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Like Indiana Jones

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"So what do you think tonight," Hutch said as he climbed into the Torino. "Grab some beer and order a pizza? Or we got the leftovers of my chicken cacciatore."

Starsky winced a little as he peeled out of the precinct parking lot. "I thought we could catch a flick," he said, and then waited a beat before adding, "You know, Raiders of the Lost Ark is only going to be around for a couple more days—"

"You have got to be shitting me!" Hutch said. "Dream on, Starsk. We've seen that movie a million times by now."

"Three," Starsky said, scowling. To be fair, Hutch had been pretty down with Starsky's thing for Raiders and hadn't said much, even the third time Starsky dragged him along, although that might have had more to do with Starsky breaking out all of Hutch's favorite snacks and offering to go refill their popcorn during the snake scene. Starsky hated snakes.

Still, Hutch hadn't gone on too much about "This sensationalist crap" like he usually did whenever Starsky made him see movies in English.

"Just one more time, Hutch, huh? Once it's gone, it's gone forever."

"Aw, come on." Hutch waved his hand. "It'll show up on the TV eventually."

"Yeah, with lots of crummy commercials, and pieces cut out of it to make room."

Hutch sighed heavily. "It really means that much to you, huh?"

Starsky grinned and squeezed Hutch's thigh. "Aw, babe. You can't resist me—"

"Shut up, you goon—"

"You're helpless due to my irresistible charms—"

"You're an incredible dork, is what you are—"

"Then how come all the ladies think I'm dyn-o-mite?" Starsky flicked a fond glance over at Hutch, who was hiding a smile behind his hand.

"I'll dyno your mite if I catch you with a lady."

Starsky grinned and raised a hand in surrender. "I'm sticking with the grumpy blond."

"Thank you very much. Now, do you want to go see this movie or not?"

"Oh, hell, yeah. There's a showing at 7:10 p.m. That gives us time to switch cars so we don't have to park my baby on Pico."

Hutch rolled his eyes but didn't make a peep, which meant they were good.

:::

The theater wasn't nearly as busy as the last couple of times, including the matinees Starsky had snuck off to go see while Hutch was getting the LTD tuned up by Merle. Again.

Starsky paused by the big poster and stared at it while Hutch bought some popcorn and Milk Duds.

There he was. Indy. His whip held high, his legs apart, shirt open almost to the belt so his broad, tanned chest was half showing, like a tease, like they wanted Starsky to stare at it. The first time Starsky had seen the poster he couldn't understand why he was so fascinated; the only guy who'd ever tripped his trigger before was Hutch.

And now he got it. Hoo-boy, did he get it.

"Starsk. Hey, Starsk—you coming, or what?"

"I'm with you," Starsky said, grabbing the big popcorn container off the counter. "You get one for each of us?"

"Of course," Hutch scoffed. "What's with you and the poster?" His eyes were sharp; a little too damned sharp.

"I was looking for clues," Starsky said fast. "Like, you know how you can see the Nazi guy in the background, and the runes along the side, and I was wondering if there was some kind of secret code like on cereal boxes or some such. Crazy, huh?"

From Hutch's expression, he wasn't buying it. "And that's why you want to keep coming to see this movie?"

Starsky gulped and nodded.

Hutch frowned, but just then a small group of people streamed toward them to get into the theater, and Hutch rolled his eyes and nodded toward the entrance. They just beat the group going in, and grabbed a pair of seats in the center of an empty row at the back.

Starsky liked sitting in the back. For one thing, it gave him a nice view of all of the exits just in case. But also, if he wanted to tuck his hand in Hutch's, no one would see them.

The coming attractions started up, and Starsky dug into his popcorn with a vengeance.

"Slow down, Starsk, or you won't have any left during the feature."

"There's plenty. You get the Milk Duds like I asked?"

"Yeah. Sugar Babies, too. Although I really shouldn't've; you're gonna rot your teeth with this junk."

"Just hand 'em over and no one gets hurt," Starsky said, shifting closer so he could lean one shoulder against Hutch's. Hutch leaned back, warm and solid against him, and with a tub of goodies in his hands, his favorite movie about to start, and his gorgeous, big blond next to him, Starsky couldn't be happier.

Hutch was right, though—by the time the movie started up, Starsky was all out of popcorn and already wishing he'd taken a whiz before they came in.

He nudged Hutch to let him know what he was up to and got a snort in return. Fine, that was fine. Starsky got ribbed for having to piss all the time, but at least he didn't need a special back cushion in the car.

The rows all around them were empty, so it was easy to sneak out to the lobby. Starsky got back just in time to see Indy being chased by a giant bowling ball, so he hadn't missed much. He loved watching the big galoot's expression and his long, long legs as he scrambled away.

But one of Starsky's favorite scenes was coming up. He leaned forward as Indy appeared in his tweed jacket and round professor glasses and started writing things on the chalkboard, looking painfully confused when the blond chick in the front row flirted with him.

Starsky's jeans were too tight, and he stretched his legs out to make room for his growing hard-on.

Hutch leaned over and said in his ear, "Secret codes my ass."

Starsky laughed nervously. "Don't know what you're talking about." Two seconds later Hutch's big hand landed on his crotch.

"I'm talking about this. I thought maybe you were hot for Karen Allen, but guess I was wrong, huh? You have a thing for Harrison Ford."

