Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar 2015

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December, 1979. Starsky’s apartment. Hutch.

We’d just celebrated a small Christmas party at Starsky’s apartment, with the people we are close to: Dobey and his family, Huggy, Minnie, and a couple of others from the precinct. Starsky’s mother and Nicky didn’t come because they had already visited Starsky two months ago. My family has never made it to Bay City for celebrations.

We had so much to be thankful for and celebrate: good friends, Starsky’s recovery, which was moving forward beautifully, and our new jobs with the police department as cold case investigators. Dobey pulled his weight and set the transfer up when Starsky and I decided to quit the Force. Now, Starsky works only a couple of hours each week, but he’ll soon be capable enough to handle most of his activities, driving included.

I sat near the Christmas tree in Starsky’s apartment, which Huggy helped to put up, and started removing the torn bits of wrapping paper around it. It was a good day and Starsky was all smiles.

We hadn’t bought anything for each other for Christmas. Starsky had asked me to not to. Said he had everything he needed, and that I had given him enough gifts to last a lifetime of Christmases. Who would’ve thought Starsky would refuse gifts for Christmas? We bought gifts for all our friends who had supported us during our darkest times, and hand delivered gift baskets to the hospital staff of every ward Starsky stayed at, as well as Starsky’s physical therapy group.

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Alternate Tag to “Targets Without a Badge Part I”

Summary: “Wha’? Starsky? What is this? What am I seeing?” “You’re watching the world without you in it.”

Hutch stood on the beach looking out at the ocean, tumbling his detective’s badge in his hands. He figured the old badge had polluted him long enough. He became a police officer to help people. Now it seemed he was doing more harm than good. Lionel was dead and it was all his fault. Judge McClellan might possibly get off scot-free. Huggy wasn’t even talking to him.

He was buried so deep in his thoughts he didn’t hear the voice that called “watch out” or the whiz of the Frisbee right before it smacked him in the head, knocking him cold.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?” The surf pounded in Hutch’s ears but it was easy to recognize the voice of his partner. Starsky gently raised Hutch’s head from the sand, cradling him like he had after the car bomb exploded just a few days ago.

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I don’t recall anyone ever smirking while giving me a blowjob, but that’s what Starsky is doing, in spite of or maybe because of me straddling him while I’ve got him pinned to the floor.

Starsky has this strategy of talking incessantly while playing chess, in order to distract his opponent. He knows it infuriates me. He also knows how good he looks with his shirt unbuttoned halfway. And now there’s no sound but the ticking of the clock and my own heavy breathing.

It should be obvious by now how he always manages to get one over on me. But I fall for it every time.

I pull off before I come down his throat, and I end up coming on my clothes like I’m a kid again. He’s on me before I can even try to stand up, kissing me down my neck and my chest as he unbuttons my shirt clumsily, as if I’m some kind of sweet treat that he can’t get enough of. I can feel how hard he is against me, and it makes my eyes roll up into my head.

I bury my hands in his hair. “Hey. Hey David.” That stops him; I never call him that. He’s got this look in eyes that’s a little bit confusion but mostly hopeful anticipation. I smile, maybe because I’ve gained the upper hand, maybe because he looks beautiful. “You wanna take me to bed and fuck me?”

Starsky gets this look on his face that makes me wonder how I ever manage to deny him anything. He looks like a kid in a candy store, or, let’s face it, Starsky in a candy store. But when he gets me in bed, he’s sweet and slow, like a connoisseur savoring his favorite dish.

Afterward, I’m lying awake, satisfied but not sleepy, while Starsky is lost in sleep, his limbs all tangled up in mine, as if he’s a benevolent octopus. And I have the chance to say what I’m too cowardly to tell him when he’s awake. “How’d I get so lucky?”