Work Text:
You know the Great American Revolution?
I don't mean the 1775 War of Independence. I'm talking about the one at Six Flags Magic Mountain. The thing that's 125 feet tall, 3457 feet long. Yes! That one--the first 360-degree coaster that speeds up to 55 miles per hour.
And, No! I have never gone on that. What do you take me for, an idiot?
I've never ridden on any of those wheels of terror. I've only been a spectator, clinging to a side fence, watching the train spin, rotate, and speed through the loop with my curly-haired daredevil of a partner on board. He's the one who rode the roller coaster, and I was the one who ended up puking my guts out. But… I wish I had taken that ride, because that would've prepared me for the real thing Starsky took me on last night.
I've seen Starsky in everything you can imagine. My favorite is his red shirt. No, I think it's the white one. Wait… it's that dark blue tee that matches his eyes or the yellow one. Well… I like that blue and red plaid shirt, as well. Anyhow, whatever the shirt is, he's used to having it unbuttoned from top to bottom, displaying all that glorious hair.
I meant what's on his chest! You gals have been reading too much fanfiction.
It's pure torture for me when we are at the precinct because I can't even do much staring without getting caught by others in the squadroom.
The locker room, on the other hand, is fair game, and I'm sure he leaves his fly half-done to show-off the thick dark line of hair that starts at his navel, runs across his lower belly, and arrows down to the waistband of his pants.
Pants! Those blue jeans. Oh, don't look so innocent. You very well know the ones I'm referring to: those nut-busting, skin-tight, accentuate-your-package-to-all-it's-worth-to-make-your-partner-go-crazy denims he can barely walk in. I have been jealous of the zippered-flies on every single pair of his slacks that hide the finest mysteries and the greatest carnalities I never had the pleasure to indulge in… before last night.
But now I'm in my car, wondering whether Starsky will wake up, find me gone, and in lightning-fast speed, bust open his front door to come looking for me. Simply because he can't spend a minute without me after everything we did last night. To think of it, it wasn't much, to tell the truth. It didn’t take that much for me to go soaring-up-above-the-world-so-high, and get stuck in the sky feeling like the blazing sun. Definitely nothing like that twinkle-twinkle little star. I even sound like him now. One night in bed with him and I’ve been converted into a Starsky.
Why do you make me talk about the bed? I feel as if my pants are two sizes too small. I'm not one to go commando, but what would you expect me to do when I couldn't find my boxers? Not like I could've rolled Starsky over to look underneath him. For all I know, they could be anywhere in or between his kitchen and living room. You take your pick. They may not be in any of those places.
If Starsky's awake, I might see a light at his window--
What the heck? Oh, Shit! SHIT!
Is this what I hired you for, huh? Couldn’t you just tell me that I’ve been trying to run away from my own apartment, and that I spent last night at Venice Place, not at Starsky's?
Where am I supposed to go other than back to my own apartment? Back to where Starsky is asleep--in my bed--tumbled and wrapped in my sheets. Geez! We did everything that we did yesterday in my apartment. In my bed! Oh, God! I won’t be able to look around my house without getting a hard-on from now on. No! None of you are invited to my place!
I need a plan. And a couple more if plan A doesn’t work. This is Starsky we're talking about.
Listen! I have to act as if nothing, absolutely nothing happened between him and me last night. I'm going to tell him that it was late after our own little after-Thanksgiving celebration, and that he spent the night at my place because he was too drunk to drive. Whatever he thinks happened is a big dream. "You really think you and I would do something like that, Starsk?" I'll ask, making my eyes really big, confused and innocent-looking. Oh, believe me, I can do that very well.
What if he doesn’t believe me?
Plan B. I'll tell him that we 'talked' about other men doing it with each other, so maybe that's what he remembers, and that we never did anything ourselves. I'll tell him that our conversation was animated, but only theoretical, and that we didn’t actually do anything. I can tell him that, as usual, he has a vivid imagination, and I'm impressed he would think we would do something like that. Maybe that'll make him think we never did it, but that we could do it? Because… you know I want nothing and no one else but him, right?
What if he asks where I went early in the morning? Well… that's a no-brainer. I went jogging in the morning, as I always do. No surprises there.
