Charlotte Frost



"Hey, look at this," Hutch said, straining forward in the driver's seat of the parked LTD. In the darkness, he saw a car turn toward the driveway of the third house on the left. He and Starsky had been waiting hours for the return of the home's owner, one Edward T. Smith, who was suspected of two murders by strangulation.

In the passenger seat, Starsky was also looking eagerly out the windshield. But then he relaxed when the car didn't stop after pulling into the driveway. Instead, it backed out and turned around to disappear in the other direction, having obviously only needed to use the driveway for a U-turn.

"Hmph," Hutch muttered, also settling back in his seat.

"He ain't gonna show," Starsky noted confidently. The dark curly head was now bent over a slick magazine that he had been flipping through off and on throughout the evening. The light provided by the street lamp behind them made the pages somewhat visible.

Hutch tilted back his coffee cup, then realized it was empty. Disappointed, he tossed it into the back and wondered how agreeable his partner would be to making another trip to the convenience store two blocks away.

"She wants me," Starsky announced.

Hutch looked at him. His partner had now turned the magazine in a vertical direction and held it up so Hutch could see it.

"See?" Starsky tapped at the face of the nude dark-haired woman posed against the backdrop of an elaborately decorated bath. "Look at those eyes." He sighed forlornly. "They're sayin', `David Michael Starsky, you're the only one for me.'"

Hutch grunted. "Dream on."

"Ah, man," Starsky said as he gazed at the spread that was now lowered to his lap, "sweetheart, you are one beautiful lady. And I'd take you up on your offer any day. All you gotta do is come lookin' for me. We both know there's no one else for either of us."

"Don't get carried away," Hutch said dryly. He was horribly bored, and he hoped Starsky would make some more inane comments so he could find fault with them. His gaze returned to Smith's house, and he listened to the noise of pages turning as Starsky apparently got tired of longing for his dream girl and went looking for whatever else the magazine had to offer.

"There," Starsky said suddenly, his tone one of satisfaction. He held up the magazine again, but this time horizontally. "There, that's the one for you." He tapped the page on the left.

It was of a mildly attractive Marilyn Monroe type. She wasn't nude, but nearly so. "You think so, huh?" he asked, wondering why Starsky thought he would find her more appealing than the other one.

"Yeah," Starsky said, as though it was obvious. "She likes you. I can tell." He lowered the magazine when Hutch directed his gaze at the house again. "She's blonde, like you like `em. And her boobs aren't too big."

Hutch blinked and looked at his partner in disbelief. "Oh, come on," he scolded, "I'm not into hair color. Or breast size. It's the whole woman that counts."

Starsky shook his head, casually leafing through more pages. "Wrong, blondie. You like blondes. I've almost never seen you date anything else. And you don't like huge boobs."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Vanessa wasn't blonde," he said, annoyed that he had to point it out.

"So, she was a rare exception." Now Starsky's tone was scolding. "Don't deny it. I've been watching you date for the five or six years since your divorce. You like a certain type of woman, so quit trying to act like you're above that kind of thing. `Sides, it's not like there's anything wrong with it. Perfectly natural."

Hutch shifted in his seat to face his partner. "All right, Mr. Perfectly Natural, then what's your type?"

Starsky almost seemed to pout that his partner hadn't been equally studious. "If you're a detective, it seems like you'd be able to figure that out for yourself."

Hutch thought. "You prefer brunettes."

"Wrong." Starsky was firmly shaking his head.

"Bullshit. You've dated as many brunettes as I've dated blondes."

"That's just coincidence," Starsky insisted, and held up a hand when Hutch sputtered a protest. "It's just coincidence that my type of girl has generally had brunette hair."

Flippantly, Hutch demanded, "Then just what exactly is your type?"

Starsky grinned and dropped the magazine in his lap. He made the shape of an hourglass with his hands. "My type is one who's all curvy. The way all the curves fit together. I don't like a woman who's built like a guy. Doesn't matter to me what her hair color is if all the curves are in the right place. It's the effect of those curves that catches my attention."

"All men like curves," Hutch noted.

Starsky shrugged, picking up his magazine again. "Not necessarily. I've seen lots of straight-built women who are married and stuff. There must be guys who like them like that."

Hutch grinned, loving it that he was scoring a point. "Yeah. Just like, somewhere out in the great big world, there might actually be somebody out there who even likes you."

"Very funny."

Hutch waited half a minute, then said, "Why don't you get out and get us some more coffee?"

Starsky was absorbed in the magazine. "Uh-uh. `Sides, it's your turn."

Hutch frowned. "Well, why don't you go, anyway, and I'll keep watch over your precious girlie magazine."

"I will in a little bit," Starsky replied off-handedly. He was absorbed in reading. Then he straightened and challenged, "Think you know a lot about sex?"

Hutch wondered what kind of question that was, but it sounded like a game and he was more than willing to play along. "Of course, I know a lot about sex."

"All right, let's see how you do with these questions. This section is called, `Dear Sexperts', and it's where people write in with their sex problems. So, let's see how close your answers come to those of the sexperts."

Hutch nodded, feeling smug that he could answer with far more superiority than anyone who wrote an advice column for a skin magazine. "All right." He ran his fingers along his mustache.

"Okay, the first person says, "I've always been self-conscious about the fact that my penis - " Starsky snickered at the word. "Why don't they just use prick? Or cock? It's a porno mag, for cryin' out loud."

"Grow up," Hutch reprimanded with impatience. "Come on, what's the question?"

"I've always been self-conscious about the fact that my penis curves dramatically when it's fully erect. My current girlfriend couldn't hide the fact that she was shocked at how curved it was when we first had intercourse. Other than the curvature, it functions normally and it gives me very satisfying sex. But my girlfriend claims that it's given her a bladder infection. Is there something wrong with me? If so, what can be done to help me?"

Hutch shook his head. "A bladder infection?" he asked in disbelief.

"Come on," Starsky said, now the impatient one. "What advice would you give, Mr. I-Went-to-College?"

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Those questions in that magazine have to be made up."

"No, they aren't. They're too bizarre to be made up. That's how you know they're real. Come on, what advice would you give to this poor guy?"

Hutch considered. "There's nothing abnormal about a hard-on that curves a little."

"He says dramatically," Starsky pointed out.

"That's just because he's so self-conscious about it," Hutch reasoned. "As for the bladder infection, no way. That's real insensitive of his girlfriend to accuse him of that. I mean," he snorted at the thought, "how, mechanically, could that even happen?" Starsky was silently studying the magazine, and Hutch prompted, "Come on, how'd I do?"

Starsky took a deep breath and read, "A curvature of the penis during erection is normal. Since your sexual experiences are normal and satisfying, you should accept your penis and not be concerned about it." Starsky looked away a moment and shook his head. "Geez," he said bashfully. Then he continued, "As for your girlfriend's bladder infection, it's virtually impossible that it was caused by the curvature of your penis. Your girlfriend needs to see a doctor for treatment for the infection." Starsky paused.

"I did pretty good," Hutch said smugly, rubbing at his mustache again.

"Okay, here's the next one. My girlfriend and I have had a very satisfying relationship for nearly two years now, and we plan to get married soon. She's a wonderful person and a fantastic lover. However, there is one thing about her that bugs me a lot. She has large hairs around her nipples and - ." Starsky burst out laughing.

Hutch chuckled, too. "I don't believe this. Those questions are made up."

"No, they're not," Starsky insisted as he sobered. "They even have an address where you can write to them. Anyway, he says, She has large hairs around her nipples and, frankly, I find it gross. No matter what we do to remove them, they grow back. Any suggestions?" Starsky looked up. "Well, genius?" His gaze momentarily strayed to Smith's house, then he glanced at his partner.

Hutch said, "My answer is `Dear Schmuck. If hairs on your lady's tits is the biggest problem you've got in your relationship, then you're a sorry excuse for a man for complaining about it.'" He listened to Starsky laugh. "'Your "wonderful person and fantastic lover" doesn't deserve you. Tell her to leave you immediately and go find a hole to bury yourself in.'"

Starsky nodded with approval. "You tell `em, Hutch." He brought the magazine up closer to his face. "They say, Most women have some degree of hair on the breasts and nipples. Unfortunately, some techniques which claim to remove hair permanently are very expensive, and the results are questionable. Even if such methods are affordable, we do not recommend your girlfriend undertake them unless she is unhappy with the degree of hair. (It is, after all, her body.) We suggest that you learn to accept her as she is, especially since it sounds as if she has so many other excellent qualities." He grinned proudly. "You were right on, Hutch."

"I'm two for two," Hutch pointed out. "What's the next one?"

Starsky shifted and held the magazine closer. "I am a twenty-four-year-old man. A few weeks ago, my best friend and I got really drunk and I gave him a blow job. Now, my friend and I are really uneasy around each other. He's the best friend that I've ever had and I don't want to lose his friendship over this. Neither of us has talked about what happened, but I wish we could. I find the whole thing confusing, because I didn't mind doing it for him, but both of us have always loved women. Does this mean we're gay, even though we both like women? How can I break the ice and talk to him about this?" Starsky shook his head. "Mmm," he said with sympathy. Then, "The things people do when they're drunk."

Hutch noted the hint of unease drifting from the seat beside him. Starsky was sympathetic, but it was also apparent that he was uncomfortable with the question. Nevertheless, Starsky prompted, "What do you think, blondie?"

Hutch shifted his legs, noting that Starsky wouldn't meet his eye, preferring to keep his face turned down to the pages. He resolved to be objective. "I think that if his friend is really a terrific friend - and it sounds like he is - then this guy shouldn't be afraid to talk to him. He's just going to have to come out and say it... say that he doesn't want it to be between them. They need to forgive each other for what they did when they were drunk. It doesn't have to change anything."

"I don't think he's necessarily talking about forgiveness," Starsky said, voice quiet. "He says he's confused and that he `didn't mind doing it'." He put the magazine down and faced Hutch. "I think he liked it, and that's what he's having trouble with." His voice almost seemed to have a hint of challenge.

"Doesn't make him gay," Hutch said, hearing the defensiveness in his voice. "People do all sorts of weird things when they're drunk. An off-the-cuff act isn't going to up and change a person's entire sexual orientation." Starsky was still waiting, and Hutch felt impatient. "What do they say?"

His partner held up the magazine. "There is disagreement amongst experts as to what makes a person gay, but we are certain that a single act of sex with someone of one's own gender will not make them homosexual if they are heterosexual, or vice versa. However, it is possible that you and/or your friend have latent homosexual feelings that are just now being brought to the surface. Also, it is not unusual for teenagers and young adults to explore their sexual feelings with people of their own gender; and such exploration in and of itself does not make one homosexual. Whether you and/or your friend have touched upon inner homosexual longings, or were simply engaging in exploration, is not a simple question to answer, and we encourage you to seek counseling to work through your feelings. As for confronting your friend, it seems highly likely that he is as anxious to talk about what happened as you are. We suggest that you speak with him as soon as possible, as a good friend will be supportive of your difficulties." Starsky drew a deep breath. "That's a lot of psychological mumbo-jumbo. You said the same thing with a lot less words."

"Guess that makes me a sexpert then," Hutch noted, glad that the tension had eased between them.

"Yeah, just think, if we ever decide to quit the force you can put out a shingle and give advice to people who are grossed out by hair on their girlfriend's tits."

Hutch snorted. "I still don't believe that was a real question. Those questions have to be made up. They're just for entertainment value."

