A song parody, sung to the tune of the Christmas Classic, Baby It’s Cold Outside, originally written by Frank Loesser (1944), and inspired by the version performed by John Schneider and Tom Wopat of The Dukes of Hazzard called, Johnny It’s Cold Outside. Basically this is a parody of a parody of a parody.
Here is the music vid that inspired me.
(Hutch is in blue, Starsky is in purple)
I really can’t stay
But, Blondie, it’s cold outside
I’ve got to go away
But, it’s really comin’ down out there
This evening has been
Been hoping that you’d drop in
So very nice
You brought the beer and it’s on ice
Vanessa will start to worry
Blondie, what’s your hurry?
I bet she will be pacing the floor
She don’t deserve one thought more
So really I’d better scurry
I’d love to watch you scurry
Well, maybe just half a glass more
Put some records on while I pour
The neighbors might think
Blondie, it’s bad out there
Say what’s in this drink?
The roads will be closed out there
I wish I knew now
Your eyes are like starlight now
What tale to tell
I’m sure you have some story to sell
I ought to say no, no, no, sir
Mind if I move in closer
At least I’m gonna say that I tried
What’s the sense of hurting my pride?
I really can’t stay
Blondie, don’t hold out
[Both] Babe, it’s cold outside
I simply must go
Blondie, it’s cold outside
Starsk! The answer is no
Blondie, it’s cold outside
The welcome has been
How lucky that you dropped in
So nice and warm
Look out the window at the storm
Dobey will be suspicious
Don’t you think this pizza’s just scrumptious?
Babcock will be watching the door
And we could always order some more
And Simmons’ mind is vicious
Damn, your lips look delicious
Well maybe just a half a slice more
Never such a tropical storm
I got to get home
But, Blondie, you’d freeze out there
What? It’s sixty degrees!
You’ll blow out to sea out there
You’ve really been grand
I thrill when you touch my hand
But don’t you see?
How can you do this thing to me?
Starsk! I gotta go home
You can’t drive your squash out there
Come on, give me my keys
You’re risking your ass out there
This evening’s been great
I want you to play my guitar
But don’t you see?
And sing a love song just for me
There’s bound to be talk tomorrow
Think of my lifelong sorrow
At least there will be plenty implied
If you caught pneumonia and died
I really can’t stay
Get over that old doubt
[Both] Babe, it’s cold
[Both] Babe, it’s cold outside
Hutch, you know you ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight.
I know, Starsk, I know.
Special thanks to Flamingo for going above and beyond.
Author Notes: The classic movie “White Christmas” was the inspiration for this fanfiction, which takes place Post-Series. The authors wish to acknowledge Irving Berlin for his heartwarming songs and Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye for their stellar performances that forever live in the collective American heart and come back to life each Christmas. We don’t own them or Starsky and Hutch, but we love them and will love them for many White Christmases to come.
Some song lyrics have been respectfully changed to be gender non-specific or to match the story’s intent. The authors do not mean this to be a parody of Irving Berlin’s songs.
Shameless Romanticism follows:
Overture
The gathering at Huggy’s bar was bittersweet, as much as it was filled with profanity-laced jokes, backhanded tributes, and plenty of alcohol to numb the unspoken sadness. Everyone, from “Biggy” Bigalow in Requisition to Simonetti in Internal Affairs, knew they were witnessing the end of an era. The end of Starsky-and-Hutch, as they had been so affectionately known.
As hard as Starsky had worked to get reinstated after Gunther’s goons and their high-powered guns had nearly torn his body in half, no doctor in the city would clear him to go back on the streets with only one lung. After all the painful rehab he went through, sometimes Starsky thought he might have been better off if he would have died that day last Spring rather than spend the rest of his life chained to a desk. But then he’d look at Hutch—remember how he’d been with him each agonizing step of the way, see the devotion shining from his eyes—and realize he was the luckiest man in the world.
They’d talked long into the night about Starsky’s idea of leaving the force until, by the first streaks of dawn, they’d both agreed it was the right choice. But Starsky only had a few months left of disability payments and still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince Hutch not to worry about him – that he had plenty of money-making schemes spinning through his head.
Still, he could tell Hutch was less than convinced. If he knew Hutch at all – and he knew him inside out and upside down – he knew his soon-to-be former partner was more interested in Starsky having the best possible quality of life than he was in anything else. All they both knew for sure was that, whatever path they traveled, they never wanted to be far from each other.
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“Hutch?”
“Shhh… still twenty minutes to go. Center, Starsk.”
(silence)
“Uh, Hutch… believe me, I’m more centered than I’ve ever been. And I just realized something.”
“Not now. Close your eyes.”
“They are closed. I don’t need them anyway. I can smell you.”
“What’re you talking about, Starsky? I just showered.”
“I know. And it’s not your shampoo or soap, or aftershave. I can separate each one of those scents ‘cause I know them so well.”