For all I know, Starsky's still asleep, and wouldn’t even know that I was out of the house. And when he wakes up, he wouldn't remember anything because he was, for real, drunk as a skunk, last night.
***
I blame everything on Dobey. It all started with him. Out of blue, he gave us a whole week off for Thanksgiving, with the assurance that we'd work during Christmas. I knew Starsky had been wanting to go visit his mother in New York, and I decided to visit my family in Duluth. All went well, and I enjoyed seeing Father and Mother, and my sister's family. I had a good time, surprisingly.
I talked to Starsky every night. I talked a lot about Starsky as well. At the dinner table: "Starsky would've had enough room for not just the apple pie and chocolate-chip cookies, but also for another two servings of vanilla ice cream." On another day: "Can you believe Starsky craves salami for breakfast?" In the garden, listening to Father explain how mint and geraniums protect peonies from ants: "Starsky once gave me an ant-farm for Christmas."
"What did you give him?" asked Father.
"I planted a tree in his name."
Father looked surprised. I wasn't sure why.
I love my family. There's no doubt about it. I may not be close to them like Starsky is with his family, nevertheless, I do love my folks. But… I missed my partner. It was only one week and I couldn't wait for the days to end so that I could get back to Bay City.
That night, as usual, I talked to Starsky for a long time. After listening to all his stories about his cousins--Vinnie, Wade, and Tad, his uncles--Jacob and Al, his aunts--Mabel and Rose, and all those other relatives whose names I don't remember, I'm sure I split my sides laughing.
"You haven't told him about how you feel, have you?"
I had replaced the receiver in its cradle but had not taken my hand off. Father was standing at the doorway watching me. I was startled by his voice, lifting my fingers from the phone.
Father walked over to the table and sat in front of me. He had this look that I’d never seen before. Some kind of an understanding of what's going on, and an acceptance that I’d never felt previously.
"Talk to him when you get back to Bay City. I may not have understood this before, but recently, I’ve gotten to know that one of my very best friends is gay. I started seeing the whole thing in a different perspective when he told me about his lover and the problems they have. I want you to be happy, and it's obvious that the one person who can make you happy is Dave. Talk to him before it's too late. It's time to take the slide, Ken."
You think I wasn't surprised? I didn’t come out of the study for another hour, trying to piece together what Father said, and what I was going to do. Am I that transparent? I'll tell you about that slide he was talking about later.
I took his advice; after all it was a man-to-man talk coming from my own father.
See what it got me into?
I'm blaming everything on my father. Screw you! Yes, I know I blamed it on Dobey. That was before I recalled the events that had taken place in Duluth. Well then, I'm blaming Dobey and Father, both. Maybe they were in this together.
So, yes, I came home on a Friday. Starsky was supposed to come back the next day. I had to spend one whole day in Bay City without him. I was just halfway into my first beer when someone knocked on the door. I opened it and there he was, in his red shirt, his hair still wet from a recent shower. His shirt was soaked a little, too. His curly hair had obviously dripped onto his shirt.
That devil!
"Starsky!" I threw myself at him… or maybe I pulled him towards me. All I can remember is feeling his arms circling around me and the heat of his palms on my back. His lips were pressed against my neck. I swear I did not mean to put him in that position, but the way I was draped all over him, he was stuck with me… like that.
I hugged him and held him for an extended period of time. I couldn't let go of him, but he pushed me away, saying he wanted to take a good look at me. "If I knew I'd get a welcome like this, I would've come back earlier," he said. "Missed me, huh?"
Starsky eyed me top to bottom and bottom to top. He touched my forehead and traced something from left to right. "This wasn't there earlier. Haf'ta do somethin' about these lines that show up when I ain't around." He brushed my cheek. "You need a shave, Blondie." Starsky held my face in his palms and looked into my soul. "Haven't slept much. Have ya?" he asked, running his thumb under my eye. "All we need is some beer, pizza, and lots'n lots'a sleep," he announced cheerfully.
Starsky was going to fix me with his special charms. I knew I was blushing.
He had changed his flight and flown home a day earlier. You know why?
He said, "I figured I was needed here with you more than in New York." Now if that was not a flirting come-on, I don't know what is. I promised myself that I was never going to let him stay away from me again.