"I don't think so, Hutch. That last one wasn't very entertaining. Just sorta sad." He closed the magazine and shrugged. "I mean, gee, can you imagine if we got drunk, and I gave you a blow job? Wouldn't it be sad if we never felt the same about each other?"

Hutch was surprised that his partner was willing to continue the subject further. "Buddy, if you gave me a blow job, I don't think I'd feel any less about you."

Starsky was flipping through pages again. Without looking up, he casually said, "You mean it would enhance our relationship, instead of hurting it?"

Hutch relaxed into the conversation, since Starsky seemed nonchalant about it. "It's hard to imagine someone doing you a nice favor hurting your relationship, instead of - yeah - enhancing it."

Starsky held up the magazine. Plaintively, he asked, "Yeah, but wouldn't you rather have it from her than from me?"

It was the picture of the blonde again. "Of course, I would. You don't have any tits to squeeze."

Starsky chuckled. "That's what you like doin' while she's blowing you? Squeeze her tits?"

Hutch looked over at him, surprised that he was expected to answer. "Doesn't every man?"

Starsky shrugged. "What I like best is running my hand along her throat, feeling her muscles doin' me, imagining what my prick looks like inside her mouth." He paused, then, "And I like petting her hair. You know, there's something real nice and intimate about it - petting her while she's doin' me such a nice favor. Always makes me feel real protective of her."

Hutch blinked as his eyes sought the house up the block. He was surprised that his partner was willing to admit to such tenderness, especially when talking about being involved with a generic "lady".

"'Course," Starsky sighed forlornly, settling back in his seat and dropping the magazine to the floorboard, "the whole thing is so nice." Hutch felt his partner's eyes on him. "Makin' love, you know. Such a nice thing. Kinda hard to imagine what life would be like without it."

That was something Hutch could get his teeth into. He glanced at his partner. "Starsky, lots of people get by without it. Guys who are impotent. Women who, for whatever reason, have never liked it and don't want it. And lots of those people are perfectly happy."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Hutch said, irritated that his knowledge was being challenged, "I read things and I hear things, mushbrain. In fact, there was a survey done not so long ago and one out of every hundred adult males said they had no interest in sex whatsoever."

"Well, it's not like you're one of those one in a hundred."

"I didn't say I was."

"Yeah, but you act like it's superior or somethin' to not like sex."

Hutch opened his mouth to respond, then realized he didn't have anything to say to that. Because, he realized with annoyance, his tone had indeed been one of superiority. He sputtered a moment, then said, "Starsky, I'm just trying to expand your cultural horizons. I agree with you, buddy, making love is a wonderful element of life. But it's not like those who don't participate in it are necessarily living an inferior existence. It takes all kinds to make up this big world of ours."

"Yeah," Starsky sighed off-handedly, as though unconvinced. Both men stared at the house on the left for a while. Then Starsky picked up the magazine again. "You're three for three; wanna go for four for four?"


"Okay." Starsky was flipping the pages, then stopped. He pressed his face close, and then said, "Here's the next one. Dear Sexperts, I've been with my boyfriend for over a year and we've always had a great sex life. Recently, he has wanted me to anally penetrate him." Starsky snickered. "Geez." He took a deep breath and continued, "...Anally penetrate him with various objects - dildos, vibrators, etc. He wants all of our sex sessions to include some sort of anal activity, and no longer seems satisfied with basic sex. Does this mean he is a homosexual?" Starsky looked up. "All right, you're on, Mr. Sexpert."

The earlier conversation about superiority spurred Hutch to be less shy than he might otherwise have been about answering the question boldly. "'Dear Airhead," he began.

Starsky chuckled.

"All men love objects up their assholes."

Starsky burst out laughing.

"That's why God gave them prostate glands. Desiring anal attention doesn't make your boyfriend a homosexual any more than his wanting to put his prick in your mouth does. So, give him anything he wants back there. And, by the way, you need to be introduced to Mr. Can't-Stand-Hair-on-my-Girlfriend's-Tits. You two deserve each other."

"You're terrible," Starsky scolded, laughing nevertheless.

"Well, for Godsakes, Starsky, that's like saying that if your lady wants your face in her crotch, then she must be a lesbian."

"Calm down," Starsky mock-soothed with a touch of humor in his voice. "You're getting a bit worked up over this."

"Yeah, but I'm right," Hutch insisted. "Come on, what do they say?"

The magazine came up in front of Starsky's face. "Uh... okay, here it is. They say, Of course, it is always possible that your boyfriend may just now be expressing latent homosexual desires. However, the enjoyment of anal stimulation alone does not mean a man is a homosexual. Many men enjoy anal activity of some kind, because the sensitive prostate gland can be easily stimulated via the wall of the rectum." Starsky stopped again. "I hate that word." But then he plowed on. "Which many men find intensely pleasurable." He looked up again. "Hmm. `Intensely.'"

Hutch looked over at his partner as he finished reading, Starsky's voice getting closer to a mumble with each word. "As long as your boyfriend does not show any interest in having sex with other men, we feel it is safe to say that his interest in anal stimulation has nothing to do with homosexuality." Starsky put the magazine down. "You were right again, Hutch. Four for four and that was the last one." He sounded truly amazed.

Hutch didn't have any interest in dragging out the moment and bragging further. He was staring at his partner, evaluating Starsky's body language and editorial comments during the last question. His voice was level when he spoke. "You've never had anything up your ass, have you?"

Starsky's eyes widened in disbelief. "Geez...." He squirmed.

"No, I'm serious. You haven't, have you?"

Starsky sputtered and shifted again, not meeting his partner's eye. "Sheesh. What difference does it make?" Then, obviously trying to turn the tables, he demanded, "Have you?"

"Of course, I have." Hutch was truly sorry that Starsky was so uncomfortable, but it was too late to withdraw the subject now. He kept his tone level. "Like the magazine said, lots of men like it. It just seems odd to me that you've been sexually active for - what? Fifteen, twenty years? - and you've never done anything like that."

Starsky stopped squirming. "Oh, so... what? That's means I'm missing out or something? I got no complaints. And neither do the ladies I sleep with." He looked out the side window.

Hutch released a heavy breath. "Sorry. It's just... you never hesitate to tell me the next morning when she's let you up her backside. Didn't know you'd be so sensitive about having a virgin ass." In fact, Hutch thought, Starsky ought to be damn grateful that he wasn't laughing at him right now.

Another squirm. "Fine, Hutch, have a good laugh. I don't know why I should be expected to put anything up my backside when I've never had a desire to put anything there."

"I'm not laughing," Hutch pointed out with a great effort at patience. "If anything, I feel a little bit sorry for you."

Starsky made a heavily scrunched face. "Yeah, yeah. Like I'm missin' out because I don't put objects up my ass." He visibly shuddered.

Hutch laughed softly. "Don't knock what you haven't tried."

His partner gave him another uncomfortable look and started rapidly flipping through pages of the magazine, as though desperately needing something to do.

Hutch released a quiet sigh. He was sorry for this new awkwardness between them. Usually, they could talk about anything. But it seemed that certain subjects made Starsky endearingly bashful. He stared at the house in the distance.

Starsky continued to turn pages, and his voice was muffled when he spoke again. "It's really that great, huh?"

Hutch shrugged, relieved to be talking again. "Like anything else, some times are better than others. But you can't get that kind of erotic feeling any other way."

Starsky suddenly looked up. Hutch could see that he was calmer, now that it was he who was starting to ask the questions. "Well, if you're gonna put objects up your ass, wouldn't it make more sense to put something warm and alive in there? Like another guy's prick?"

Hutch grinned. That was his Starsky. He knew they were in for a long discussion, because now his partner's curiosity was piqued. "The only problem with a prick," he pointed out, "is that it usually has a person attached to it."

"Oh," Starsky said, but his tone indicated he really didn't get the difference.

Hutch decided to elaborate on his own. "Never been fond enough of a guy to take him to bed with me. I much prefer to have my lady of the evening tend to my needs."

Starsky was frowning again. "Sheesh. Can't imagine asking her to stick something up my ass." He snickered uncomfortably at the thought.

"Yet, you don't have a problem asking her when it's her backside."

Another shrug, eyes still on the magazine. "Just turn her over. If she doesn't want it like that, she'll let me know. And we go on to something else."

"Same idea," Hutch said. "If I've slept with her a few times and feel comfortable with her, I make sure she knows where the devices are, just in case she's interested in obliging."

Starsky was shaking his head. "I dunno, Hutch. To me, it seems very weird to stick a cold, inanimate object up inside yourself." He looked at Hutch squarely. "And I don't want to hear about it if you do it to yourself when you're alone."

Hutch laughed softly. "Not a chance. It's only fun when she's willing to love me like that."

Starsky regarded him for a moment, and apparently felt comfortable enough to finally put the magazine down. "Feels that good, huh?"

"Yeah," Hutch said sincerely, pleased at the way his partner was paying attention. "And it doesn't have to be a cold, inanimate object. Her fingers will do nicely, too, if she knows what she's doing."

Starsky shook his head. "After having the doctor's entire arm up my ass once a year, I don't need anybody's fingers."

Hutch laughed. "Oh, Starsky, he doesn't put his whole arm up there. Just a couple of fingers."

"Is too his whole arm," Starsky insisted on a high note. "Feels like my ass is stretched from here to the Atlantic Ocean."

Hutch was still chuckling.

"Feel like a goddamn carcass on the coroner's slab when the doctor does that to me. Like I'm not even a person. It always takes a coupla weeks before I start feelin' like a human being again."

"Oh, Starsky, get real."

"Don't tell me - " Abruptly, Starsky quieted. Then he seemed distressed. "Ah, man, Hutch, don't you dare tell me that you like it when the doctor does that."

"Of course, I don't." Hutch felt genuinely offended that Starsky would even consider such a thing. "That would be like saying women get turned on when they go to the lady doctor. For Godsakes, Starsky, making love and having a medical exam are two different things."

Starsky released a big sigh of relief. He studied the magazine for a while. Then, with head bowed, he muttered, "It's you who's the one a guy oughta feel sorry for. Wanting stimulation up your ass, but having to resort to toys, because you don't want to get involved with a real, live prick."

"Prick being the operative word," Hutch noted smugly. Yet, he was intrigued by Starsky's seeming nonchalance about two men getting it on together. Where's my homophobic partner?

Starsky sat back against the door and studied Hutch, his expression growing more intense, more challenging. "Maybe I oughta find a guy for you, Hutch. One that'll do you a nice favor with no complications. Would you do it then? If you could tolerate the guy and you knew he wouldn't want anything else from you, other than the privilege of having his prick up your behind?"

Hutch hesitated between making a smart comment and being honest. He chose the latter. "I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit I'm curious as to what it would feel like." He hoped Starsky wouldn't notice that since he felt it necessary to point out how secure he was, then maybe he really wasn't.

Starsky's voice was quiet. In fact, the whole nighttime suddenly seemed still. "Seems kind of odd that you've never sought it out. I mean, if havin' stimulation up your ass really means that much to you.... It's not like you wouldn't know where to go to get what you want."

"Come on, Starsky." Now Hutch was getting uncomfortable and he heard the irritation in his own voice. "If I ever slept with a guy, it could only be you." There. That'll shut him up.

After a long moment, Starsky said, "Really?"

Do I really have to explain this? Apparently so. "Starsky, I at least have feelings for you. I can't sleep with someone I don't feelings for."

"Hmm." Pages of the magazine were turning again. "Explain that to Tanya Vasquez."

