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There have been plenty of times in his life that Starsky has been scared.
He was apprehensive, stepping off the plane from New York and moving in with his aunt and uncle. He was frightened when he first stepped into the battlefield in ‘Nam, he was scared stiff when Marcus’ cult members had him in that old zoo cage. And he was terrified watching Hutch through the hospital observation window when he caught that mystery plague. It was truly hell watching his best friend struggle in that hospital bed and unsure if the cure would be found in time.
But facing his romantic attraction to Hutch? It's the first time he's truly known the meaning of paralyzed by fear.
This mess that he feels powerless to tame is —as far as he’s concerned— his fault.
He’d been the idiot to suggest talking and taking their time. He’d been the moron to put out the idea of ‘not a no but a not now’. He’d been the dummy to make the first move to kiss Hutch, following his confession. Standing there in Venice Place reeling from the shock of his life, and his way of processing had been to lean in and kiss the blond bastard. “Beautiful blond bastard,” Starsky says aloud, taking a swig of his second beer.
He threads a hand through his hair, frustration getting the best of him.
He wants to blame the lack of any meaningful discussions with Hutch on the fact that Hutch has continued dating women, so there is a possibility he has moved on, so why bring it up?
After all, Starsky made Hutch promise not to wait for him and promised to be there if he found someone else.
But then Hutch's romances end, almost inevitably. And Starsky will feel the guilt slipping in for not broaching the subject. And the fabric of their friendship will seem to fray a little more. It's subtle but he's feeling a separation.
Starsky knows that it's really just his own fears —of the unknown, of losing their jobs, of losing their friendship, of what feels like losing everything— that is blocking him from sitting down with Hutch and facing this thing that was unearthed months ago.
Plain and simple, he’s being a wuss. Has been for months. And he knows it’s not helping anything to avoid it.
Acting like it's not there, that he doesn't feel increasingly romantic feelings for Hutch, that maybe Hutch doesn't still harbor romantic feelings for him is not making the situation lessen.
He’s started to let himself notice things about Hutch that he’s never really thought about before. That damned 1000 watt smile of his, those gorgeous blue eyes. How good he looks in a suit.
And those hands.
Dear God, those hands. Long fingers, big palms, how many women must he have pleased with just his hands.
If Starsky weren’t such a wimp, maybe Hutch would put those hands on his body and please him.
Instead, he’s here, on a Saturday night, with a box of tissues, a bottle of lotion, and a Playboy magazine that is doing nothing for him.
He lets his mind drift and closes his eyes, leaning back on his couch. He starts to think of Hutch in all his naked glory, flitting through memories of glances in the locker room and the occasional sauna, and his hands start to drift over his own torso. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open. He runs his hands over his chest, lightly rubbing his thumbs over his nipples. He can feel his cock start to throb as he rolls over the images in his mind.
He starts to unzip his pants when an idea strikes him. It’s a bit crazy but maybe this will take some of the weirdness out of the whole thing. This wouldn't be an experiment so much as an exploration.
Besides, it's got to be much easier than talking about it. As long as it’s just the physical and they don’t actually see each other, it’s just fooling around.
Fooling around won't lead to trouble.
That’s what he tells himself.
He dials Hutch's number, hoping that he’s home. He’s not sure how long his courage will hold out. He almost gives up but on the fifth ring, Hutch picks up. “Hello?”
“Are you alone, Blintz?” Starsky asks. He tries to convey lust and desire in his tone but it comes out wobbly and his voice cracks a bit.
“Starsky? Is everything okay?” Hutch asks, and Starsky can see in his mind the concern flitting across Hutch’s face, and can easily imagine the deepening of the ridge between his eyebrows.
“Y-yeah. Are. you. ALONE?”
“Yeah. Why?” Hutch sounds both concerned and suspicious.
“I…um… take your pants off.”
“WHAT!? Starsk, have you gone crazy!?”
“I…I don’t know how to go about this. I want to …maybe we could.. IwanttotalktoyouwhileyoujerkoffandI’lljerkoffatthesameti-…” Starsky spills out the idea he has in a rapid-fire clip only to be cut off when Hutch hangs up the phone with a choked bitter laugh and Starsky is left holding the phone in one hand, and his cock at half-mast in the other.
***
"That bastard! What kind of nonsense idea...no!" Hutch paces as he rants, wearing a groove from front door to kitchen to bedroom and back. "How could he think that would be enough? That all I want with him is a quick lay! I want so much more than just physical. I can’t believe he’d ever consider that as a viable option. I refuse to believe it! Does he not know how difficult this is for me?”