“Then what are you babbling about?”
“I can smell your hair, babe. I never knew baby-fine, sunlight gold and silky had anything more than a tactile sense, but I can smell it. Next time I get to run my fingers through it, I’m gonna remember this wonderful moment.”
(a beat of silence)
“And your skin…. It has an aroma that’s all smooth and velvety. Makes me wanna touch it, glide my hands all over your chest, your…”
“Aroma? Starsky, you’ve never used that word in your life before.”
“Well, maybe bein’ so centered is bringin’ out the vocabulary in me.”
“You’re hallucinating.”
“Naw, Hutch, I’m serious. And your musk is…”
“Starsky!”
“What?”
(more silence)
“Open your eyes!”
“Okay… so?”
“My musk, you say?”
“Yeah. It’s subtle, but it makes me really hot. It’s heavy and sweet, like whipping cream, and smoky, wraps around me like a soft blanket. My cock’s all hard and throbbing but I’m gonna close my eyes again ‘cause we’ve got eighteen more minutes to meditate and I don’t want…”
“Starsky…”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Come ‘ere.”
When meditating
senses are sometimes heightened
Can sex be next, please?
END
Click on the images to view them larger.
I glance at you and feel the pull
Of searching eyes that grip my will
Sliding my hand across the car seat
You take my hand not missing a beat.
I walk with you on the crowded street
Two steps closer our shoulders meet.
Smiling in sync at the subtle display
No scornful looks can cause dismay.
I stand with you, I have your back
When cold hearts vent a vicious attack.
I slay your dragons with my words
They flutter away like harmless birds.
I know you would do the same for me
I wear my love for all others to see.
I kissed you and my fate was sealed
You kissed me back and love was real.
I will go with you to take our vows
Partners for life, then and now.
Somehow my heart already knew
Partner, life begins and ends with you.
Note: The prequel to this story, Misfits & Friends, can be found on the Starsky & Hutch Archives.
“Hey, Hutch, ya there?” Starsky asked quietly.
Instantly, a hand as familiar as his own gently touched him, confirming what the brunet knew all along: that Hutch was there. Where else would he be?
“Yeah, buddy, I’m here. You okay? You need anything?” came the questions, questions that had been asked so many times since the day Gunther changed their lives forever.
“Oh, quit fussing, momma hen,” Starsky chided gently. “‘M fine, just wondering if you were still here or had gone home already. Ya got it so dark in here; we’re in the hospital, blondie, not the morgue. How about cuttin’a light on or somethin’? And, what time is it anyways?”
“Hang on, I’ll cut the night light on,” Hutch said, smiling at his chatty partner. “Watch your eyes, don’t want to blind you.”
“What? And that bright blond hair of yours don’t already do that?” Starsky quipped back, holding his chest as a coughing spell hit.
Hutch was immediately at Starsky’s side, helping him to sit up in bed, trying to lessen the pressure on his chest. The coughing continued for another few seconds, raspy and rattling.
While helping Starsky to settle, Hutch thought of the past few days, blaming himself again for Starsky being in this situation. After an evening riding around looking at Christmas decorations, Starsky had developed a low grade fever and cough. Hutch hadn’t planned on staying out so long but Starsky, tired of being cooped up so much, begged Hutch for just a little more time. It had been so long since Hutch had seen Starsky light up like this with happiness, maybe even brighter than the colorful lights and adornments seen around town, that he just couldn’t resist his friend.
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“See ya later, Starsk,” Hutch said over his shoulder, as he opened the door to the rhythmic knocking that always announced Molly’s arrival.
“’Kay,” Starsky said, smiling at the vision that was his partner. Sixty years old, but, in Starsky’s eyes, he still looked like the young, green, whippersnapper that Starsky had felt an immediate bond with the moment that he saw him at the Police Academy. Hard to believe that was almost thirty seven years ago. Of course, they’d both aged and Starsky was more than aware of their older selves, but he could damn well see what he wanted to, couldn’t he?
“Hey, Molly.” Hutch hugged her.
Starsky waved. They’d both referred to Molly as their daughter for many years. The only children they’d both had the pleasure to parent, or rather god parent, belonged to other people, but that didn’t matter. Molly and Kiko were family, so were Rosie and Cal. All of their offspring called Starsky and Hutch, Gramps S and Gramps H.
“Old Grumpy here doesn’t want to go shopping. His ankle’s playing up again,” Hutch said.
Hutch had found the joy of present giving when the younger generation had kids of their own. Not that he had ever been stingy when it came to gifts for the kids, but he liked to give presents when he wanted to, not when society dictated. A speech Starsky had heard many times.
Starsky’s ankle had been a constant joke throughout their career. He always seemed to be twisting it at the wrong moment. This time, Starsky had an ulterior motive in declining the shopping trip to buy Christmas presents for their grandchildren. One that Molly was aware of, and was a happy collaborator.