Hutch looked at him sharply. "What?" He had the suspicion he wasn't going to like whatever his partner was going to say.

Starsky shrugged, glancing up briefly. "I overheard her talking to her girlfriends in the cafeteria. She felt you used her, Hutch. Slept with her and then never asked her out again. She certainly wasn't left with the impression you had any real feelings for her."

Hutch felt an unease in the pit of his stomach. "I did when I was making love to her." He knew his defense was weak.

Starsky looked up. "Then how come you never asked her out again?"

Yeah, like you've never done it just because you were hard-up. "Found out she wasn't my type."

"Meaning what?" Starsky pressed. "She didn't want to play with your little toys?"

Hutch frowned. Though the words were crass, Starsky's tone was level, as though simply seeking information. Does he really want to know, or is he teasing me? It bothered him that he wasn't sure of the answer. "I couldn't stand the way she giggled in the middle of doing it. And she had really bad breath." He paused, then determinedly, "And I told you, I don't let a lady know about the `toys' until I'm comfortable with her."

"Hmm." Starsky shifted to toss the magazine into the backseat. When he settled back against the door, his voice was soft and quiet. "You know, Hutch, I'd do it for you, if you wanted."

"You have to be kidding." His voice was raised, the suggestion adding to his discomfort.

A casual shrug. "Just offerin'. I mean, just think, we could have a mutual little education session. You put your little toys up my butt, so I can see if I've really been missin' out on something spectacular; and then I could put my prick up your behind so you can see if you like it even better than your cold, inanimate objects."

Hutch realized his breathing rate had accelerated. Starsky couldn't be serious. And yet... it wasn't like Starsky to tease this way. If anything, that was more Hutch's field.

"My place isn't far from here," Starsky continued in the same quiet tone. "When our shift is over, we could go there. I mean, you gotta drop me off anyway." He shrugged, as though it were so easy. "Just come on up."

Hutch stared at the house in the distance. How did this all start? Why does he want to do this? Or, is what he says true - it would be mutual education? A buddy helping a buddy?

There was one big problem with this pat little plan. Still studying the house, Hutch said, "What if I like it?"


"What if I like your prick up my backside? I'm still not going to go looking for it somewhere else."

"Oh." Starsky seemed amused. "Guess, then, I might have to make regular visits. Keep my buddy happy."

Hutch stared at the house. No, he can't be serious. This is a dangerous game. We walk too close to the line as it is, without having this to muddy the water.

Starsky sighed. "Guess I'd better get more coffee." He cocked the door handle. "You want the same thing?"

Hutch nodded absently, his gaze still trained on the house. He listened as his partner opened the door, got out, then slammed it shut.

He was fully aware as to why Starsky needed to take a walk. His hand absently reached down to his own groin, and rubbed soothingly at the growing flesh there. He's got a nice little hard-on, just from talking about it. Is he really that interested in doing anything about it? Does he really want to know if he's missing out? Or is his masculine pride injured, because I know something he doesn't know about sex?

No, that didn't make sense. Starsky wouldn't need to protect his pride from his partner; there was too much trust there.

His heart swelled, content in that knowledge.

But... Doesn't he realize how dangerous it is? But Starsky had never been one to shy away from danger. He's staring it down, head-on. Like always.

But he can't be serious. Content with that fact, Hutch felt himself relax.

But he brought up giving me a blow job earlier, if we were drunk. So casually.

Hutch swallowed thickly. What's going on, buddy? You know as well as I do that if something happens between us, there's no way we're not going to like it. A flush came over his body. Or, is that what you've already figured out? And this is your clever little way of sneaking in the back way? He snorted. God, what a sick pun, Hutchinson.

His brow furrowed as he started to think it through. Was this all some grand scheme of Starsky's? Impulsively, Hutch reached to the backseat and picked up the magazine. He had to hold the cover this way and that before the street light caught it so he could read the date. It was last month's issue. He may have had it for a while. May have already read some of it. May have already seen those questions. Maybe he wanted to read those questions to me as a way of seeing what I'd say. After all, it's not like we took turns answering the questions. `Course, since he could see the answers, there wouldn't have been much point in making a competition out of it.

Brain racing, Hutch looked at the table of contents and then turned to the page titled "Dear Sexperts". Not certain what he was looking for, his eyes roamed over the familiar questions and answers.

Wait a minute. The third question in the magazine wasn't familiar. It had to do with contraceptives. Starsky skipped that question. Deliberately...? Because it had nothing to do with us? But that didn't make sense. The hairs-on-tits question didn't have anything to do with them, either. But that was sorta funny. So, was he just using it to break the ice? So I wouldn't get suspicious? Same with the first my-dick-curves question? He furrowed a brow. Does his dick curve when it's hard and he was making sure I wasn't going to say anything funny about it? Or is he wondering if mine curves?

Hutch shook his head. This is impossible. You're getting paranoid, Hutchinson. Disgusted with himself, he threw the magazine back to the rear seat. I'm not saying one other word about any of this. If he's really interested in us doing something together, he's going to have to bring it up again.

That settled, Hutch sat back in the seat, shoulders slumped, staring at the house. He refused to grant credence to the thought racing around his head that demanded to know if he'd be glad or disappointed if Starsky didn't broach the subject further.

Something kicked the passenger door.

Hutch reached over and popped it open. Starsky's hands were full, as was his mouth. "You buy out the whole store?" He took a coffee.

Starsky dropped a magazine from his mouth. "No, just coffee and donuts and stuff. You know, give us energy."

Hutch blinked. Energy for what?

Stop imaging things, Hutchinson.

Hutch nodded at the magazine as Starsky settled in the seat and shut the door. "You get another girlie magazine?" Got too threatened by our conversation, and now you're going to prove how heterosexual you are? He sipped his coffee.

"It's the new issue," Starsky said around a bite of donut. "This creep's not gonna show, Hutch. It's still over half an hour before Brakeman and Thompson relieve us. So," he glanced over at his partner, "thought we'd see how long your 100% streak can stay intact."

More questions? Hutch wondered. He reached for a donut.

Starsky spent a few minutes eating and drinking. Then he brushed off his hands and opened the magazine. "Let's see if we can stump you," he said, stopping on the page that was titled "Dear Sexperts".

Hutch waited, knowing that he was no longer interested in answering questions asked by strangers. He was a lot more interested in hearing what Starsky really wanted to know.

"Let's see." Starsky's eyes roamed over the page, moving the magazine around so the street lamp could hit it.

He's finding questions that will be pertinent to us. He's not starting at the top.

"Okay," Starsky said. Then glanced over at him. "Ready?"

Hutch nodded, chewing an overly-sweet donut.

"The first one says Dear Sexperts, My husband and I have been married for sixteen years. We've always had an active sex life and enjoy discovering new forms of stimulation. However, one thing we have never done is anal intercourse." Starsky drew a deep breath. "Man, this is the night for the back end, huh?"

Hutch kept chewing while staring at the house in the distance. Yeah, especially when you're being selective about the questions.

"We would like to try it," Starsky continued, "but we are concerned about the degree of pain. Please advise on the best way to reduce pain, the best lubrication, and the most comfortable position." Starsky shook his head and whistled. "Gee, can you imagine discussing something like this with your spouse? And, you know, if they have such a great relationship, why do they have to write a magazine to answer their questions? Seems like they oughta be able to work it out themselves."

Touché, buddy.

Things fell silent, because Hutch was waiting to hear what else Starsky might say. Then his arm was nudged. "Come on, what would you advise for these people?"

Hutch sighed, as he really wasn't interested in helping people who would never know his answer. But, maybe, somehow, his answer would help him and Starsky? "Dear Happily Married...." He paused, trying to think of what to say. Should he focus on answering the question or saying what he thought Starsky wanted to hear? Except... he had no idea what Starsky wanted to hear. "Ass-fucking can be wonderful, but if you and your husband have been happy without it, then why go for it now? But if you insist on doing it, then the important thing is to stretch your asshole out slowly. Start with a small vibrator, or even your husband's finger. Work up to larger things. Make sure everything you use is well-lubricated. K-Y gel is a good choice. Vaseline gets too lumpy. Make sure all penetrations are achieved slowly, so your asshole has a chance to stretch to each new thickness." Was there something else? Oh, yeah.... "As for positions, sometimes it can be less intimidating for the person getting fucked to lie on their side. However, once you get past your worries about pain, then get in a crouch with your ass up in the air. Your husband will enjoy slamming into you as deeply as possible." There. Except... he was aware that he hadn't heard a single appreciative chuckle from his partner.

He glanced over and saw Starsky staring at him. "Well?" he asked with forced casualness.

"Uh...," Starsky quickly opened the magazine back up. "Let's see.... Okay, here it is. Uh... We are puzzled as to why you think it's necessary to participate in anal intercourse when your sex life is otherwise so satisfying. However, if you are determined to do it, please note that it is very important to stretch the sphincter muscle... Geez," Starsky shuddered on the phrase, "as gradually as possible. That will keep pain minimal. If you and your husband are comfortable with sexual devices, it might be best for him to start with a vibrator or dildo first. Please note that smaller is better in the beginning. It may take multiple sessions until you are comfortable with a penis-sized object and can proceed to actual intercourse with your husband. You are correct to be concerned about lubrication, as all objects, manmade or otherwise, inserted into the anus," Starsky shook his head at the word, "must be well-lubricated. There are a number of products on the market - petroleum jelly is probably the most common - and we do not advise one over the other. As for proper positions, that is a matter of personal taste, as all women have slightly different sizes of internal arrangements and, as with vaginal intercourse, some anal intercourse positions that are pleasing for one woman may be painful to another. We suggest you experiment with a variety of positions." Starsky finally looked up. "You know more about this stuff than they do." His voice once again hinted at admiration.

Hutch could only stare at the house in the distance.

"That's five for five."

Hutch wondered if any more questions were coming. He had to admit that they did help pass the time. And now he was very curious as to what Starsky would choose next.

"Let's see...,"Starsky was now making it obvious that he was picking out questions. Then a snicker. "Think we'll pass on the venereal disease question."

"Good idea."

"Uuuuuuuuuuh...." Finally, he asked, "How about a blow job question?"

"Sure." Hutch kept his eyes on the house.

"Okay. Dear Sexperts, I am sixteen years old and have been sexually active with my first serious boyfriend for three months. I enjoy performing oral sex on him and he says he enjoys it, too. However, he has never ejaculated in my mouth and this bothers me. He says he prefers waiting to ejaculate for when we have intercourse. But I've read where lots of men ejaculate from oral sex and still go on to have intercourse, so I know my boyfriend is just trying not to hurt my feelings. What am I doing wrong?" Starsky made a clicking noise. "Poor kid."

Hutch looked over at him. "The girlfriend or the boyfriend?"

Starsky chuckled. "I meant the girlfriend, but I guess the boyfriend, too."

Hutch sipped his coffee, considering, then settled back. "Dear Pretty Young Thing, sixteen is too young to be worried about being sexually inadequate. Trust your boyfriend when he says he enjoys fucking you more than getting head. If he's your age, he probably doesn't know what he's missing, anyway. Besides, you aren't going to learn how to suck cock unless a man is considerate enough to gently educate you about how he likes it best. So, if your boyfriend doesn't bother helping you, don't worry your pretty little head about helping him." That was enough of an answer, but Hutch had decided over an hour ago he liked hearing Starsky laugh at the things he said. "And, by the way, the next time he wants you to give him head, make sure you tell him to give you some head, too."

"That's right, darlin'," Starsky chimed in.