"No..."

"No?" Hutch squeezed Starsky's dick just a little, just enough to make him have to bite back a groan.

"Fuck, Hutch. We're in public, here. This is what you call lewd and lascivious behavior," Starsky said as quietly as he could.

"Then no more phony baloney, buddy of mine."

Starsky fought his embarrassment. Man, he'd never hear the end of this. Finally, he turned his head and nuzzled his way up Hutch's long neck to his ear. "It's the smarts, okay? He reminds me of you, you big dope. And he's a hunk but he also trips over his own feet, just like you."

His voice rose a little too loud, and he bit his lip. Hutch pulled his hand away, to Starsky's disappointment.

Hutch whispered, "Get serious—you think I'm like him?" He turned away to stare at the screen where Indy lectured some Army goobers about the staff of Ra.

Then Hutch's hand slid back up Starsky's leg and onto his dick.

"Ohhh," Starsky moaned softly. Maybe telling Hutch wasn't a bad idea after all. Then Hutch undid his jeans, and Starsky held his breath, eyes scouting out to make sure no one was paying them any attention. But the few people in the audience were rows and rows down and lost in the film.

Hutch's calloused fingers teased down the bare skin of Starsky's groin and slipped under his open fly to capture his bare dick. Christ, he was glad he'd gone commando today, because feeling Hutch's hot hand on him while he stared up at Indy, big as life, his full lips moving as he talked archaeological gobbledygook with his big round glasses and his pretty eyes was going to make Starsky shoot in no time at all.

"He is kind of a fox," Hutch said in his ear. "Not as good looking as you, though." And then Hutch was done talking; instead he nibbled on the edge of Starsky's ear while his hand stroked Starsky's dick, up and down, nice and slow at first, then going a little faster.

"Fuck," Starsky said under his breath. Hutch's hand was so good on him; he knew just what Starsky liked.

Marion was on the screen now and she was awfully feisty; she reminded him of Terry, but not in a painful way, just in how pretty and full of spirit she was. She fought back against the Nazis alongside Indy, who was so gorgeous in motion, just like Hutch—strong and fast and smooth. Starsky never knew he needed that, wanted that, until Hutch kissed him; until Hutch fucked him for the first time.

Oh, wow. Starsky tensed up, getting close, and Hutch said, "Yeah," in his ear and sped up, squeezing his cock and stroking fast, his big palm traveling over the head and then back down, and Starsky came and came, biting his lip so he was as silent as a ghost.

When he opened his eyes the bar had been burned down but Indy and Marion were safe and Hutch had pulled away to wipe off his hand with one of the twenty napkins he'd brought from the snack bar.

The inside of Starsky's pants felt like cold pasta carbonara.

"Hey, give me a couple of those," he whispered to Hutch. "I got spunk in my pants."

Hutch gave him the hairy eyeball because he'd been at Starsky in the past about crude language and what all, but Starsky believed in calling a wad a wad. And that was definitely a good wad of spunk in his pants. He grinned as he took the napkins and cleaned up.

"Thanks." He groped for Hutch's hand and squeezed it, then went one step further and snatched a quick kiss. Hutch kissed him back, tongue soft and pushy in Starsky's mouth, before pulling away and looking around fast.

Starsky would offer to return the favor but he figured the chances of Hutch letting him get him off in public were about one in a gazillion. Instead, Starsky leaned against him.

"You know, I look nothing like him," Hutch said in his ear.

"Yeah, I know. But something about him reminds me of you."

Hutch shrugged. "He's just a guy."

For a second, the words didn't even register. It was like Hutch said them to a part of Starsky's brain that was asleep. And then his detective brain woke up and said, "See? Dummy," and started to remember all the clues that had been staring him in the face.

Sure, Indy was smart and tall and a doof with long legs. But he wasn't exactly like Hutch. So, it turned out Starsky had a type. A guy type, like he had a type for gals. He could like guys that weren't Hutch.

"Oh," he said, and Hutch turned to look at him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm cool."

Hutch accepted it, turning back to the movie. Starsky watched with new eyes, and yeah, Indy was a fox. A total fox—he was a hunk; no doubt about it. It was a pleasure to watch him, especially now that Hutch knew. No more guilt and no more wondering what the hell. So what if he had a type. Hutch was the only one that mattered.

Afterward, Hutch gathered up all their trash to carry out of the theater like always while Starsky dashed to the john. They met up in the lobby, which was almost empty by then. Hutch stood examining the poster, a thoughtful look on his face.

"She's a foxy lady, but I've got to say, I like my guys a little darker. And lot more mouthy and annoying," he added, and then made as if to get away with that shit, but Starsky tripped his long, gawky legs with a strategic ankle and yanked him to a halt on the sidewalk.

"Say that again, bright eyes," Starsky said, putting the Brooklyn on. "Because there are two candidates in this partnership for the Crown Prince of Aggro-vating, and I ain't royalty."

Hutch chuckled and used his weight to swing Starsky down the street. "I'm just saying, I like my guys to pack a little dyn-o-mite—"

But Hutch was laughing too hard to finish, and Starsky was grinning too hard to shut him up, anyway.

"I did like that trick with the whip, though," Hutch said when he'd finally calmed down. "Starsk? What's that look about? Starsk?"

"Starsk?"

 

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October 2, 2016
San Francisco, CA