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Starsky shifted against the leather of the Tornino’s seat, trying and failing to settle into a more comfortable position for the hundredth time tonight. It was dark in the car, the only lights coming from the illuminated dashboard, and they couldn’t turn on the overheads, ‘cause they were trying to be discreet and all that. They’d been posted up outside this warehouse in the seediest part of town all night, in the vain hope that their latest perp would make a mistake and they could nab him on his own territory. But God damn, Starsky was restless. Screw stakeouts. Screw Olsen and his stupid drug smuggling ring. Real original, huh? Using his brother’s warehouse as a safehouse. Never would have thought of that one. Starsky groaned, resting his forehead against the steering wheel and closing his eyes.
“Would you cut it out?” Hutch grumbled from his place on the passenger side. He had his elbow resting up against the door, his chin balanced warily in his palm. He’d been chewing on the same piece of gum for the past hour, and the smacking sound was really starting to get to Starsky. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He knew it wasn’t Hutch’s fault. He was probably just as bored as Starsky. Only he’d always been better at schooling his emotions, thanks to his hippie-dippy bullshit, his meditation and self-disclipline or whatever. Starsky tried not to let his annoyance seep into his voice, but he knew it was futile.
“How long have we been out here now?”
Hutch glanced at his watch, squinting to read the tiny hands in the dark.
“About three hours.”
Starsky laughed, incredulous. “This is ridiculous. He’s not gonna come out.”
“He still might.”
“We’re wasting our time, Hutch.”
Hutch looked his way, and Starsky could see the beginnings of dark bags forming under his eyes, shadowed rings which aged his normally youthful face. Starsky’s heart, always attuned to Hutch’s moods, squeezed inside his ribcage. He wished they could just get outta here—head over to Huggy’s, grab some food. Maybe just go back to Starsky’s place and sack up for the night. Anything to get away from this endless nothingness.
“You got a better idea, then?”
Starsky nodded. He’s had one, and Hutch knew it. “Let’s just bust in there—we know Olsen’s in there, his car's out front, for Christ's sake, come on—”
“Without a warrant, Starsk?”
It was the truth, but Starsky still hated to hear it. Sometimes he thought the law wasn’t even on their side, the amount of restrictions they had to adhere to. He waved a hand, as if to say fuck a warrant. Hutch smiled, just the barest twitch of his lips. That made Starsky feel better. At least if nothing else, he could make Hutch smile.
“You should’ve brought the new book I got you.”
Yeah, he should have. It was a good one, too, all about undercover spy rings during the first world war. An early birthday present from Hutch. He’d been excited to read it. “Well, I forgot it.”
Hutch shook his head fondly. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out his packet of gum. He offered one to Starsky, who took it and started chewing as noisily as he could. But Hutch didn’t seem to mind. They sat there for another ten minutes, just chewing and staring at the lifeless warehouse covered in shadows.
Eventually, Starsky could only handle so much sitting and staring at nothing. His eyes shifted over, once more, to watch his partner, instead. Hutch’s slouched form was much better to look at. He traced the solid line of his jaw, tensing and untensing as he worked over the gum listlessly. He followed the sharp contour of his neck, down, down, to the firmness of his arm, resting casually against his thigh. He always admired Hutch’s body, the dedication he had to keeping in shape. All those hours of free time spent in the gym, or running around the city at the crack of dawn. It paid off, of course, and Starsky felt justified for admiring his hard work. He got a great idea, then, and he felt giddy as he inched across the space between them.
“Hutch.” Starsky’s voice broke the silence. Hutch didn’t turn, but Starsky could hear his breathy huff against the window. He was amused, but didn’t want to show it. Starsky knew this game. He shifted another inch closer, nudging the leg beside his own with a knee. “Hey, Hutch.”
“What is it?”
“Wanna fool around?”
Hutch met his gaze, finally,with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “Jesus, Starsky, we’re on the clock.”
Starsky shrugged. “So what, nobody’s coming outta that warehouse, man. And I got nothing to do but sit here and look at ya—you can’t expect a man to look and not wanna touch. Lemme touch ya, Hutch.”
“You know, you really are a pain in my side.” Hutch turned back to the window.
“Hutch, c’mon.”
“We’re not doing this.”
“Huuuutch. Just a little—I’ll even take over the clothes—”
“If you think I’m taking my pants off right now, Starsk, you’re out of your mind.” But again, there was that lilt of amusement to Hutch’s tone. He wanted this—of course he wanted this. He just couldn't come outright and admit it. Hutch had hang-ups like that, stuff he couldn’t feel alright for doing. But Starsky didn’t have any hang-ups. He never had. And he was gung-ho enough for the both of them most of the time. He’d get Hutch to go along, he just had to come onto him the right way.