"And don't be shy about telling him how you like it."

Starsky chuckled. "If she's sixteen, she probably doesn't have a clue how she likes it. Probably doesn't even know where her own clit is."

This time Hutch laughed softly. He sipped from his coffee, then, "So, what do they say?"

"Oh, forgot." Starsky pulled the magazine open. His eyes scanned the page for a moment. "Okay, here it is. Unfortunately, our society gives the mistaken impression that fellatio almost always results in orgasm. This is far from the truth. Since the vast majority of men ejaculate only once during each sexual encounter, they usually reserve the ejaculation for intercourse. While almost all men do enjoy oral stimulation, they usually do not insist that it culminate in orgasm in order for it to be satisfying. Therefore, we believe your boyfriend is being truthful when he says that he enjoys the oral sex you give." Starsky looked up. "You really are a sexpert, Hutch."

"I knew that."

Starsky laughed. Then he put the magazine aside and reached for another donut. "I don't know if I agree with the most-men-only-ejaculate-once part of that answer."

He wants to keep talking about sex, Hutch noted. Come on, buddy, get the conversation back to where it was before.

Starsky chewed for a moment, then looked over at his partner. "Don't you usually come more than once a session?"

Fishing for information about me? Learning as much as you can ahead of time? Hutch shrugged. "Like anybody else, it depends on the girl and the mood I'm in - how tired I am. If she's just a date, I guess I usually try to come twice, though the second time might be a while later. You know, get blown and then spend a lot of time pleasing her, and then fuck for the grand finale."

Starsky shook his head, still chewing. "Mr. Romantic. Wonder how your dates would feel, knowing you thought of your time with them as a `fuck'."

Hutch looked over at him and scolded, "Yeah, like you're Mr. Make Love every date."

Starsky laughed loudly around a donut, making it obvious he'd been found out.

Hutch's voice softened, as he wanted to get away from the more crass aspects of an active love life. "But, you know, if she's somebody I really care about - especially if she's someone I'm truly in love with - man, I can spend all night with her. If she's coming over and over again, it doesn't seem to matter how many times it happens to me." He looked over at Starsky, genuinely curious. "That ever happen to you? Where she's so excited from everything you do to her, that it makes you want to keep pleasing her for hours, just because there's no reason to stop? Knowing you can make her feel that way is all the satisfaction you really need?"

Starsky had finished the donut and was leaning back against the door, facing Hutch. He considered a moment, then, "Well, it's been my experience that, no matter how crazy I'm making her with my attentions, she ultimately ends up reaching for my prick." He shook his head. "When it gets down to it, they ultimately want the penetration. So, I figure my being good to her is also in my very best interest." The last was said with strong satisfaction. Then he asked, "You ever have great sex, Hutch, where you never actually got around to fucking?"

Hutch thought about that. Then he laughed softly. "No, I guess not. At least not that I can remember right off hand."

A firm nod. "In the end, the act of love is all about fucking. That joining is what we all strive for."

Before Hutch could respond, Starsky continued, "And if I've really been a good boy, and worked my magic on her secret little button, she's so sated by the time we've fucked that she'll let me turn her over and put it up her backside. `Course, by that point, I've still got to be interested enough to want to do it."

Ass-fucking again. Here we go....

"You know, Hutch, that's the key," Starsky said seriously.

Hutch turned to look at him. "What is?" The other's eyes looked so intent, and the blond tried to not be obvious about releasing a heavy breath.

"Sending her to ecstasy first. If you've done good by her, and she's just a puddle of mush, then she doesn't mind so much if you put it back there. `Cause it doesn't hurt as much when she's so thoroughly relaxed. Because, you know, she's not going to get much out of it, other than the satisfaction that she pleased you. Ass-fucking doesn't do much for women, because they don't have one of those whatchmacallit prostrate glands. They're just doin' you a favor."

"It's called prostate," Hutch corrected automatically.

"Yeah, well, one of those." Starsky's voice dropped an octave. "Gotta worship a lady that'll let you do that."

Eyes on the house, Hutch listened to his partner shift in the seat, facing more forward. He's getting another hard-on. He felt satisfaction at that realization. He likes the idea of ass-fucking. In general. He's being very careful to make sure I'm aware of how much he likes it. He swallowed thickly. Come on, buddy, get back to talking about how you want me to let you put it back there.

There was silence for a while, more squirming. Hutch finally glanced at him. "That all the questions?"

"All the ones that were interesting."

All the ones that only men wanting to do it with other men would be interested in.

"You think any more about us doin' it?"

Hutch's lips parted as he stared at the house. He felt the shifting in the front of his jeans, the seeking of more space. Starsky had asked the question so casually, so confidently.

"What if I say no?" Hutch wanted to know. Just how badly is he wanting to do this?

Heavy sigh. "Not the first time I've been rejected."

Oh, no. "Buddy, I just asked what if I said no; I haven't said no yet."

"I know." A tad softer, "You're just getting used to the idea, Hutch. I understand."

Barely glancing in the other's direction. "You sound like you're already used to it." Accusing.

"Well," shifting again, "the way I see it, I got nothin' to lose. I mean, you've been talking like if I lose my virginity to your little playthings, it's only going to feel great. And if I put myself up inside you, you'll find out how much better a big, warm cock's gonna feel to that little magic gland. And I won't have to impress you in order for you to let me do it. You'll just let me, because it's me."

Hutch's mind was racing as he tried to steady his breath. He's not even talking like if I like it. He's talking like I will like it. Masculine bravado. Except... he knows as well as I do that there's no way it'll be unpleasant. But if it's so pleasant....

Hutch downed the last sips of his cold coffee. He tossed the cup in the back and forced himself to look squarely at his partner. Starsky had a shoulder against the door, turned partially toward Hutch, one leg on the floorboard, the other crossed over the seat. Too dark to see his crotch. "If getting fucked by you is going to be so wonderful, then why don't you want the same thing from me?"

A brief laugh. "Well, I haven't had a chance yet to adjust to the idea of my virgin-tight ass getting knocked up by that huge prick of yours."

Hutch closed his eyes as he felt the predictable throb between his legs, as though proving the truth of Starsky's assessment. Does that mean he hasn't planned this whole thing?

"'Sides," Starsky went on, "it remains to be seen if I'm really going to be that crazy about your little toys. Don't see much point in advancing further if they don't give me the little thrill that they give you."

Hutch swallowed. He didn't like the over-calculated nature of his partner's approach. This is dangerous.

"Except," Starsky's voice softened, "I'd do it if you wanted to. You know, fair's fair."

That shocked Hutch into speaking. "No," he said firmly. "No. I won't do it like that. I won't do it just to keep things even. You have to want it before I'll do it."

"'Kay," the other agreed simply.

Hutch drew a deep, deep breath, then released it. He was puzzled by Starsky's apparent calm, because he himself felt was a flush burn his entire body. He looked at his watch. It was 5:28 AM. "Brakeman and Thompson should be here any minute."

Starsky tossed his empty coffee cup aside. "Except for the fact that they're always late."

Shit. Yes, that was true, that pair did have an annoying tendency to be late, especially for early morning shifts.

"It's gonna be okay, Hutch." Soothing.

The blond head turned sharply. "How do you know?"

A simple shrug. "'Cause it's me and you. We've always taken care of each other."

Hutch expelled another breath, and felt he had some ability to speak calmly. "Aren't you even a little afraid of what it might do to us?"

"A little bit, yeah. But I've never seen fear as a reason to not take a step forward."

"What if it's a step back?" Hutch challenged while trying to settle in his seat. The worst of the ache in his groin was waning. "What if it drops us into a huge hole that our partnership can't ever recover from?"

"Well," Starsky, too, released a breath, "I guess if you feel that fatalistic about it, then maybe we should forget about it." Then, softer, "I just find it hard to imagine that anything we do together is going to be a big mistake." Softer still, "It's just makin' love, Hutch. That's all we're talkin' about doin'."

Hutch's heart accelerated, threatening to break free of his chest. He could feel his protectiveness kick into gear. Wanting to protect Starsky and everything he believed... no matter how naïve.

The soft words continued. "We've always been good at lovin' each other. This will just step up the tempo... make it a little more intense."

A little?

Starsky's feet shifted again on the floorboard. "Man, I've got a boner." Abruptly, the window was being rolled down. Then Starsky turned to lay his cheek against the door, breathing in the cool, early morning air.

Hutch was grateful for the respite of cool air as well, for the car had started feeling awfully crowded. But he couldn't take his mind off the condition his partner was in. He's got a boner right now. The boner he wants to put up inside me. All I have to do is say yes. He imagined them on the bed, Starsky on top of him, grunting in tune to his thrusts, his hard flesh moving in and out Hutch's body, stimulating that gland, all the warmth in the world between them... because that is what had always been between them. No awkwardness afterwards. No asking for permission ahead of time. No apologies. Just an agreement to love each other.

Hutch shifted his own legs, feeling the restlessness creep up his muscles. I want to hold him, feel him, kiss him....

Will he let us kiss?

All he had to do was reach over with a hand, Starsky was so near....

No, that was crazy. Brakeman and Thompson would be here any minute. No way could they risk getting caught.

Hutch placed his hands on his knees, out of temptation's way. Once we touch, we won't be able to stop....

He drew a deep, deep breath, staring at the house.

Starsky's chin was resting on his arm, which was atop the door, as he gazed into the early morning blackness.

A car suddenly came upon them. Then there was a muffled, "Hey."

Startled, Hutch looked to his left and there were Brakeman and Thompson in the latter's Chrysler. He quickly rolled down the window. "Hi."

"Any movement?"

Starsky pulled his head back to look at the new arrivals. "You guys are in for a boring day."

Brakeman grimaced. "Ah, cripes."

Abruptly Starsky was moving over the seat, reaching across Hutch.... "Here's some girlie magazines to while away the time."

Thompson whistled while Brakeman accepted them. "All right!"

Hutch thought he was going to faint. Starsky's overheated body was stretched out across him, arm brushing against his chest, knee against his thigh....

His nostrils filled with Aroused Starsky. All he had to do was brush a hand between the legs encased in those tight jeans and feel that hardness....

Hutch gritted his teeth, barely managing to keep his eyes open as he turned the ignition. The motor started, and he revved it, switching on the headlights.

Starsky moved back to his seat.

Hutch swallowed with relief and started the car forward. He realized his hand was sweating as he turned into the street. Looking in the rearview mirror, he watched the Chrysler park in their same spot beneath the street lamp, the girlie magazine held vertically in Brakeman's hand.

That wasn't like Starsky to give up his prize magazines like that. Was it symbolic? Giving up women for... me?

Stop it, Hutchinson. That's not the deal. He just wants to experiment.

Hutch rubbed a hand across his forehead, then turned left on Eucalyptus Street. He didn't dare look to his right. His knees felt funny and his stomach was tense. For that matter, nothing in his body felt as it should.

He turned right at the next intersection, wondering how to get out of the neighborhood. A couple of blocks up was a house with a large front yard. If he took another right, he would be parked on the side of the house, and not directly in front of anyone's yard. Some semblance of privacy....

Hutch took a right and parked on the curb, cutting the motor and the lights.

"Why are we stopping here?" Starsky almost sounded alarmed.

Finally, Hutch looked over at him. Starsky was sitting up in the seat, looking out the windshield, like he was expecting to see something because Hutch had stopped there.

Time to stop pussyfooting around. "Are you sure about this?" Hutch demanded.

Starsky turned to look at him. "Yes," he said firmly. And then his face softened.