Hutch has tried to move past his feelings for Starsky, he really has. He's flirted with women. He’s had a few dates and the occasional girlfriend. He's done everything in his power to put Starsky behind him.
With each passing day, each week, each month that they don’t talk about what happened in October, though, it becomes more and more challenging to put it behind him.
It would have been so much easier to move on if Starsky had just told him ‘no’ or ‘I can’t’ or ‘I don’t feel that way about you, buddy.’
Once the idea of something more had become even a slight possibility, it had been hard to let go.
He knows Starsky would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, but this limbo is hard to put up with.
He will get past this.
He has to.
He's afraid he'll end up in Cabrillo State sooner or later if he can't.
“I can’t do that with him like that. I want to look at him, make love not just ….” Hutch slows down his pacing just a bit as his logical brain kicks in over his emotional one.
But maybe this is the way to start. Start with the physical. You already have an emotional bond anyway, the rational part of his mind counters. It seems absurd, even wrong somehow. Like it will be cheapening their friendship or something. But he can't ignore that the notion of hearing Starsky’s sounds of pleasure would be, quite frankly, hot.
He knows it's risky but for now, it would satisfy him.
It might help stave off the ache that comes with wanting what he's not sure he'll ever get.
He doesn't want to call Starsky back, at least not right away. It feels too girlish, too desperate.
But once the notion has been put in his head, Hutch can't stop thinking about it.
He stops his pacing long enough to pour himself a shot of whiskey, takes a deep breath, gulps back the whiskey, and has another one for good measure.
He gathers lotion, tissues, and his remaining wits.
With trembling fingers, he undoes the button of his fly. He drags the phone over to the end table and gets as comfortable as he can. He dials Starsky’s number carefully. When Starsky picks up with a cautious “Hello?” Hutch takes a deep breath and then exhales in a short puff.
“Starsk? I, uh, what you proposed a little while ago…I’ve decided to give it a try. If you still wanna, that is.”
“Yeah, I do. I really do, Hutch.” Starsky agrees soberly “I mean…it’s all foreign territory. But I wanna explore it with you.”
Hutch is glad that Starsky can’t see the love-sick expression he’s sure is on his face. “I do too, with you.” Hutch manages to say. “I …do we…?” Suddenly the lack of a playbook for this situation gets to him.
“Let’s just start with…I guess, you unzip and get comfortable, and I’ll do the same?” Starsky offers.
Hutch undoes his zipper and pulls his pants and shorts down a bit past his knees to allow movement. It’s harder to do with one arm hindered by its shoulder being used to cradle the receiver to his ear. This is going to be not as easy as he had thought for many reasons. “Okay, I’m comfortable.” He goes back to holding the receiver with one hand, the other he pumps some lotion into. It’s not as easy to do one-handed but he manages with some strategic maneuvering. He rubs the fingers of that hand into his palm to distribute the lotion a bit.
“Same here. I guess... I uh... We should…” Starsky falters a bit. Hutch hears him gulp.
“Just…start, Starsk. If we keep pondering we’ll be on the phone all night with our pants down and our dicks out.” Hutch blurts out. It’s not the most delicate way to approach it but he’s aware of his propensity to get lost in his own loop of thinking, second-guessing, and indecision.
Starsky laughs a little. “Okay. Just don’t hang up on me, alright?”
“Not going anywhere, Starsk.” Hutch breathes. He takes himself in hand and closes his eyes. He can hear Starsky on the other end of the line and focusing only on the sound of his soft sighs as, presumably, Starsky does something similar, and the picture he forms in his head of Starsky is enough to start to make him hard. Slowly, he starts to glide his hand up and down his own shaft, getting harder with each pass. He can hear Starsky’s soft grunts of pleasure and little other sounds: quiet moans, mumbles of 'oh yes', and sighs of bliss. Hutch starts to pump harder, moaning low and occasionally letting small whimpers of pleasure past his lips. He tries to keep a steady pace, not wanting the moment to end too soon. But it’s difficult, as the added sounds of Starsky’s moans and grunts, and occasional curses, are heightening his gratification.
It’s when Starsky, who has given over to the moment, starts to whisper, “So good, my Blintz. So very good.” that Hutch can’t hold back.
He starts to pump with fury, moans growing louder as the familiar ache builds in his belly.