He slid a hand the last few inches across the bench seat, hooking two fingers through one of Hutch’s belt loops. He tugged at it playfully. “Hutch. Hutch, look at me.”
Hutch did. There was that smile, his lips parting over those perfectly white teeth. And even in the low light, Starsky could see the pink starting to color his fair cheeks. Starsky tugged again, pulling his partner towards him.
“Starsk,” Hutch whispered, bashful and contradictory, as always. “We really shouldn’t—”
“There ain’t nobody here but us chickens, Hutch.” He leaned in close, nudging his nose along the side of Hutch’s cheek. “Just let me feel you, hm? I’m going crazy over here.” He drew his hand along the back of Hutch’s t-shirt, creeping his fingers underneath the fabric. Hutch’s bare skin was warm, and just that alone got Starsky’s heart racing. Man, was he keen on this guy.
Hutch exhaled a shaky breath, and Starsky felt his body lean in closer against his own. Starsky wasn’t really lying—he’d been half-hard all night. It happened, sometimes, in the thick of things. But even tonight, just sitting here next to Hutch was proving too much for him to bear.
“I haven’t even done anything,” Hutch protested, though it was weak. He gave a little shiver under Starsky’s ministrations, leaning into his hold.
“You don’t have to, babe. You drive me nuts just from lookin’ at you.” As if to demonstrate his point, he grabbed one of Hutch’s hands, bringing it over to his own crotch, where he pressed it, firmly, against his jean-covered erection. Hutch hummed, and his fingers squeezed.
“Gee, you weren’t kidding.”
Starsky nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin below Hutch’s ear. “When do I ever kid, hm?”
That got Hutch laughing, full bellied and real, and it tickled the deepest, most tender parts of Starsky’s heart. “Alright, alright. But we’ve gotta be quick. And just hand-stuff. I gotta keep an eye on this warehouse, Starsk.”
He reached for Hutch’s jaw, turning his face. Their gazes met. Hutch’s eyes narrowed in warning, but Starsky knew he could get away with anything, especially if he was sweet enough. “You really are such a stickler, y’know.” He pressed their foreheads together, nudging Hutch’s nose with his own. “Just let me have some fun, Hutch. That’s all I want.” The edge began to melt from Hutch’s eyes. He spared another side-long glance out through the dark windshield. But there was nothing to see. Starsky’s hand cradled his face, turned it back towards him, once again.
He held up his other hand beneath Hutch’s mouth. “Spit.” Hutch did so, his gum dropping into Starsky’s palm. Starsky grinned, spitting his own gum out, too, tossing the chewed-up wads to the floor of the car.
They kissed slowly, lazily, Starsky tugging Hutch closer with his hand at the back of his head, fingers threading through burnished gold. He hummed appreciatively when Hutch pressed into him with a sudden fervor, the one Starsky knew he’d uncover soon enough. His hand was still resting against Starsky’s crotch, and he worked nimble fingers against the zipper of his fly.
“Back. Lay back,” Hutch whispered into his mouth, and Starsky hardly had to be told twice. He liked it better when Hutch took the lead, anyhow. Liked being told what to do, how to do it. And he knew Hutch liked telling him what to do. He just needed a little help getting there, at first, that was all.
Starsky sank backwards, down, down, down, against the bench seat, and Hutch’s weight spread over him, firm and familiar and oh, so welcome. They broke their kiss momentarily, just long enough for Hutch to situate himself, hovering over Starsky with his knees either side of Starsky’s hips, his arms bracketing him in completely. Starsky stared up at him in the dim, barely there light, his heart stuttering and leaping in his chest. Hutch was so fond of him, there was no two ways about it. His eyes gleamed with it. He shifted all his weight onto one arm, a show of strength which made Starsky’s stomach swoop, so he could reach up and run a hand along Starsky’s jaw.
“Hutch,” Starsky whined, because the other man still wasn’t kissing him. “H-Hutch, you said—said we’ve gotta be quick—”
“I know what I said,” his thumb traced softly over the apple of Starsky’s cheek. “You got to look at me, already. Just let me look at you.”
Starsky felt like he could melt into a big poodle of goo, right there on the seat of his car. He knows he’s the one who asked for this—but it’s still a lot to have Hutch’s eyes on him this way. Makes him feel all warm and liquid and malleable. When Hutch seemed to have gotten his fill, he wasted no time in kissing him again. This never failed to get Starsky going, and it wasn’t very long at all before he was bucking up into the solidness of Hutch’s body, his erection pressing into the firm hardness of his partner’s stomach.
Hutch smiled into the kiss, and that drove Starsky crazy, just like it always did, and he whimpered a little into his mouth. As best he could manage he slipped one of his hands down the length of Hutch, reaching for the fly of his jeans. He got it undone, and he reached inside, beneath Hutch’s briefs, to close his fingers around the length of him.