Hutch launched himself across the seat. It wasn't a planned move, but his heart demanded physical contact after going so many hours without. His right hand was full of shirt, and his left was on a firm waist, and his momentum had pressed a startled Starsky back against the door. Hutch's body quivered all over from the heat of the contact and the excitement that lay ahead. His grip on the shirt tightened and he lowered his head....

Starsky's breath smelled of coffee... soft, dry lips which tried to pull away....

Hutch's heart sank. He doesn't want to do this. Just fuck. He slowly pulled back.

Dark eyes, glittering from the light at the side porch of the house, were staring back at him. So shocked.

Please, buddy, don't be upset. It's just love....

Firm hands slowly reached up and gripped his face. Gentle touch. Then drawing him down....

Warm dry lips reached up to touch against his. And touch again. Then gently press.

Yes, yes! So beautiful....

Hutch whimpered, dying a slow death, and tried to spread his long limbs, his left leg falling to the floor, and in doing so his crotch landed on a knee. He reluctantly broke the kiss and hunched his shoulders over, forehead collapsing against a cotton-clad chest, and grunted from the jolt of stimulation that shot through his groin. He groaned deeply, not knowing how to alleviate the sweet pain.

Hands on his head, in his hair, lifting him up. Before he had a chance to open his eyes, lips were upon his once again, pressing firmly this time.

So, so beautiful....

Whiskers were against his chin. Five o'clock shadow. His right hand had loosened its grip on the shirt and was instinctively feeling for soft mounds across Starsky's chest. Only hair....

A hand moving down his quivering stomach.....

Hutch lurched. Oh, GOD!! A sure, masculine hand gripping him through his jeans. Holding his prick in a handful of cloth, but holding it nevertheless. Hutch ground against the hand, feeling himself shudder as a tongue was now darting at his lips. So close....

He arched his ass up and humped against the hand, crying out as fingers managed to find the underside of the crown, rub against there, through the cloth....

Hutch yelled against Starsky's neck as passion flushed through him, bringing blessed relief, wetting his underwear....

He lay panting against the cotton-clad chest. Purposely moved his cheek up high enough to reach the open buttons, so his face was against hair and the familiar, comforting smell of his partner. But as he drifted, he realized Starsky was still highly aroused. He sent his hand down, stopped when it reached the snap of the jeans. Working from feel alone, he managed to part the snap. And then tugged at an uncooperative zipper.

Starsky groaned eagerly and wriggled beneath Hutch. The blond pushed himself up on an elbow, and Starsky managed to sit up straighter and spread his legs wider.

Hutch batted trembling fingers out of the way. Let me do it. Using both hands, he tugged down the zipper over the turgid mound. Aware of the stickiness in his own underwear, he reached in and drew out Starsky's erection from the slit of the white briefs. It was thick and smooth and hard. But that was all he noticed before lowering himself on it, then drawing it into his mouth.

"Oh, God, Hutch!" Hands in his hair, fingers feeling for his throat....

He had no idea what he was doing, but Hutch wanted so much to please the person this proud flesh was attached to. And, perhaps more than that, he wanted to worship it, for it was going to be moving in and out of his ass later on... filling him... pounding him... taking pleasure from him.

He had to release it partway so he could breathe. He loved the way it tasted, such soft flesh encasing such a powerful tool. Loved the distinct ridge separating the head; loved the poignant flavor from the leaking tip.

Fingers stroking along his throat now. "Oh, babe."

Tell me what to do, buddy. Tell me how you like it. He shifted a little, keeping his mouth on the flesh he'd captured, and used both hands to tug down the tight jeans past well-defined buttocks. He kept tugging until they were at the top of Starsky's thighs. Then he reached into the clothing with both hands and grabbed the two fleshy mounds. The feel was exciting beyond description, and his fingers kneaded frantically, digging into the pliant flesh. It was tempting to tease into the crevice separating them, but he was afraid that would be too threatening to that virgin tight ass.

A heavy groan filled the car. "Ohhhhhhh, Hutch." Then, another cry, "Oh, babe." The hand that was stroking Hutch's throat left and traced his arm until finding his wrist. His hand was grasped and brought down to Starsky's groin. Then pressed against his balls.

Oh, yes. Taut sacs encased in delicate skin. He massaged them, loving that feel, especially when Starsky groaned more deeply....

Starsky swelled in Hutch's mouth, and the blond shifted again, trying to squeeze balls, squeeze butt, and suck all at the same time.

"Oh, that's perfect," Starsky suddenly gasped. "Keep your tongue right there."

Hutch's jaws were tiring, but he didn't dare move a muscle, other than keeping his tongue working the underside of that flaring cock.

Heavy hands stroked his hair. The car was silent, other than Starsky's thick breathing. Then a mumbled, "If you don't pull back, gonna come in your mouth."

It was a polite warning, but Hutch didn't want to pull back. He wanted to taste as much of his partner as he possibly could, enjoy the proof of how much he had pleased him.

"God," Starsky muttered breathlessly. Then, "GOD!" His muscles tensed as he made an airy cry, and then he was groaning poignantly.....

....and the back of Hutch's tongue was being coated with a strong flavor. He knew it was silly to love it so much, but he couldn't wait to swallow it down. But wait he did... feeling that flesh in his mouth relax. And then it slipped out, Starsky still groaning.

Hutch felt his groin throb as it shifted around in his sticky underwear. He straightened and looked down at the gasping form hunched against the door. Starsky's slit eyes were watching him.

Hutch swallowed, tasting the bulk of the flavor going down his throat. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, then his lips, then swallowed again, closed his eyes - savoring -- wanting to make sure Starsky understood that he'd loved it.

Starsky released a trembling gasp.

Hutch wondered if what had gone on between them just now had changed the rules. He leaned over Starsky, careful to put his hands on the dashboard and the seatback, so they weren't touching his partner; thereby preventing any further sparks from igniting that might prejudice what the other thought he wanted. Hutch looked into those sated eyes. "Is it really just experimentation that you're after?"

His partner expelled a final, heavy breath. Then Starsky's expression became uncommonly vulnerable. He swallowed, then confessed, "I'm after anything that will get me into bed with you."

Oh, buddy.... Hutch felt his mouth fall open. His heart was expanding, beating heavily within his chest. Yes, anything.... You're The Person in my life. All that is important.

Starsky sighed, as though realizing he was throwing himself to the wolves with his next statement, spoken with gentle words. "Don't really care what we do. I want to do anything... everything... just as long as it's with you."

Hutch stared at him, not knowing what to say, but wondering if his chest might literally burst.

Even softer words now, soothing. "It's just love, Hutch. The same love that's always been there. Nothing different about it now."

Yes, the same love. Only now, they'd reached the mutual realization that they could express it in even more pleasurable ways than ever imagined in the past. Hutch leaned down to that soft face. He wanted those lips, but he bypassed them to caress a cheek, knowing how his breath tasted. He kissed the skin there, then gently sucked at it.

Hands were on both sides of his face, redirecting his mouth, then lips pressed back against his.

"Mmmmm," Starsky vibrated against his mouth.

Hutch felt his dick harden further. "Mm-hmm," he agreed. Now a tongue wriggled between his lips, and he parted them. He quivered all over when it started to investigate the inside of his mouth.

Abruptly, it pulled back and the hands left his face. When Hutch opened his eyes, Starsky was looking up at the windshield, almost alarmed.

Daylight. It would be the end of their careers if they were caught messing around, on a public street no less. A public street in their own precinct.

Hutch knew their activities had to end for now, but he couldn't stop himself from getting one last feel. He pushed up Starsky's shirt, and kissed loudly down Starsky's body, feeling the other's furred stomach quiver. Then he kissed the pubic hairs, the top of that sated prick. Desperate for one last taste before parting, Hutch pressed his face against the heavy scrotal pouch, inhaling so that the intense maleness filled his nostrils, wanting to leave Starsky with no question as to his own eagerness. He finally pulled back, then paused when he saw a dollop of semen at the tip of shriveled phallus. He ducked his head and lapped it up.

"Oh." Whimpered cry of delight.

With the renewed flavor on his tongue, Hutch hoisted himself up. He turned the key, started the motor and drove away from the curb.

He was aware of Starsky also straightening - albeit more slowly - and trying to get his clothes back in order.

The next time his clothes come off, it'll be because he's going to fuck me. His prick was shifting again within his wet underwear. How will he want it? he wondered. Hutch would happily get in a crouch with his ass up in the air. Or bend over a chair, if Starsky wanted it that way. Lean against a wall with outstretched hands, so they were both standing up. Starsky could pound really hard, that way. Or maybe Starsky would want Hutch to sit down on his prick. Not Hutch's first choice, but he'd do anything Starsky wanted. But first, he'd drop to his knees before that prick and suck it some more. Taste it. Make it rock hard. He wanted it to be steel when it rammed up his ass. Wanted it to force his body to mold around it. Wanted to be sore after the fucking was over, so he'd have an ongoing reminder of Starsky's having actually been inside of his self.

You've got it bad, Hutchinson.

He realized he was breathing heavily as the sun peeked over the horizon to his left. But then, as he continued to look ahead, he found himself calming.

"Hey, where we goin?" Starsky asked.

They'd just passed Sepulveda Boulevard and Hutch had gone straight rather than turning left. "My place. That's where everything is."

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Starsky apparently hadn't made the connection before that they had to go to Hutch's if his ass was going to lose its virginity to the `"toys".

That is, if Starsky were still interested. A glance to Hutch's right revealed a lopsided grin.

Ah, yes, Mr. Adventure. Wanting to know how good I can make your ass feel. He knew it was possible that Starsky might not like any of it. Everyone was different. Starsky might simply have hang-ups about his asshole. Or it could be that his nerve endings were just a little less sensitive back there.

But one thing Hutch knew for sure was that when Starsky fucked him, it would be such an intense experience that they wouldn't be able to do anything afterwards. So, he was going to have to wait until after Starsky's backside had received all the attention it could handle before he'd get what Starsky had promised him. Hutch knew that he needed to take care of Starsky first. Introduce him to the "toys". He mentally shook his head at the term Starsky had used. And he thought that he'd probably given his partner the mistaken impression about his use of them. Starsky seemed to think he used them often. In reality, it had probably been six months since he'd slept with a single bed partner enough times to feel comfortable enough to unveil his private desire.

Perhaps it had been even longer than that.

Hutch squinted from the early morning sun as he parked the LTD in front of Venice Place. His stomach was twisting with excitement, and now he wasn't sure how they could accomplish much of anything without going crazy all over each other. But he did know one thing for sure. Taking a deep breath, but keeping his gaze straight ahead, Hutch said, "I'll go up first. Have to shower." He swallowed thickly, feeling his stomach coil more, even as his voice softened. "You're welcome to join me."

He waited a split second and was grateful when there was no reply. Starsky obviously understood why they couldn't walk up the stairs together. They couldn't be trusted to keep their hands off each other, and they couldn't risk anyone seeing the slightest provocative touch.

Hutch got out of the car.

He almost groaned out loud, anticipating what was ahead, as he climbed the steps. His prick was completely hard again. He unlocked the door and pushed it barely closed, then forced himself to march into the bathroom without giving himself a chance to think, for fear that he'd make himself too crazy. He quickly undressed, relieved as his eager manhood was freed. He stroked it soothingly, then pushed the shower curtain aside and bent over the tub to start the water.

The front door closed.

Hutch felt a shiver race up his spine, aware of his naked rear facing the bathroom doorway. The water was the right temperature and he automatically pulled up the shower release on the spout. Water streamed out from the shower head.