He rocks his hips faster, thrusting into his hand. “Starsk, I’m gonna…”
“Go on baby, go on. Let me hear you.” Starsky pants, voice thick and husky with desire.
And that’s all it takes.
Hutch comes hard with a “Yes, Starsk, Oh God!” and collapses back against the couch, only barely managing to keep the receiver to his ear.
“I bet you’re beautiful right now, all sweaty and gorgeous,” Starsky whispers on the other line.
Hutch can hear Starsky’s murmurs and groans and pants and the breathless way he says “I’m close, Hutch, real close”.
It sends shivers up his spine.
“Go on, baby, let go. Come for me, please?” Hutch murmurs. These are things he never thought he’d be saying to another man, let alone Starsky, but they feel so natural to him once said.
“Yeah, I’m gonna…Oh Hutch, yes!” Starsky calls out, his voice a bit strangled. For a moment the only sounds are pants, nonsense, and the occasional curse word as Starsky rides his own wave. They sit there on the phone for a few moments, catching their breath and whispering words of adoration to each other.
Finally, after glancing at the clock and realizing how late it is, Hutch blinks a few times to break the spell he’s under. “Starsk, that was…”
“Incredible. We should definitely do that again. I’ve never been so spent, my Blintz.”
“Me neither. That was truly fantastic.” Hutch confesses. He stops himself from asking for another round anytime soon.
No need to push his luck.
“We should…” Starsky trails off.
“Yeah. Um…” Hutch is at a loss for how to end this conversation. “Good night, I guess.”
“Yeah. Thanks for a wonderful time. I mean it, Blintz. Wonderful.” Starsky says and the distinctive click happens before Hutch can say anything more.
Hutch gently hangs up and takes a deep breath. He truly has never been this satisfied or spent. He needs to clean up and get into bed, but that will make reality return and he’s not ready to face it. He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the couch pillows, and swallows a slight pang of disappointment that he can't be cuddled up against Starsky instead.
It’ll do for now.
***
For about six months they fall into a pattern. As long as there is no girl, at least three nights a week but often all five working days as they are leaving the station, one will whisper to the other “Call tonight?”
The phone sessions get less awkward and more erotic as time goes on and even though they can’t see one another, Starsky finds he enjoys learning what he can say to make Hutch come undone. He loves to hear Hutch lose his composure. It’s something he never thought he'd enjoy but he really does. The noises do more for him than any magazine ever has.
Starsky starts to really consider actually having the talks he promised. He finds he does want more than just the physical and wonders seriously what it would be like to actually make a go of a real romantic relationship with Hutch. Dating, dinners, sleeping together with or without sex, just watching TV and having breakfast together.
It’s a lovely fantasy and he finds himself almost ready to make the leap.
But one day he is sharply and sadly reminded of the risk he —no, they — would be taking. Hutch is running late and Starsky is getting ready in the locker room. Jones and Rodriguez, two uniforms coming off the night shift, enter, chatting about their beat. For the most part, it’s all just white noise, just general chatter.
The thing that catches his attention though is the mention of The Green Parrot. “Yeah, those fruits were lucky McDowd and Richards arrived first. I'd've just ignored the call. Let them get robbed and shot up. It’s what those queers deserve.” Jones spews. “Less of them wouldn’t be a great loss.”
“Yeah, the world would be a better place without any of them.” Rodriguez agrees.
Starsky feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and for a moment is speechless. He shakes off his fog. “Last I checked, protect and serve meant everyone, assholes!” He calls out.
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? I know you used to pal around with John Blaine, and we all know how being a fruitcake worked out for him,” Jones taunts and Rodriguez nods along.
Starsky springs across the room and grabs Jones by the collar, shoving him into the row of lockers. “You worthless piece of garbage! You take that back, NOW!” He throws a warning punch to the locker behind Jones’ head. It’s taking all his restraint not to actually punch Jones.
“You would defend him. You are just like him. You think half of Metro don’t know about you and your partner? You two moon around each other like love-sick pups. The way you touch and look at each other is despicable. Should have been drummed out for serious misconduct, the both of you!” Jones spits the words at him.
“You better hope when you need back up we aren't the nearest pair. Neither of us will come.” Rodriguez growls, voice low and dangerous.
Starsky can’t stop himself and raises a clenched fist with intent to strike, but he’s stopped by Hutch’s grip, his partner having just arrived and rushed into the fray.