We talked a lot about our relatives and families while finishing a six-pack of beer, sitting on the sofa, flipping channels on the TV, and not really paying attention to what was on it. Both of us were feeling a bit woozy when Starsky put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer.
The rest is history.
Maybe not.
If Starsky told you that I kiss and don't tell, well, he's right and wrong. I know this is what you live for, and what you've been waiting for. Although I'm not going to tell you everything that happened, I want to tell the whole world what we did, so that not one of you freaks would even dare have any fantasies about him anymore. He's all mine! You hear me?
He is ALL MINE!
So… where were we? Oh, yes, on the couch.
I put my head on his shoulder, inhaling his fresh soap smell. He smelled good. His arm was around me, half of it… well… a quarter, maybe, dangling just near my face. I grabbed his palm and turned it around. Without even thinking, I caressed his inner wrist with my thumb. I felt Starsky turning his head towards me. I didn’t turn around to look at him, because his hand was more interesting at that moment.
A storm was building in my veins. My head was spinning, and before the fear clutching my heart could take over and cripple the butterflies that were running wild in my stomach, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to his wrist.
He smelled of a whole lot more than just soap. The blend of lavender and sage with a hint of sandalwood blew me away. What-- You think it didn’t? Of course you wouldn’t understand because none of you have, and never will, kiss Starsky! I promise you that much.
Anyway… the smell of his soap, intertwined with his own body scent, enveloped me, becoming my own line of coke. It took only a couple of deep breaths to get me high. I pushed my head back and looked at him. What I saw in his eyes was something I'd never experienced before. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. His half-lidded eyes blazed with raw hunger and desire, true and bare, and all that was for me.
He wasn't hiding or denying it. He wasn’t smiling or teasing; his stare curled around my heart, tattooing it forever with a message that read I-love-you. We moved towards each other in sync, slanting our mouths over each other's. Starsky's arm stayed behind my head, securing and holding me as he branded me with his tongue and lips.
Don't ask me how we started on the couch and then ended up in my bedroom. I have no clue. I don’t know whether we walked, flew, crawled, or roller-coasted onto the bed because my hips were rolling towards him like that's what I'd been doing my whole life.
His fingers roved all over me, setting me on fire with Starsky-patented mind-numbing circles. He touched and squeezed, electrifying my skin and sending thousands of lightening sparks all over my body. He peppered my body with kisses when all I did was keep on saying his name over and over and holding onto him for dear life. I felt fuzzy as Starsky spun and tilted my world, made my body throb and my heart pound, until the tension that built up was so much that I exploded into millions of pieces.
That was only the beginning, and then it was my turn.
When I opened my eyes, Starsky was watching me as if I was the most prized stuffed animal he had won at a carnival, and he was never going to allow anyone else to claim me. I was his, and his only. With that look of his, he could've stopped my heart.
I pushed him over onto his back and covered his body with mine, pressing myself onto him, feeling his arousal and desire against my stomach. Starsky gasped and pulled me in for a smoldering kiss. I slipped my tongue into his mouth with a groan, dueling for control and demanding at the same time. What he did to me I did to him, circling my lips over every inch of his body, making him claw at the sheets as his voice rumbled in passion. When I was done, not a single part of him was left uncovered. We were wrapped around each other so completely that neither one of us knew what arm or leg belonged to whom.
This went on the whole night. And I can remember every bit of it. But that's all you get. Learn to be satisfied with what you're given without asking for more.
No! I wasn't drunk at all. So, do you think Starsky was?
I'm screwed, right? More than last night!
But I have to try. You all better support me and stick to my plan, or this could be the last calendar--solstice, Advent, or otherwise--you'll ever be reading.
***
I climbed the stairs back to my apartment and opened the door. I was sure that Starsky was still asleep because there weren't any lights on--except--he was sitting on the couch, squinting his eyes, rubbing his hands over his head.
Hearing me, he opened one eye and asked, "Where've you been?"
I closed the door and leaned against it. My knees were giving way, my legs were wobbly, and my heart rate had tripled. Calm down, Hutchinson, Starsky's practically still asleep.
"I went on my morning run," I told him calmly.
Instead of grunting and saying, "Oh, Ok," which is what he should've said… his head shot up and he looked at me, wide awake. A grin spread all over his face. "A-Ha!"