He didn't know if he should just get in. Or if he should turn around first. Indecision left him frozen.

Heavy breathing was heard from the doorway.

"My cock's already hard again," came the ragged announcement.

So's mine, Hutch thought breathlessly as he imagined the proud flesh of his partner. If he dared turn around, he would be on his knees in seconds, milking Starsky dry once more, unable to stop himself. And then, he might not get what he wanted before the night was over. And Starsky needed to be rock hard in order to fulfill Hutch's fantasies.

Nerves quivering, Hutch straightened and got into the tub. He yanked the shower curtain closed. He thought he heard the sound of a snap. Starsky was undressing. If Hutch hurried, he could be soaped and rinsed before Starsky joined him. Then he could focus on his partner. His virgin partner.

Gritting his teeth as he lengthened and throbbed, Hutch thoroughly soaped his private areas, then his armpits. He used his hands to help rinse himself off faster under the spray of the shower.

Starsky pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the tub. Smoldering eyes looked up at Hutch.

Hutch wrapped his arms around that hard body, lips finding his partner's. His heart accelerated even as his chest seemed to fill with warm air... as though his body rose and drifted a few feet off the ground.

Starsky broke the kiss and looked up at him.

Hutch ran his thumb along the swollen lower lip, marveling at the fact that his had just tasted that flesh, created that swollen effect.

Starsky said, "Feel like I'm floatin' on a cloud."

A poet, too. In addition to being the most wonderful man Hutch had ever known.

Hutch's thumb dropped off the side of Starsky's mouth, having curled back the lip. To lose himself in the pleasures of that moist flesh....

But, no, he was here to instruct, to demonstrate a lesson. Starsky was counting on him. And, if all went well, they could share the most sacred of unions....

Hutch placed his hand behind Starsky's head, amazed that those eyes hadn't blinked in all this time. He bent his head, slowly, and touched his lips to Starsky's. Barely pressing... his hand massaging against the curly head, the quivering fingers of his other hand sliding down hair-covered skin to the dip of a well-defined waist. And then the generous curve of a rounded buttock. Hutch squeezed.

Starsky gasped, breaking their kiss, and Hutch swung them around, so that it was Starsky who was under the spray. His hand continued to knead the generous flesh, and Starsky gasped again. "Hutch -" He clutched at Hutch's shoulders, as though trying to keep himself upright.

"Easy," Hutch soothed, to himself as much as to Starsky. Their eyes met, reaching a mutual agreement, and they each released their grip at the same time.

Hutch relaxed then, focusing on the task ahead. He grabbed the soap and brought it up against Starsky's back, moving in leisurely circles.

Cleanliness was a great way to lower inhibitions. Hutch loosely held Starsky with his left hand while working the soap lower with his right. He inserted the bar between well-defined buttocks and washed on down. Starsky bent, and Hutch jolted when lips sucked at his rib cage.

"Easy," Starsky soothed. The nibbling moved upward.

Hutch felt obeying was impossible. He straightened and gently pushed Starsky away, and his partner looked up at him with smoldering amusement.

"Rinse off," Hutch said thickly, not trusting that he could do it without being attacked again.

Instead, Starsky bent his head and looked between their bodies. Before Hutch could follow his gaze, Starsky had taken his erection in a firm hand.

"Oh, God," Hutch gasped, feeling his knees go weak. He wanted it. So much. "No," he growled, wrenching himself away. "Rinse off." He jerked back the shower curtain and stepped out.

Why had he done that? he wondered as he quickly toweled off. Starsky's hand had felt so good, so wonderful....

Because he hadn't wanted to lose control. Not yet. He had to be good to Starsky. So Starsky might want it again sometime. He wanted this to be a long night. They would have to pace themselves. Or do we have the rest of our lives?

No, don't think past tonight.

The water went off. Hutch grabbed a towel from the shelf and shoved it at Starsky just as he emerged from the tub. "Here," he said, turning away. "I'll get the bed ready."

He didn't know what he'd meant by that, but he was grateful to leave the bathroom and all the sexual energy that he wasn't sure he could resist.

Or did it really matter if he resisted?

Yes, a part of him answered as he moved into the bedroom area, resist. Pleasure him. And then there will be time for me. A quiver went up his spine.

He straightened the bed covers, then pulled a stack of hand towels from the bureau and found more pillows in the closet. He got into bed, turned on the lamp, flipped the covers over his waist, and leaned down to the bottom drawer of the nightstand. That was the special, private drawer. He took out a tube of K-Y ointment and decided to leave everything else for the time being. He placed it on the nightstand. He heard the bathroom light go off, and he rolled onto his back in the bed, holding the covers up to his chest, while also pulling them back to leave a space for Starsky.

The man he'd been waiting for approached the bed with a towel around his waist. "I missed you," he said seriously.

Hutch's heart thundered. "Then let's get reacquainted."

A damp body met his own, and the bed rocked as their lips connected. Starsky straddled him and Hutch had his arms full of his partner, who now broke away from his lips to kiss all about his face. The kisses were wet and soft and devouring.

"Ah, buddy," Hutch gasped, his hands moving up and down Starsky's sides.

Those two words brought a halt, and Starsky pulled back to look at him with warm, affectionate eyes. "Never knew you were so much fun."

Hutch laughed and wrapped his arms around Starsky, bringing him closer so that his head rested on a strong shoulder.

This was such familiar territory. Safe. Comforting. Hutch reached up and placed the flat of his hand against Starsky's back, feeling the sparse hairs. Such a contrast to his own delicate skin.

Starsky sighed contently, his weight growing heavier against Hutch's shoulder.

The tidal wave that had started in the car was finally ebbing. For better or worse, Hutch felt his head clear to make way for conscious thought. He planted a wet kiss against Starsky's throat, then whispered, "Still want to?" He hoped his meaning was clear.

Slowly, Starsky straightened and regarded him with a large, affectionate grin. Then he bent, and Hutch felt a kiss on his nose. He hadn't realized until now how sensitive he was there.

Equally soft, Starsky asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Hutch shifted, getting on his knees, aware that he was naked while Starsky was covered with a towel. But he felt in control, now that Starsky was yielding the upper hand. Will it always be like that? he wondered. No, that was thinking ahead. He couldn't allow himself that.

Hutch pushed a couple of pillows against the headboard. "Here," he said, taking Starsky by the arm, "lie back against those." He released him to grab a couple more, which were flatter, and placed them a few feet away. "Put your butt up on these." He helped maneuver Starsky, trying to ignore the embarrassment he felt at using the word under these circumstances.

He had Starsky where he wanted him -- face up, rear perched accessibly on the pillow, waist still covered by the towel, which had loosened.

Starsky grinned again.

Hutch's heart felt as if it were melting... or expanding. "What are you laughing at?" he asked, nevertheless grateful for whatever humor Starsky was feeling.

"Nothin'. Just enjoyin' myself."

Hutch blinked, then asked, "You really... want to do this? What me to... show you...?"

"How good it feels to have things up my ass? Sure."

Hutch didn't know what to say in response to that determined, unromantic tone. "You're teasing me."

"No. I'm enjoying you." Then the smile faded and Starsky's voice softened. "Figure you doin' anything to me is gonna be... real nice." He swallowed thickly. "Real, real nice."

Ah, buddy. "I love you so much."

The grin returned. "You're just saying that because you're gonna take away my last remaining virtue."

Hutch chuckled this time, happy to have the humor. He leaned forward for a smacking kiss. He couldn't believe how good Starsky tasted. How, in all their years together, he'd never known that. "Only because you're going to let me." There was still a question in his tone.

Starsky tossed the towel aside and spread his legs. "I insist, if it'll make you feel better."

Hutch didn't bother glancing down. He leaned forward again, microscopic butterflies racing through his veins, as he felt such relief that Starsky was so bold... and wanting his knowledge so badly. This kiss was especially delicious, and Hutch's lips held their twin flesh captive, while his hand reached down a fur-lined belly to wiry pubic hair, and then a turgid shaft of baby-soft skin. He gripped it.

"Mmmmmmmmm," Starsky groaned against his mouth.

That firm flesh had tasted so good in the car. But if he yielded to the demands of his taste buds, then he'd probably never get Starsky hard enough a third time to fuck him.

Instead, Hutch insisted that his lips enjoy these even newer sensations just as much... five o'clock shadow against his exploring tongue, scent of strong maleness. Heavy breath against his face. His hand moved down to safer territory, exploring the taut, slightly wrinkled texture of Starsky's plump scrotum.

Time for the lesson to begin.

He pulled back just enough to look into smoldering, expectant eyes. "The most important thing," he began self-consciously, "to enjoying any kind of anal sex, is to relax. The more relaxed you are, the more you can feel the sensations. And it's just like anything else - it takes practice to get the most out of it. It might not feel like anything special the first few times."

"But obviously special enough to try it again," Starsky noted.

Hutch shrugged. "Depends on the person, I guess." He slid his hand lower, gentling his touch as his fingers came into contact with the damp, tender skin of the perineum. "I'm just going to play with you a while. Get you used to being touched there."

Starsky spread his legs wider. "Knock yourself out."

Hutch grinned. Starsky was nicely relaxed against the pillows. Such trust there.

He dipped his head and brought his fingers up to his mouth, wetting them with a good helping of saliva. As he lowered them, he leaned forward to sample a tiny nipple that was surrounded by chest hair. His tongue lapped at the little protrusion, while his index finger found a depression within wrinkled skin.

Starsky groaned, arching his chest as his hand settled in Hutch's hair. Hutch sucked the little pap into his mouth, encouraged by Starsky's approval. His finger spread the spit around the clenched opening, using a gentle, steady, massaging motion.

Both hands were in his hair now. "Like what your finger's doin'," Starsky whispered.

Hutch released the nipple and moved to the next one. "Mmmm," he said, meaning more than just the taste. His finger continued to massage, around and around, and he could feel the relaxation. Delighted with the response he was provoking, he kissed up Starsky's chest, then up to his throat... his chin... then settled on his lips.

"Mmmm," they both said, melting together.

Hutch pushed a bit more with his finger, felt the tip go in a few millimeters. His erection throbbed and he reluctantly released succulent lips to plant light kisses up Starsky's cheek, across his nose....

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Starsky. Such beautiful eyes. Satisfied. Excited. Hutch swallowed thickly. "Ready for me to push it in? Real easy."

"Yeah. Feels fine now."

"This will be a little different," Hutch warned. He removed his hand to reach for the K-Y. He remembered the first time a companion had put her finger up his ass - probably in college - and it had seemed like such a rude invasion. When his fingers were gel-coated, he sat back on his heels and lowered them again. He noted that Starsky's erection had softened somewhat, as his had. Pleasing Starsky - and not hurting him in the process - was what was most important.

Hutch stroked the wrinkled orifice again, sorry that the gel made the contact less personal. Gently, he said, "Just let me know if I move too fast. Just going to ease it in."

"Whaddya want me to do?"

"Just relax."

"'M already relaxed."

"Then stay that way." Hutch's gaze remained on where their bodies met as he watched the first half inch disappear into darkness. He felt the tight, powerful sphincter and pushed more.

Starsky grunted.

Hutch glanced up. "Okay, partner?"

"Yeah." His eyes were on the ceiling. "Just feels really funny."

"You'll get used to it," Hutch soothed. "Don't worry that you're going to have an accident. You're not."

"If you say so."

