger.


Starsky’s smile grew bigger.


“You really took me for a ride there,” Hutch commented after a while.  He sneaked his left leg between Starsky's, and it was received with a snug embrace.


Starsky grinned impishly, licking off a bead of sweat on the tip of Hutch's nose.


“You knew I’d find a way to listen to what happened in the rehearsal room.”


Starsky nodded.


“How did you do it?  How did you know when to sing ‘Blue Moon’?  Was Bigelow with you on it?”


Starsky answered with a poker face.


“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” Hutch pouted.


Starsky shook his head.


Hutch sighed resignedly and shrugged.  He began playing with the hair on Starsky’s chest, one of his favorite pastimes.


“You don’t think I took it too far, do ya?” Starsky’s suddenly uneasy voice made Hutch look up.


“It’s a bit too late to worry about that now,” the blond replied with an amused smile.  When the apprehension became more evident, he tried it harder.  “It was wild, there’s no denying that, but at least you had a conveniently placed guitar to keep it R-rated.”


That earned him a little smile.


“It was okay, Starsk.  You’ve done more outrageous things in the squad room.  I really don’t think you took it much further than Elvis did when he performed it in Vegas, costume included.” Hutch smiled naughtily.  “I have to say I much prefer your pelvis, though.”


Starsky burst out laughing.  “That’s gotta be the weirdest compliment I’ve ever heard!” 


Hutch sobered a little and stared at the man he loved.  “But you know what I liked the most?”


Starsky arched his eyebrows curiously.


“That you wore that outfit, open all the way down.”  Hutch traced the chest scars with his fingertips lovingly.


“Well, I figured that given the distance between the stage and the first row, people wouldn’t notice them, unless they knew they were there.”  Starsky made a face.


“And if they did, they soon forgot about them when your personality took over.”  Hutch smiled proudly at him.


Starsky smiled back.  “Yeah.  And I have such a nice and big personality,” he pointed out, thrusting his hips forward.


Hutch chuckled.  “You show-off,” he chided in mock exasperation, kissing the swollen lips.


The leisurely kissing went on for some delicious minutes, until they moved back with a parting smooch.  Starsky was grinning mischievously.


“You know what was the biggest turn-on for me?”


Hutch bit his lower lip and shook his head, his love for that man threatening with taking him over again.


“Singing that song to you in public and nobody knowing.  That made me so hot!”  Starsky licked his lips, most explicitly.


“I know,” Hutch nodded, the flush on his cheeks spreading all over his face and neck.  “Thank you so much for it, babe.  I burned a hole in my seat!”


They burst out laughing.


“I wasn’t sure I could do it,” Starsky confessed when the laughter subsided.  “I was very nervous.  But the moment I saw you sitting there, all black and blond...  My dick and I forgot about everybody else.  There was only you down there.”


“It worked that way for me too every time I played,” Hutch replied.  “Well, except for my dick.  Until last year, that is.”  He wrapped his arms around the broad back and stroked it languidly up and down, glorying in every liberty he was free to take now.  “Still, I think it’s a shame you didn’t get to sing ‘Blue Moon’.  It’s perfect for your singing voice.”


“Want a private performance, Blondie?” Starsky wriggled his eyebrows playfully.


“Always,” Hutch answered, his eyes flashing.


“You got it!” Starsky exclaimed, dislodging Hutch’s extremities and jumping out of bed before his partner could blink an eye.


One second he had a furry, warm human blanket wrapped around him, and the next he felt cold and bereft in that big double bed.  Hutch shivered, unable to help it.  “Starsky!  Get back here, you!  I wanna cuddle some more, dammit!  Starsk!”


“Just a sec, baby,” answered the beloved voice from somewhere in the living-room.


“I said get back here!”


When it became obvious that complaining wasn’t going to do him any good, Hutch flopped back on the bed.  “This’d better be good or I’m gonna...”


Hutch’s words were interrupted by Starsky’s big entrance in the bedroom, wearing nothing but his naked flesh and his guitar.


Hutch covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing.  There was something so silly about playing an instrument in the buff that made it more hilarious than it probably was.  And the sight of Starsky’s gorgeous endowments, all soft and swinging back and forth below his guitar as he approached the bed, was hysterically comical.


“You didn’t make that face about my ‘perfect naked body’ half an hour ago,” Starsky said, offended in his pride.


That only made it worse, and Hutch doubled up with laughter as Starsky sat on the end of the bed, all stiff and dignified.


“Sorry.  I’m sorry, man.  But you should see yourself.  Ohmigod!”  Hutch’s eyes filled with tears and he pounded the cushion a couple times, helplessly.


Starsky put down his guitar and crossed his arms, in an exaggerated display of patience.


Finally, Hutch managed to control his mirth with much effort.  “Okay, okay.  I’m done.  You can start serenading me, Romeo.”


“If I’m Romeo, what’s that make you?” Starsky asked, picking up his guitar once again.


Hutch thought about it.  “Mmmm, someone with a very good taste?” He replied, unflappable.


Disarmed, Starsky grunted.  “You know how to kill a guy’s mood.”


“All right, I’m sorry.”  Hutch collected himself and propped up his head on his right hand, presenting himself in an odalisque pose, obviously intended to break through Starsky’s self-control.  “I’m ready now.  Go ahead, buddy,” he encouraged, licking his lips far more slowly than necessary.


Clearing his throat, Starsky began strumming his guitar.  But at the last moment, he changed his mind and a devilish gleam appeared in his eyes.  He changed the key and started all over again.


Hutch frowned, suspiciously.



Sunny Day

Sweepin’ the clouds away

On my way to where the air is sweet



“Starsky!”  Exclaimed an affronted voice.



Can you tell me how to get,

How to get to Sesame Street



“Starsky, you’re asking for it,” Hutch warned dangerously, sitting up and stretching his body like a feline.



Come and play

Everything’s A-OK



“You’re signing your own death sentence, man.”  Hutch got on all fours on the bed and advanced lithely like a cat, closing in on Starsky, who stood up slowly and began to step back, his eyes fixed on his partner’s, a challenging smile on his lips.



Friendly neighbors there

That’s where we meet



Hutch reached the end of the bed and got to his feet smoothly, like a predator stalking its prey.





Can you tell me how to get,

How to get to Sesame Street



Suddenly, Starsky turned about and flaunted his asscheeks to Hutch, swinging them from side to side teasingly.


“That’s it!” Hutch cried out, surging forward.


Starsky took off running toward the living-room, still managing to play and sing a few more lines of the song...



It’s a magic carpet ride

Every door will open wide

To happy people like you



...until all singing and playing came to a dead stop.  Next, sounds of uncontrollable giggling, yelping and soft groaning filled the happy room.