He drives me nuts all the time and now's not an exception.
Before I snapped at him for his answer, he got up and walked towards me. His eyes were liquid blue, or maybe that was my feet turning to jelly. I felt sweat collecting on my brow, which is a good thing, right? Because it would look like I'd been running.
"Since when do you jog in your corduroys?" asked Starsky.
Damn it! Is that what I'm wearing? I didn’t even dare look at my legs because Starsky was getting closer and closer, like a panther stalking its prey. I was being ambushed, and for once, I couldn't grasp his intentions or read his mind.
He stood right in front of me. "Mornin'," he said, with that toothy grin.
I didn't trust myself to say anything, because, for a second there, I wasn't really sure whether it was morning, afternoon, or evening.
I leaned back against the door, but it's not made of rubber, so it didn't give an inch.
"Tsk… tsk… tsk." Starsky shook his head.
"Hmmm?" I asked, averting my eyes from his naked torso.
I had nowhere to go, as Starsky brought his arms up to my chest. He started unbuttoning my shirt, his eyes locked with mine.
I held my breath, too afraid to let go, too afraid to think what was happening, too afraid to react, too afraid to believe he's doing what I think he's doing.
"You know what I'm doin'?" Starsky asked.
He was killing me.
By now, all my buttons were unbuttoned. I remembered that I had no underwear on. I hoped my zipper was up because if not, the evidence of what I was feeling would be all out there, literally.
Starsky straightened my shirt and started buttoning it up again.
Wait! What? I looked down at his arms and yes… that's what he was doing.
"There," said Starsky, arranging my collar as well. "It was all screwy. You had the buttons in the wrong holes."
Then Starsky turned around and walked away. "Tell me again, since when did you start wearing dress shirts for running?" he asked.
I should have been relieved, but instead I'm fucking disappointed that things aren't going the way I wanted them to, but… wasn't I planning to tell him that everything was a dream and that he must've been hallucinating? How would I go on with that story if he started undressing me completely and I did the same to him?
Starsky knows exactly what buttons to push, or unbutton, or button-up as in this case.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching his ass bouncing towards the kitchen.
He was wearing my boxer shorts.
He looked back at me and caught me in the act. "What?" he asked. "Your shorts were stuck between my legs-- So I assumed you left them there for me."
How am I going to explain my underwear ending up near his ass?
Seeing him wearing my shorts was like seeing me wrapped all around his waist. Do you have any idea what that did to me? We wear each other's shirts and sweaters all the time, but this… this took it to a whole other level.
I knew I was about to have a panic attack. What I forgot, and what you sorry asses forgot to tell me, thank you very much, is that no matter how many plans I came up with, none of them would work with Starsky. I wouldn't even get a chance to unveil a single scheme. He sees right through me like I'm under a microscope with a 100x objective lens.
Starsky got the coffee going while I was still plastered to the door.
"What are our breakfast plans?" Starsky asked. "I'm starving." He opened the fridge.
"I'll make you a sandwich," I said, glad for the opportunity to talk about something neutral. I detached myself from the front door.
I stepped on something like a pebble, but before I could check out what it was, Starsky glanced at me. "I have one more question," he said.
What now?
"Since when did you start running barefoot?"
Shit!
So there was no point telling him I'd gone jogging. Now I’ve created a problem by lying to him.
"One more thing…"
God! Would this never end?
"Do you have a treadmill in your heap'o junk 'cos that's where you were after you left the house."
How the hell? What? Wasn't he sitting at the couch when I came in… like he just woke up?
Bastard!
So he was already awake when I left the house!
I stood rooted to the ground, feeling that little stone-like object pushing at my sole. "What I do with my time is my business," I snapped. Do I have to tell him where I go and what I do in my spare time?
"Sure!" Starsky poked his head in the fridge and started to whistle.
I checked out what was stuck to my foot--a red button--and quickly pocketed it. I saw another at the dinner table and picked it up as well. Were any buttons left on Starsky's shirt? What did I do last night?
Starsky pulled out a loaf of bread and some other stuff that I could use for a sandwich. I started on the preparation right away, and I saw another button near the fridge. Starsky stood right there, leaning against the edge.