"I say so." Hutch pushed to the second knuckle, feeling the warmth of this special man's body, the snug tightness. His genitals throbbed. He let the finger slide in farther. "You're doing great."

"Is it good for you?" Starsky asked, teasing.

Hutch chuckled. "You nut." Then, seriously, "It will be in a minute or two."

"What's gonna happen in a minute or two?"

"I'm going to make it special." He hoped that was true.

Hutch moved the finger in and out, grateful for the greater ease than just a few moments ago. "Going to put in another. Try to stay real relaxed, just like this." He drew the first finger back, wriggled it to stretch the opening, then pushed with his middle finger, forcing it into the tight hole.

Starsky drew a breath.

Hutch looked up. "Okay, partner?"

The breath was released. "That feels really funny."

"Let yourself adjust." Hutch shifted, so it was easier to control how much he pushed the fingers in. Such an odd brand of intimacy, his fingers up his partner's ass. He twisted both digits, working them farther past the tight ring, and throbbed again when he heard the wet sound of manipulated gel against tender skin.

"Not so funny now," Starsky said. His head fell back and he gazed at the ceiling. "Can't believe that's you in there."

Tell me about it. Hutch met his eye, leaning forward, even as the fingers pushed up farther. "It's me in there," he whispered. Those lips, a few inches from his own, looked so enticing. "And this is me right here." He stretched, moving to kiss those irresistible lips, while not losing his place inside his partner's warm body. Their lips settled together, and his heart accelerated when Starsky's hand gripped his shoulders, fingers kneading into his flesh.

Starsky's muscle flexed around Hutch's fingers.

"Ah, buddy," Hutch said as he pulled back, not knowing how else to express what he was feeling.

"Ah, buddy, is right," Starsky grinned. "You're right, it does feel better now."

You don't know anything yet. "Close your eyes," Hutch directed. "Take a deep breath and really, really relax."

He watched as Starsky obeyed.

"I'm going to try something. Just let the sensations happen to you, don't try to force them. It might not seem like anything special at first." Hutch remembered the first time he'd been pleasured internally. It had taken a few times for him to lower his inhibitions enough to really enjoy it. Of course, he hadn't had the trust in his bed partner that Starsky had in him right now....

Hutch looked down at where they were joined. He curled his fingers toward Starsky's balls, rubbing against the buttery tract.

Starsky spread his legs more, perhaps involuntarily.

Hutch now moved the digits in and out, while keeping them pressed against the front of Starsky's body.

"Man," Starsky grunted. "Man, that's somethin'."


Hutch watched as Starsky's penis started to rise and fill. His partner's anal muscles were even more relaxed, allowing Hutch to move his fingers more freely. He could feel the outline of the little gland that was unique to the male body. The gland that had taught him the value of involving his asshole in his sex play.

"Gee," Starsky panted, his eyes still closed, "that's incredible." He attempted to spread his legs even wider.

That proud, erect penis was too much to resist. Careful to keep the motion of his fingers, Hutch bent and placed his mouth over the first few inches.

"Ah, Hutch. Ah, Hutch." Starsky began to thrust upwards, then stopped, as though realizing that doing so would disrupt the internal pleasuring.

"Mmmm," Hutch expressed his own pleasure as his mouth milked the turgid cylinder. With his free hand, he followed the shaft downward until feeling the mass of pubic hair. He pushed, feeling the base of Starsky's penis beneath the flesh. He forked his fingers around the thickness, then pressed downward against the pubic region, while pushing up with the fingers inside.

"GOD!" Starsky cried out, anal muscles spasming as his cock swelled and dribbled precum onto Hutch's tongue. "God! Oh, dear God!"

Hutch felt his own penis leaking fluid as a quiver went up his spine. This was going better than he'd ever expected. He'd wanted Abby to do this to him, pleasure his prostate from both sides. She was good at anal sex play, and in general an excellent partner in bed because she was sophisticated and believed in open communication. She'd helped Hutch discover the pleasures of his prostate, but they'd never done this particular act because she'd left him before Hutch had had a chance to ask her. But now he felt vindicated because what he himself had wanted was being used to pleasure this person he wanted to pleasure so very much.

Starsky was still crying out, almost sobbing, and his hands grabbed Hutch by the head. Careful to keep the symphony of his fingers in motion, Hutch lowered more of his mouth over Starsky's thickness, feeling it threaten the back of his throat. He swallowed around it.

Hands gripped Hutch's head harder. "Shit! Holy fucking shit!" Starsky jerked upward, choking Hutch, his asshole clenching tight around Hutch's fingers. "AAAHHHHHHHH!"

Hutch's whole body shook and he coughed and pulled back, so that only the first few inches were within his mouth. Silky fluid erupted onto his tongue as his fingers were released, and now only small spasms teased them. Hutch wrapped his other hand firmly around Starsky's shaft, loving the smooth skin, even as the flesh beneath relaxed.

Starsky's hand covered his face, and he suddenly jerked onto his side, freeing Hutch's mouth and fingers. He was gasping for breath and groaned, "Oh, God, oh, God. Oh, God."

Careful of rocking the mattress, Hutch lay along beside him. He reached for a hand towel and wiped off his fingers. Then he stroked Starsky's sweaty hair.

"Oh, God, Hutch." Starsky seemed to have finally regained his breath. He opened his eyes. And smiled.

Hutch's heart melted and he shifted closer. "Did you like that?" he asked tenderly.

"Think I left the planet."

Hutch kissed him on the forehead, tasting the salt of sweat.

"Mmm," Starsky said in protest, tilting his chin up.

Hutch chuckled softly and obeyed the command, settling his lips heavily on Starsky's. In the aftermath, all his being had been centered in his chest and the nice feelings there. But now his groin ignited once again. He undulated against Starsky's body unintentionally.

Starsky broke the kiss, gazing up at him.

Hutch gazed back, not daring to choose the path to release. However Starsky wanted to do it was what he wanted most.

Starsky reached up with a finger and traced Hutch's lips. "Guess what you're gonna get to do."

Hutch throbbed between his legs, even though he had no idea what Starsky had in mind.

"And I even know how you want it."

Hutch groaned, needing relief, but still not knowing what Starsky was thinking. So unusual, that.

Sated eyes glittered in the light of the lamp as Starsky put his arms around Hutch's neck. "Don't think I wasn't listening." He tilted his head and teased softly, "Who was it? Oh, yeah, the happily married couple. You telling the wife how she should get into a crouch so her husband can plunge into her deeply."

Hutch stopped breathing. Starsky couldn't possibly mean....

"Think I kinda like the deeply part. Your fingers can't do that."

Hutch blinked. He knew what he must say. "Starsky, no. I won't do that to you." He realized that he needed to present a reason. "It's too much too soon." You were supposed to do it to me, he silently protested. Only... he'd done a little too good a job at introducing Starsky to anal sex play, and the other's orgasm had left him sated, but still ridiculously willing.

"Don't try to tell me you don't want it," Starsky said tenderly. Hutch's erection was taken in a firm hand, and he moaned.

"Been sorta neglected." Starsky took his hand away. "Let's give it what it wants." He started to turn.

Hutch grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "Stay like this awhile. I need to stretch you out first." I can't believe this is happening. He was leaking fluid.

A shadow came over Starsky's eyes. "You mean the toys?" His voice was disapproving.

"It'll be okay. It's necessary, buddy." Even though Starsky didn't like the idea at all, there was no way Hutch was going to hurt him unnecessarily. He reached to the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the small latex vibrator and grabbed the K-Y. The big vibrator was for later. "Don't worry, it's clean," he said, not knowing if he needed to say that. He didn't meet his partner's eye as he squeezed the silky substance onto the latex. He rubbed it around with his finger, and then straightened.

Starsky was settled back against the pillows again with his legs spread. The passion had left his eyes, but Hutch could still see the gentle humor. He reminded him, "It might feel good." He didn't bother pointing out that introducing Starsky to the toys had been the whole intent of tonight's activities. But then, maybe nothing that was happening had turned out as either of them intended.

"Relax," Hutch whispered as he placed the device between Starsky's legs. "Let yourself stretch." He put his finger in first, feeling how relaxed the muscle was. This might be easy. He pulled the finger out and gently pushed with the vibrator. Starsky lay still, not reacting, as the first half of it disappeared into his body.

"Okay?" Hutch said, watching Starsky look at the ceiling.

"Feels funny."

He introduced a brief undulating motion, moving it in and out a centimeter at a time. He himself liked what that did to his nerves. Abby had been particularly skilled at stimulating him that way.

"I don't like it. Take it out."

Disappointed, Hutch said, "I want to make sure you're stretched enough." My prick's a heck of a lot bigger than this thing. Especially now.

"Then use more of your fingers or somethin'. Come on."

There was no arguing with that tone. Starsky knew what he liked. And what he didn't. Hutch removed the latex, wiped it against the mattress, and placed it on the nightstand.

Starsky spread his legs more, and the glint returned to his eyes. "Really like what your fingers were doin' before. Just put more of them in there."

Hutch's disappointment disappeared. Starsky wanted him inside his body, and Hutch had certainly liked being there.

He applied more lubricant to his right hand, and introduced a pair of fingers. He rocked them in and out, bending at the knuckles, and then inserted his ring finger.

Starsky's lips parted and his eyes were hooded. "Really like you bein' in there."

Hutch restrained a groan as his erection throbbed. He swallowed thickly. "You're doing terrific, buddy." Fantastic. The fact that Starsky had gotten anywhere near this far was beyond Hutch's greatest expectations. He bent his knuckles, feeling the protest of the tight sphincter. Starsky's breath halted a moment, but then he exhaled deeply.

Hutch didn't think his small pinky could help matters, so he pushed the three fingers in as far as they could go. And then wriggled them around.

"You're on fire, aren't you, Hutch?" Starsky's breath was thick and heavy.

Hutch closed his eyes. "I'm insane for you." He wondered if it were possible that his penis might burst before he even achieved penetration.

"Would like to taste you," Starsky panted, "but then I probably couldn't stop, and then we couldn't share this."

Share. Hutch's heart flipped over.

He let his fingers slide back, and then he carefully pulled them out.

Starsky knelt up, pushing the pillows out of the way.

"No," Hutch said, just now realizing that he didn't want to slam deeply into Starsky. "I don't want it like that." He took Starsky's arm. "Lie down on your side." I want to be close to you. So close. His erection ached as Starsky obeyed.

"Like this?" His back was to Hutch.

"Yes." Hutch took a pillow and lifted Starsky's head. He placed the pillow beneath him, and then planted a series of kisses along Starsky's cheek. Starsky tilted his head back, and Hutch hungrily captured his lips with his own. He groaned as he ran his hand along the fur of Starsky's chest, his thumb bumping into a tiny nipple.

"Mmmm," Starsky groaned in return.

Hutch was afraid it might be over before it began. He released Starsky and settled on his side behind him. He took his erection in hand and wiped the fluid against the uppermost buttock.

"Come on, Hutch," Starsky said. "It's time." He pulled his leg up.

Hutch rested his cheek against Starsky's back. He took the K-Y and squeezed some along the head of his aching cock. He smoothed it around, then dropped the tube and positioned himself against Starsky's opening.

He kissed Starsky's back. Then he pushed.

Starsky gasped as the barrier gave way.

Hutch waited, nerves exploding along his penis.

"S'okay," Starsky said shakily.

Hutch slipped back. He thrust again into the tightness, farther this time.

"Oh, God," Starsky said, and Hutch wasn't sure if it was a cry of pain or pleasure. He waited again, this time moving just enough to keep from slipping back.

