Work Text:
Starsky kicked at the squadroom door and hollered, "Hey! Somebody!"
Crawford, Manning's new rookie, rushed to open it for him.
"Thanks," he grunted, nodding at the wide-eyed young man while balancing the full tray he held. He thunked the tray on Hutch's desk and hopped up beside it. "You wanna get cozy at my place tonight, sweetheart?" he asked, as he picked up his hamburger and took an enormous bite.
Hutch didn't even look up from the typewriter. "Not tonight, honey. I have to wash my hair."
Starsky chuckled. He couldn't help it. "Give me a break. That'd take all of two minutes."
Hutch did look up at that. He scowled hugely. "You planning on writing your reports today? I'm not waiting around for you again."
"I got you a yogurt and a chicken salad," Starsky said quickly, hoping to distract his partner.
Hutch grunted and turned back to his work. After a few seconds of clack-clack-clacking, he asked, "Fred again?"
"Yeah." Starsky rolled his eyes. "Asked me when was our honeymoon when he heard me tell Leo how you wanted the salad. You know what really bugs me? He doesn't even take the time to come up with creative insults anymore. I find that disheartening."
"Well, small minds, et cetera. What was the name of that girl?" Hutch opened the yogurt and frowned at his notes as he ate a spoonful.
"At the club?"
"No, the other place. Like a parrot or something."
"Lori?"
"Yeah, that's it. Like lorikeets." He put down the yogurt and resumed typing.
"You're weird, Hutch. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"People in glass houses, et cetera."
Starsky dipped a fry in Hutch's yogurt. Tasted it. Not bad. He tried to dip another but Hutch batted him away.
"Get your own."
"Your mother never taught you to share? Et cetera?"
Hutch glared. "Reports," he commanded, pointing at Starsky's desk.
"I'm eating!"
"Sit!"
"All right. All right." Starsky stuffed the last bite of burger in his mouth and scooped up the remainder of his basket of fries and his cup of cola. He plopped down at his own seat and shuffled his notes.
He waited until Hutch picked up his neglected yogurt cup before saying, "Guess what else Freddy said?"
"Starsky, I don't really care. How far along are you with--"
"He said you must be the noisy one."
"Huh?" Hutch said distractedly. Then he choked on his yogurt, evidently getting it.
"Blonds always are," Starsky remarked sagely.
"Starsky, will you get to work already?"
"I told him he was right."
"You did what?" Hutch's neck was turning a nice shade of red.
"Told him if he waited after hours and came around our squadroom, he might get an earful. You shoulda seen the look on his face."
The look on Hutch's face was pretty spectacular, too.
"Starsky, so help me..."
"Aw, it was funny! You have to admit it was."
"Stop acting like an asinine juvenile." Uh-oh. Hutch was pulling out the dictionary words. There was only one way for Starsky to respond to that.
"Hutch, baby, don't get mad."
"Oh, for the love of..."
"Come here to poppa, darlin'. I know I'm a lotta man to handle, but don't worry. I'll be real gentle."
"Starsky!"
A titter came from Crawford's direction. Starsky saw Manning give his partner-in-training a quelling look. Starsky winked.
"And don't be shy about the audience. I bet we'll even teach 'em a thing or two."
Hutch ignored him pointedly. But that had never deterred Starsky before.
"Oh, Starsky!" he said, in a passable (he thought) imitation of Hutch. "We can't! I only want blond kids! Besides, what would your mother say? I'm not a doctor."
Hutch had his hands over his ears and was staring concentratedly at his half-written report. Crawford was guffawing like a maniac. Starsky was on a roll.
"Stop! Oh, no!" he continued in a falsetto. "Oh, Starsky, you know I can't resist you. Take me, I'm yours! I'll never wash my hair again!" He dropped back to his normal voice. "That's right, babycakes. Oh yeah." He started making blatantly suggestive grunting noises, interspersed with high-pitched protests of ecstasy.
Hutch's fair cheeks were flaming. Crawford was doubled over in his seat. Even Manning was cracking a smile.
The door behind him banged open and Captain Dobey's bellow rang out: "What in hell is going on in my squadroom?"
Starsky gaped. "Er, Captain. I thought you were gone already."
"Not that it's any concern of yours, Sergeant, but I forgot my coat. Now are you going to explain to me why it sounds like a porn studio in here?"
"Uh..."
"You have to forgive Starsky, sir. He was a little overly excited because we're going for steaks tonight."
Dobey glared at Hutch, obviously not buying it, but also obviously not truly wanting to know the details. "All right. But I'd better not hear anything about my officers engaging in inappropriate behavior while on duty."
"No, sir!" Starsky was quick to say. Dobey gave him a suspicious look before leaving in a huff. Starsky snatched up his cola and took a gulp. "Wow, that was close."
"You owe me steak," Hutch said blandly, pushing his untouched salad away. "And I mean prime rib."
"Aw, Hutch..." Starsky whined, mentally tallying the contents of his wallet.
"What's the matter, Starsk?" Hutch sprawled back in his chair, letting his knees fall open. "Afraid you can't afford my meat?"
Starsky choked on his drink.
END.