"What're you looking at?" Starsky asked. "You want your boxers back?"
"Hasn't your mother told you that you shouldn't wear other people's underwear?" I had to get out of the hole I had dug myself in, one way or the other. I walked over to the fridge and opened it. I peered into the vegetable compartment for an onion, while picking up the third button and slipping it in my pocket with the rest.
"You want me to drop'em?" asked Starsky.
"Would you?"
"Nope, 'cos I'll never get my sandwich if I do," said Starsky.
I should've just kept my mouth shut and made the damn sandwich. Lesson learned. That's what I did for the next ten minutes. Starsky just stood there, watching me, without uttering a single fucking word.
We had breakfast; Starsky finished his whole sandwich, humming some song that I didn't know while tapping on the table with his fingers. He was clearly relaxed and happy. I… I was wound up too tight like my grandfather's clock; I couldn’t even get two bites of the sandwich down my throat. I looked everywhere but at Starsky, whereas his eyes were fixed on me almost all of the time.
"I was wondering," Starsky started while drinking his third cup of coffee, "how many of my buttons are in your pants?"
Where do you think my mouthful of coffee ended up?
Exactly! I choked on it, getting everything up my nose, and then spraying all over the table.
Starsky was by my side instantaneously, patting my back, and soothing me with his words that were always my comfort-food, except today. Feeling his breath fanning across my ear and hearing his whispers of, "It's okay… It's okay. Calm down," in that so-seductive voice was not helping a bit.
"I just wanted to know whether you'd sew them back on for me," Starsky asked, really smoothly.
"On your shirt?" Why do I ask these dumb questions?
"No. I want them on my underwear."
"You weren't wearing any," I said. I just couldn't help it.
Starsky chuckled. "Now we're getting somewhere. Aren't we?"
"Get away from me." I pushed him so that I could un-stick myself from the tug of war of emotions I had been battling with since I woke up.
Starsky didn’t go away. Instead, he pulled out the chair next to me and sat, trapping me with those bare legs.
God help me… I prayed silently as tension buzzed up my toes and fingers. Where is He when I really needed Him?
Starsky placed his palms flat on my knees and leaned forward. All I could do was get hard and feel trapped as he stared at me from under his thick brows. "I'm not goin' away, Blondie. You ain't gettin' away from me again. Sooner you get it into that empty blond skull of yours," Starsky butted his forehead against mine lightly and continued, "better it'll be for both of us."
I swallowed hard, hoping it'd help me say something meaningful… something like the fact that he's the one I'd been waiting for, even if I didn’t know it until I met him. That I've been his, and only his, ever since the day he sat next to me in the academy lecture room for that very first introductory lecture.
He announced that he was my roommate, had just arrived at the premises, and said, "We have to do something about your bed."
"Huh?" I asked, wondering where the hell this thunderbolt came from and what was wrong with my bed.
"It doesn't get made by itself, you know!"
Today, I was feeling the same excitement tumbling around in a mix of confusion about what Starsky meant. I stared at him, wondering how far we had come in our lives, and how long it took for us to end up in bed together, like mates, lovers… and if I understood Starsky correctly, life-partners.
"You remember how it was last night?" Starsky asked, brushing his lips against mine, oh so lightly, making me shiver. "If you're thinkin' of tellin' me that it was all just a dream, it ain't gonna work."
How did he figure out my plan? Did any of you tell him?
"Yeah?" I asked, not recognizing my own voice.
"Yeah. You wanna know why?" Starsky kissed the tip of my nose.
"Why?"
Starsky pressed his lips to mine, tracing them with his tongue, wanting to do more but obviously giving me time to decide… like I'd need it. I'd give him access to anything he wanted of me. I opened up, my need for him torn out of me with a moan, a sob. Starsky trapped my lower lip between his teeth, sucking and biting lightly. My breathing got raspier and labored. I couldn't take this much longer. I was a mess.
Starsky pulled away gently. "Come, I'll show you."
Show me what?
What were we talking about?
Starsky got up and extended his arm. I held it tightly, and he pulled me up.
"Turn around," he commanded, and pushed me towards the bathroom. He walked with me, and made me stand facing the mirror. He stood right behind me.