"More, Hutch."

Hutch rose up on an elbow. With his other hand he grabbed Starsky's arm to brace against it, then thrust firmly.

"Oh, man."

Hutch pushed once more, feeling rounded flesh against his flanks. He stretched to bury his face against Starsky's neck. He released Starsky's arm and found his hand instead, entwining their fingers.

"Man, Hutch." Wonder now.

It was going to be over too soon. Hutch squeezed Starsky's hand, and undulated gently, feeling the snug enclosure grip all along his barrel. "Dear God." He was paying homage to the wrong being. "Oh, buddy. Starsk." His hand squeezed again. "Ohh." He licked at the salt on Starsky's neck, then thrust deeper.

Starsky groaned.

Hutch shifted a fraction, then released Starsky's hand and wrapped his arm around his chest. The nerves in his cock had tipped him over the edge, and he thrust earnestly now, seeking the ultimate pleasure. His internal male organs tightened, preparing his seed for release. He drove into Starsky, faster and deeper, tightening his arm around his chest, burying his face in his neck.

The peak was suddenly there, and Hutch cried out softly as the emission raced out of him and into Starsky's body.

He groaned as the most poignant sensations waned, then he nuzzled Starsky's neck. His hand rubbed leisurely against the strong chest. He braced his knee against Starsky's leg, then carefully withdrew. He kissed Starsky's neck... again and again.

Starsky rolled over, making a noise of contentment. Hutch leaned over him, kissing again, this time all about his face. Then lassitude overtook him and he settled back.

Starsky grinned lazily at him. "You're a good lover."

"That's because you're so good to love."

Starsky's grin widened.

Hutch reached out and brushed his fingers along Starsky's face. "Or maybe it's just that I'm a little bit in love with you." His heart quickened. "Maybe more than a little."

Starsky shifted closer. "I think the feeling's mutual." He gripped Hutch's hand and their fingers intertwined.

Hutch closed his eyes and drifted peacefully. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt the heat of Starsky's body against his own.

His lips were kissed. "Your turn, babe," Starsky said enticingly.

Hutch opened his eyes. His partner's orbs were hot and eager.

"Think I forgot?" Starsky teased.

Butterflies stirred in the pit of Hutch's stomach. "Didn't think you could... so soon." It's really going to happen.

Starsky kissed Hutch's lips. A brief touch... but fluid and wanting. "Of course, I can. Especially when I'm this hungry, and I know my buddy is gonna like it." His lips settled on Hutch's once again... a long time this time.

Hutch rolled onto his back, bringing Starsky with him. A thrill shot through him, as he felt his partner's weight on top of him.

Starsky released him, but his breath was hot against Hutch's face as his groin surged against Hutch's thigh. "After you've felt me inside you, you're going to want to get rid of all your little toys."

Hutch felt a stir in his sated groin. Yes. Of course, he would. Substitutes would no longer be necessary after he'd had the real thing. Oh, Starsky....

Starsky kissed him again, sweetly this time. Then, just as sweet, "You tell me how you want it, and that's how I'll do it."

Hutch already knew. He pushed up with his arms and grabbed the pillows. He placed them in a mound and settled his lower back on top of them. He leaned forward and took Starsky's arm. "Like this. Deep."

Starsky was on top of him, and he took Hutch by the shoulders and lowered himself to his chest. He rubbed his cheek all about the smoothness, and Hutch put his hands in Starsky's hair. "Buddy," he said as an endearment.

Starsky settled more comfortably, his erection poking against Hutch's balls. His tongue worked at a nipple.

"Ohhh," Hutch encouraged, loving the wet sensation.

Starsky nuzzled it a while longer, then left it with a loud smacking noise. His lips settled on the opposite pap.

Hutch felt the stimulation racing through his veins, as though it couldn't find an outlet, since his cock was already sated. He writhed and groaned, to encourage Starsky on.

Starsky planted kisses along his chest, then down the center of his body, stopping at his navel. Hutch lurched when a tongue swirled around in there. Then Starsky was on top of him again, covering Hutch's whole body, his lips capturing Hutch's once more.

Hutch threw his arms around Starsky, squeezing tight. At the same time, he thrust up with his hips, wanting more... more contact, more stimulation, more sensation.

Starsky licked wetly at his throat, then drew his tongue up his cheek, to his nose, lapped at the tiny flesh between his nostrils, then across the bridge.

Hutch clutched him harder, demanding....

The wetness left. A soft kiss on the top of his nose now. Gently, Starsky asked, "How do you want me to get you ready?"

Starsky hated the idea of the toys so much that Hutch didn't even want him to have to touch them. Besides, he didn't need much preparation. He held up a pair of fingers and rotated in the air, gasping, "Make larger and larger circles. Put the - " Hutch looked to one side and found the tube of K-Y. He gave it Starsky. "Use this."

Starsky placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "You tell me when you're ready."

Hutch collapsed back as Starsky straightened and worked with the gel. He could feel that huge thing poking against his thigh. Before long, it would be up his ass. He was as ready as he was going to be, but it made sense to ease the way. But he still hoped it would leave him sore, so he would have a constant reminder....

Fingers probed at his asshole, and then one went in. He'd learned, mainly from sessions with Abby - was she perhaps the only bed partner with whom he'd had extensive anal play? - to let it probe inside him. It was an odd feeling, he was reminded now, but he stayed still and let Starsky work the other finger in.

Starsky inside his body. He would never have imagined it could happen.

The digits were moving. Circling. Now back and forth, while still rotating. Hutch felt his asshole stretch to accommodate in a way that he found very satisfying. He wondered how patient Starsky was going to be, and then remembered that the next step was up to him. "That's enough." He released a heavy breath of excitement. "Put the gel on you, then -" He knew he didn't need to complete the thought.

He watched while Starsky tended to his shaft, which was bold and generous.

Starsky wiped his hand against the bed, then leaned over Hutch, one hand on his thickness.

Hutch pulled his legs back and settled them over Starsky's shoulders. It gave him an awkward, vulnerable feeling. He hoped the awkwardness would pass. But he wanted the vulnerable feelings while he was in Starsky's care. So free....

Starsky bent and laved his tongue between Hutch's pectorals.

So oral....

Starsky straightened and looked at Hutch with smoldering eyes. Hutch felt the gel-covered heat poke between his ass cheeks. He reached forward and pulled them apart, sparing Starsky the awkwardness.

Starsky growled and then he was against the opening. His eyes didn't leave Hutch's as he pushed.

Hutch gasped. Huge. Bigger than any of the devices. Oh, my God. It pushed into him, stretching him. "Yes!" His eyes were closed.

Starsky growled again. He sank deeper and his hands grabbed Hutch's shoulders. "God, Hutch."

"Yes," Hutch encouraged, eyes still closed, focused on the feel of that massive flesh conquering him. "Yes."

Starsky gripped his shoulders harder, and then the thickness pulled back a little. Then slammed in.

"Argh!" Starsky cried. He slammed again.

"God, yes!" Hutch opened his eyes. Starsky was staring down at him. Hutch nodded, wanting there to be no mistaking his enjoyment. "Fuck me good."

He had to close his eyes again, because Starsky's gaze was so intense as he rocked the bed with his thrusts. The motion grew faster and deeper. Hutch had never been penetrated this deeply... either physically or emotionally. His prostate was tingling nicely, even though he couldn't generate another hard-on. "Fuck me forever," he pleaded.

A deep, animal noise came from Starsky. Abruptly, his hands left Hutch's shoulders and grabbed his nipples. Pulling and pinching....

Hutch arched his chest up. He tried to arch his hips up, but he was already fully impaled. Steel hardness rammed forward and backward inside his ass. Staking claim.

Starsky's scrotal pouch slapped against his lower ass as the thrusting speed increased to an incredible degree. Hutch had never known anything like it....

They cried out at the same time. Hutch from the sheer titillation of it, Starsky from orgasm.

The motion finally came to a halt. Starsky was gasping loudly and collapsed on top of Hutch, his shrinking erection withdrawing in the process.

Hutch felt physically empty. But spiritually born.

They dozed a while. Eventually, Starsky shifted to lie beside Hutch. Hutch moved to put the pillows back near the headboard. He was grateful that there was, indeed, stiffness in his legs and an ache in his ass.

Eventually, their hands found each other, and clung. When Hutch finally opened his eyes, Starsky was gazing lovingly at him.

Now a sated smile. "This was one of the best ideas you ever had."

"Hmm?" Hutch grunted lazily. Idea?

"Well... maybe idea isn't the best word." Starsky stretched, long and slow. "But I sure am glad you brought it up." He unlaced their fingers and traced Hutch's nose.

Hutch kissed the finger when it wandered near his mouth. He was too tired to put much inflection in his voice. "What do you mean?"

Starsky's smile went away and he pulled his hand back. "Just what I said: I'm glad you brought us to this." His tone was one of puzzlement at the question.

Hutch furrowed his brow and hoisted himself up onto an elbow. "I didn't `bring us to this'." He wasn't the one responsible for everything that had just taken place between them. "You're the one who wanted to do this."

Starsky blanched. "Huh?"

Hutch couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "You're the one who suggested we get together after our shift."

"But not until you'd already suggested it."

"What do you mean, suggested it?"

Starsky released a heavy sigh. "You said, and I quote, `You've never had anything up your ass, have you?' End quote."

Hutch's eyes widened. Had this all taken place because of a misinterpretation? He felt a sense of foreboding closing in. "Starsky, I didn't mean - "

Starsky got up on an elbow. "What do you mean, you didn't mean?"

Hutch stuttered a moment, then rushed to explain, "I didn't mean it as a come-on. It was a legitimate question. I had no idea that you'd take it to mean...."

Starsky's eyes widened. Softly, he asked, "You didn't?"

"No. God, no. That would never have crossed my mind. But then when you started suggesting things we should do...." He was in full defense mode now. "And asking all those questions about ass-fucking."

"It wasn't my fault what the questions were! I was just reading them from the magazine! Sheesh! Don't tell me that - "

That stared at each other.

Dear God, don't let this ruin....

Wait a minute!

Hutch collapsed back to the mattress, laughing. He grabbed a pillow and held onto it, he was laughing so hard. He shook and shook.

Starsky was leaning over him. "What are you laughing at?"

Hutch was sorry that he couldn't help it, since Starsky looked so worried. In fact, his partner's eyes were darting about the bed, as though taking in the full implications of their mutual misunderstanding.

Abruptly, Hutch stopped. He reached up and pulled on Starsky's arm, beckoning him to lie on top. He put his arms around him. "It wasn't a mistake," he whispered.

Long eyelashes blinked. And then Starsky collapsed against him. Kissed his cheek. "No, no way. It wasn't a mistake."

Hutch's heart swelled. "Doesn't matter how it happened. I love you. I love you so much."

Starsky pulled back to look at him. "I love you, too. I loved loving you, Hutch. Bein' loved by you. Everything we did together... it was magic."

"Yes." Hutch brought Starsky's head back down against his shoulder. "Magic."

"You're right," Starsky said with finality. "Doesn't matter whose idea it was." His voice was low and sleepy.

Hutch had started to drift off again when Starsky muttered, "You really are a sexpert."

Hutch held him closer. "So are you. And a Hutchpert."

Starsky giggled. Kissed him. And then he was still.

Hutch drifted into sleep.


This story originally appeared in the fanzine HEART AND SOUL 6, published by Charlotte Frost in 1999.

Early comments on this story are posted TBA.

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