Hutch looks back and forth between Jones, Rodriguez, and Starsky. When his gaze lands on Starsky, Hutch raises his eyebrows in question. Starsky just looks away and shakes his head, unable to face the disappointment that he couldn't keep his temper he's sure he'll find in those blue eyes.
For a moment there is an uneasy standoff between both pairs of officers. Icy silence fills the room. Finally Rodriguez breaks. He pulls Jones away. Jones makes a crude gesture as he stalks away toward the showers.
Starsky lunges once more but Hutch stops him with a look and small head shake.
Starsky knows better. He shouldn't react to this nonsense, they never have. It’s, thankfully, rare enough. But now it feels truly personal. And he and Hutch aren’t even doing anything more than having a little fun over the phone.
If they were to be foolish enough to date, it would be worse.
“Come on, Starsk. Leave the losers. Let's take a look at that hand of yours.” Hutch manages through his clenched teeth.
Starsky nods and follows to the squad room. But his mind is elsewhere.
It’s too risky. Too damn risky. And he knows it. In one instant, all of Starsky’s plans for more with Hutch are thrown out of the window. Being a cop, being a detective, being a sergeant, it’s all Starsky knows how to do. And he can’t risk losing that or have Hutch risk that.
And that would be the least of their worries.
Rodriguez's words about lack of backup eat at him. It’s never been a problem, most of their fellow officers either ignore their closeness or seem to be unbothered by it. But now, for the first time, Starsky realizes how truly dangerous it can be. They put themselves in enough danger every day as it is. Even if no one ever knew, even if they stayed in the closet forever, all it would take is one pair of their so-called brother cops like Jones and Rodriguez, not showing up because of what they just suspect about them.
Just having that in the back of his mind, it’s too much. He’s never realized how safe and good he has it. It would haunt him terribly if Hutch were ever hurt or worse because the wrong people were on duty. Because the walls in this precinct are thinner than paper and the grapevine is always active and looking for gossip. If they were ever to be foolish enough to go beyond whatever it is they are doing now, even if they were extremely careful, there would always be a lingering fear that they’d be found out.
He doesn’t think he can take it. And he knows he needs to tell Hutch this sooner rather than later. He flinches back from the feeling of Hutch’s gentle touch, going over his hand to make sure nothing is broken. It’s going to bruise but he didn’t hit hard enough to break anything.
“Starsk, does it hurt?” Hutch asks, dropping his hand.
“Yeah… I mean no… I mean, it’s fine. Let’s just get going. I’ll be fine.” Starsky tries to flash a smile but it obviously doesn’t come across as genuine to Hutch.
“I don’t believe you.” Is all he says, but it’s clear he wants to say much more.
“Look, let’s just talk tonight. I mean really talk. In person.” Starsky offers. He’s never had to break up with someone he wasn’t even really dating in the first place. But the way his heart rate ramps up and the vaguely nauseous feeling that passes over him is the same as when he’s about to dump a girl he’s been with.
The shadow of doubt and apprehension that passes behind Hutch’s eyes is almost enough to break Starsky but it’s gone almost so fast he’s not sure he’s seen it at all. “Yeah, okay. My place?”
“Yeah. I’ll drop by around, I don’t know, 8 or so?”
Hutch nods curtly. He gathers what they need for the day and gets up from the desk and strides away. Starsky gets his keys and follows behind him, trying to keep up but Hutch takes advantage of his slightly longer legs and keeps his distance throughout the hallway.
Starsky actually shivers as he picks up his pace and tries to keep up.
****
“Maybe it’ll be a good talk. Maybe he’s finally coming around to want more.” Hutch confides to the plant he’s watering.
He knows it's absolute bunk.
Something happened or was said in that locker room and it obviously did a number on Starsky. Hutch knows deep down that whatever Starsky wants to talk about will not be good news. And he'll be forced to go back to wanting Starsky from afar, thinking about him in the night, and in the shower, and trying to just be happy with their 75% of the time together.
He hopes he can do it.
He knows he’ll know the moment that Starsky walks in the door if this conversation is going to go the way he wants.
Luckily, beer can be used in celebration or sorrow. He pulls two from the fridge as the clock chimes 8 pm.
Starsky shows up just a second or two later. He knocks once.
“Door’s open, Starsky,” Hutch calls, opening the beers and setting them down on his kitchen table.
Starsky walks in, and Hutch doesn't need to ask. It's written in Starsky’s demeanor: shoulders hunched and his steps dragging. “Hi” is his only greeting, his tone enough to further dispel any notion of good news.