Oh, God! I wanted him too much. I wouldn’t last long like this. I leaned backwards and put my head on his shoulder. "What are you doing to me?" I asked under my breath.
Starsky pressed his cheek to my forehead.
My eyes started to flutter closed.
"Don't close your eyes," Starsky said, and I forced myself to stay awake.
"Watch me." Starsky's heavy-lidded eyes were dark with desire and suffused with a hunger that made me quiver in anticipation for more.
Starsky reached for my shirt as he circled his arms around me, and messed with my buttons. I think he buttoned them up earlier so he could undo them now, all over again, making me writhe and tremble with want and need. He drove me insane with his butterfly-light strokes across my chest. He savored each new revelation of my skin, like he was seeing and feeling me for the first time. His knuckles brushed against my nipples, sending tingling warm sensations all over my body.
"You're good at this," I said, my breathing ragged.
"Good at what?" Starsky pressed his lips to the back of my left ear on the perfect spot that made my toes curl in agony.
"Good in bed."
Starsky chuckled. "Well… technically, we're not in bed, now."
He worked his way down my shirt and stopped at my pants. He's flawless in everything he does.
I inhaled shakily, wanting him to continue all through the process, until he had had his way with all my clothes. Until there was nothing else standing between him and me. He surprised me by coming back to my shoulders and peeling the shirt off me.
I felt cold, momentarily, but Starsky kept me warm by wrapping himself around me. His palms rested across my belly, and I wondered whether he could feel the pulse beating and throbbing between my legs. Heat flashed through me and my body temperature went up a notch or two as Starsky traced the edge of my trousers. My abdomen retracted in response, offering him further access. He dipped his fingers below, making me arch and ache for more.
"Don't start something you can't finish," I warned him.
"I always finish what I start, or have you already forgotten?" Starsky growled, and dragged the arm that was across my belly upwards.
"See this?" Starsky brought my attention to a spot above my left nipple. "Hickeys don't appear all by themselves during dreams, Hutch," Starsky breathed in my ear. He drew his fingers across my chest to the right side of my neck. "There's another one here." I watched as his right thumb pressed over a red spot that looked like a leaf. "This wasn’t here when you pushed me onto the bed last night," he whispered, trailing kisses down my neck to my collarbone. "I can remember very well… it was only you and me in your bed last night. I promise you, Hutch, from now on, it'll always be only you and me."
I grabbed Starsky's hand and brought it up to my chest, making him uncurl his fingers and lay his palm flat on my heart. Our eyes met in the mirror. There was so much passion in those dark blue depths that I felt myself pulled under, drowning. I wanted to hear him make that promise again.
Starsky locked eyes with me. "Only you and me, Hutch. I promise," Starsky said with conviction as if he could read my mind.
All barriers between us dissolved forever. I turned Starsky around to face me. He secured my face between his palms, making me melt with those blue flames of total adoration and love. Starsky had moved in, taking control of my life. He had hypnotized me, destroying and confusing my feelings. Then he pieced me back together, making me whole and his, completely.
I pulled Starsky closer, fitting him against the curves of my body. I brushed my lips over his eyes with a stream of kisses, promising so much more than just a life together. I lowered my mouth to his as my needs churned and demanded satisfaction. Our bodies were fused together by damp skin and desire. I had no choice when it came to Starsky. I had no choice at all. He was in my blood and bones, and I wanted him.
There we were exploring ourselves all over again. Learning and understanding what makes us tick and tremble, want and scream, moan and sob, cry and beg.
While I allowed Starsky to take control and show me places I had never been before, I thought of the slide I took for the first time as a kid at the children's park in Duluth. I was afraid as I climbed to the top, and even more afraid to slide down until my father told me that I should learn to let go and embrace the unknown. I trusted him then, as a five-year-old, and I trusted him again as an adult, taking his advice and allowing Starsky to see what I felt for him. Letting go of my fears of Starsky knowing how I really felt for him set me free. I had the same exhilaration I felt when I flew down that little slide with the wind whipping my face, discovering many forms of happiness and joy.
This time, I'm totally ready to glide with Starsky--not just on a kids' slide, not on one of those three thousand-some long rollercoasters either, but on a life-long journey.
I'm utterly thrilled with all the discoveries I was going to make on the way.