“God,” Hutch breathed against his lips. That got Starsky smiling, too, and bit at Hutch’s tongue the way he knew Hutch loved. “Wait, let me—let me get yours.” And Hutch was putting all his weight on just one arm again, reaching down between them and grasping at Starsky’s cock through the opening of his jeans.
“Oh, man,” Starsky sighed, and he broke the kiss to tip his head back against the leather of the seat. “Oh, man. Hutch.” He bucked up into his hold. Hutch grunted, and then he was latching onto Starsky’s bared neck, sucking a bruising kiss against the column of his throat. Starsky gasped. They were rocking into each other’s grip, hands squeezing and tugging and pulling at a frantic pace. “Hutch. Feels so good, Hutch.”
“This what you wanted all night, hm?” Hutch whispered into his kiss. “You needed me like this?”
“Always, Hutch. Always need you like this.” It was true. Starsky didn’t remember the last time he was this hot for anyone else. Since that very first week at the academy, it had been Hutch or nothing at all. He brought his free hand up to Hutch’s hair again, tugging on it hard, the way he knew Hutch loved. “You’re it for me, babe, you know that, don’t you?” Hutch did know this, of course, but Starsky knew he liked to hear him say it, from time to time.
“Fuck, Starsky,” Hutch keened, and he pressed his face against Starsky’s hair. Starsky squeezed his cock just a little tighter, thumb brushing over the head. “Fuck,” Hutch moaned. “Fuck, baby.” And then he came, and it made him shake, his whole body trembling on top of Starsky, his hips stuttering and jolting with raw, unrestrained force. “Starsky,” he said again, just for the sake of it, it seemed, and Starsky whimpered and whined beneath him, bucking up into his partner's hand. Hutch shifted, slotting up against Starsky’s side, now, and kept jerking him off at a steady, rigorous pace. Starsky lay back, slack jawed, his whole body thrumming with a need to come. He wanted to so bad. He’d been aching for it all fucking night. He grabbed onto Hutch’s shirt in a tight fistful of fabric, pulled him into a messy, wet kiss.
“Hutch,” he begged, in the barely-there space between their mouths. “Make me come, Hutch, Hutch, Hutch—” It only took another few strokes of Hutch’s hand before he did, and it was perfect, and he basked in it, pushing his whole body up against Hutch’s, getting his spunk all over the front of his jeans. But Hutch didn’t seem to care. If he did, he was saving his annoyance for later. Because right now he was just laying there, petting Starsky’s stomach, pressing kiss after kiss against the crown of his head. Starsky had to lay there, too, for a few good minutes to catch his breath, and he wound his arms around Hutch’s neck, pulling him down close to kiss his lips. Hutch pressed him down flat, again, kissed him just to kiss him, and the ache was all in Starsky’s heart, now, instead of his groin.
“Thank you,” he whispered, after who knows how long. “For indulging me.”
That got another beautiful laugh out of his partner, and Starsky tried to memorize the way the vibrations shook through his own body. He loved this man, he truly did.
“Yeah, well, I figured we could use the break. Good for morale, you know.”
“Oh, that so?” Starsky teased.
“Of course. Just going by the book.”
“Mhm, Sure, sure.”
They were both smiling at each other like lovesick teenagers. It was getting to be a little much, even for Starsky, and he pressed one last kiss to Hutch’s mouth before he shoved him up and off, pushing him back to his own side of the car. They got themselves presentable again, zipping themselves back up and running their hands through their messy hair. Starsky’s eyes were focused on his own reflection in the rearview mirror when he heard Hutch curse beside him.
“What is it?”
Hutch manhandled Starsky to his side, forcing his gaze out the window.
“Olsen’s car. It’s gone.”
Huh. It was gone. Starsky frowned. “What do you know? I guess he was gonna come out afterall.”
“And wouldn’t you know we missed it.”
“Aw, Hutch come on, now, that ain’t my fault.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t mine.” Hutch said, before pushing Starsky back to his side of the car. Starsky shook his head, turning the key in the ignition, the Torino rumbling to life. He shifted into gear, pulling away from the curb. They drove in silence for a while. When it became too much to bear, he switched on the radio.
". . . baby, I'm-a want you," Starsky sang along, trying to catch his partners gaze with a smile. Hutch didn't seem to be in the mood. But he knew he wasn’t really mad. Or if he was, he knew it wouldn't last for long.
“Look at it this way, Hutch,” Starsky tried, catching Hutch’s annoyed gaze as they passed into the inner city limits. “We’ll just have to come back tomorrow night and do it all over again.”
And there it was—Hutch’s smile, bright and beautiful and glowing even in the darkness of night. It was impossible to hide, though he tried, nonetheless. But Starsky saw, because Starsky was always looking.