“Well, I should’ve known we couldn’t keep this up,” Hutch says, sinking into a chair at his kitchen table.
“Just…it’s too risky, Hutch. Our jobs, our safety, our very lives , it’s all at risk.” Starsky sighs and Hutch can see the weight of his decision on Starsky’s face. It’s not easy, or at least it’s not one he wants to make. But Hutch can’t stop a small sigh.
“I know. I knew when I started feeling this way. It scared me then and it scares me now. But after these last few months, I was hoping…”
Starsky shakes his head. “I want to make it work. I really considered it. But Hutch, we’ll be sitting ducks…”
Hutch takes a long swig of beer. He swallows and puts it down before continuing. “We’d be careful though, and quiet. No one would have to know.” Even as he says it he knows that what he’s proposing is unlikely. No matter how careful they were, all it would take is one tiny slip.
“People will find out, Hutch. No matter what we do. No matter how careful we are. All it takes is being at the wrong place, at the wrong time and we’d be toast,” Starsky sighs and Hutch knows he’s as miserable as he is.
It hardly helps.
As a matter of fact, it makes things worse. “Dammit!" Hutch punches the table in frustration. "Why does it have to be so hard? Why can’t we have what we want and deserve? The happiness other people have?”
It’s all rhetorical; he knows damn well why. Society at large deems the idea of two men together, being romantically involved, as unnatural, as abhorrent. Starsky’s right. The risk to health and safety is just too much.
The look on his partner’s face, the sadness in those deep blue eyes, the way he shakes his head slowly, all says without words that Starsky knows too.
“I’m sorry, Blintz. So, so very sorry.”
“So am I, Starsk.” Hutch can’t stop the quaking of his voice and bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling too much.
“I’ll …”
“See you tomorrow. I’m fine.” He’s not fine and he knows Starsky knows it.
Starsky gets up slowly from the table. He comes around and leans down embracing Hutch who hasn't moved. Hutch throws his arms around Starsky and hugs him tightly. He buries his face in the crook of Starsky’s neck, kissing the soft skin there. Starsky runs his fingers through Hutch's hair and rests his chin on the top of his head. He lightly kisses Hutch on the forehead and leans down to take Hutch's lips in his.
Hutch returns the kiss and pulls Starsky closer to him. He threads his fingers into Starsky's curls. He savors the taste and smell and feel of having Starsky even a little bit. He tries to commit the whole experience to memory. He takes in the scent of Starsky’s cologne and shampoo. He takes in the taste of Starsky's lips. He takes in everything about this moment, cognizant of the brutal fact that the world will have to change drastically for this to ever happen again, though hopefully under better circumstances.
Starsky finally pulls back. "Me and thee still, right?" There is a panic in his tone and eyes that breaks Hutch’s heart.
"At the end of the day, it's more important than anything, Starsk." Hutch whispers, voice thick with emotions and gives a small nod.
He doesn't say he promises because everything about the future feels shaky.
Starsky nods back, though he doesn't look assured. He lightly kisses Hutch’s forehead again before he bids goodnight and leaves.
Hutch watches him leave. He finishes his beer and drinks Starsky’s untouched one in a few gulps.
He lays his head down on the table and draws a shaky breath.
He's had hope —slight though it may have been— since October. This is the first time since he confessed that he actually feels hopeless.
For a few minutes, he has to fight the part of him that still is and will always be addicted to heroin. A little voice that calls for the warm numbness over the crush of heartbreak and disappointment
Small though it is, at times it can be very loud.
Currently, it's deafening.
The last time it was this loud was when Gillian was killed. And that time he had Starsky to hold him together.
He goes through a checklist in his mind of things he keeps fighting that part for: his career, his home and lifestyle, his health, and — as his most solid anchor — Starsky. Knowing all that Starsky went through to pull him out, all the anguish and disappointment it would cause Starsky if Hutch backslid into that, is the main driving force, causing the other things to pale in comparison.
He swallows the deep ache and goes into the bathroom. He looks at his reflection. He lightly traces his upper lip with his finger. Maybe it’s time to consider the mustache he’s always secretly wanted. It would be a little change in the grand scheme of things but he needs something to be different. His appearance is the one thing he has any control over that won’t alter his whole life. Maybe if he looks even a little bit different, he’ll start to feel different.
Maybe not happy, but different.
Different will be good.
Happy would be better but different will suffice.