December 4th- Chrysalism by Suburbanboho

“It’s really coming down out there,” Hutch says, watching from the hotel window. They’re in New York for a short visit with Starsky’s mother, brother and whatever other extended family happens to show up while they’re in the area. For privacy — not to mention sanity — they have opted for a hotel room that’s close enough for them to stop by easily but too far for her to want to pop by unexpectedly.

“Yeah. So much for the plans to go to Prospect Park,” Starsky grumbles, flopping down on the bed on his back. “It isn’t supposed to break much today, not according to the papers.” He tosses the offending section to the other bed. “I was looking forward to a trip down memory lane. We spent a lot of time there as kids. If Ma wanted to get rid of us on the weekend, she’d give us a few bucks for peanuts or whatever. If she really wanted us gone for a while, she’d give us enough for the zoo.”

“And why can’t we still have that memory lane stroll?” Hutch flops down on the still unmade bed next to Starsky. “Are you gonna melt or something?” he teases lightly, kissing the side of Starsky’s face. The pouting is really adorable sometimes.

A bolt of lightning lights up the sky and Hutch gulps and tenses slightly. He’s been in Southern California too long and these are no longer common occurrences in his day-to-day life. They weren’t constant in Minnesota but in California, rain is rare enough.

A criminal with a gun is a danger he knows how to handle. The unexpected power of Mother Nature brings out the old definition of awesome: inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear.

Starsky sits up and watches the storm with rapt attention, starting to count seconds under his breath. A crash of thunder follows shortly.

“Three miles out at most, if I did the math right. We ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. Forget melting, Mr. Former Sea-Scout. Struck by lightnin’ isn’t exactly high on my list of to-dos,” Starsky says, pulling on his socks.

“Nor mine,” Hutch agrees, padding over to the window and closing the blinds.

“Hey, I happen to enjoy watching a thunderstorm. We rarely get them back home,” Starsky argues, getting up and yanking the blinds open again. He leans against the window, pressing his forehead on the glass, focused on the rain and storm.

In that moment — as it often does in odd moments — it strikes Hutch just how lucky he is to have Starsky. Here, not only alive but thriving in a way that no one could have ever expected after Gunther’s assassination attempt.

Here and his in a way that he wouldn’t even let himself dream of before a few months ago.

Hutch wraps his hands around Starsky’s waist, dropping his chin to rest on Starsky’s shoulder. A few silent (save for loud crashes of thunder) moments pass, just watching the storm. Hutch basks in the tranquility that overcomes any apprehension he feels about the storm. Here in this moment, holding the man that he always knew he wanted but never thought he’d have.

Starsky settles into his arms, leaning into the embrace with a soft contented sound.

The storm rages outside but inside the safe and dry hotel, his half-dressed lover in his arms, Hutch hardly notices anything else. He leans in and lightly kisses the side of Starsky’s face, softly traveling up his strong jawline.

“Mmm, nice,” Starsky murmurs, turning around to face Hutch. He leans in for a short kiss. Hutch returns it, pulling Starsky closer to him.

“God, Starsk, you’re beautiful!” Hutch whispers against Starsky’s lips. He pulls back just a bit to admire his partner, standing there in just jeans and socks. They so rarely get a chance to just be together without worry of getting caught and suddenly Hutch is grateful for the change in weather and feeling that there is only one right way to take advantage of it. They’re 12 stories up, as anonymous as they can be. They have nowhere to be for hours. He takes one more long look at Starsky, then leans in to kiss him, hard and long.

“Someone’s eager.” Starsky smiles against his lips. He gently runs his fingers through Hutch’s hair. He kisses up the side of Hutch’s jaw, whispering, “I’m thinkin’ exactly the way you are, Blintz.”

His tone is low and throaty and it sends a jolt down Hutch’s body, from head to toe, and when Starsky runs his exquisitely calloused fingers down his jaw again, his thumb grazes over his lips. They lock eyes and Hutch feels his cock twitch in anticipation. Hutch gulps, his mouth going dry as Starsky continues to run his thumb and forefinger over Hutch’s bottom lip, his other hand tangled softly in his hair.

Hutch slides one hand between their bodies, the other arm still wrapped tightly around Starsky’s waist. He trails his hand down Starsky’s torso, taking great pleasure in the little moans and sounds that escape his partner’s lips, especially when he teases a nipple slightly with his fingers.

Hutch darts his tongue out to touch the very tip of Starsky’s thumb, which rests on his lip. He lightly licks it, never taking his gaze off Starsky’s eyes that darken with pleasure as he whines with desire.

Hutch’s hand snakes its way down Starsky’s body, and he starts to rub him through the denim, feeling the heat and hardness beneath the layers. He can feel his own erection straining against his jeans.

He keeps rubbing Starsky through his jeans, sucking on the tip of the thumb now in his mouth. Whole sentences are exchanged in a short and intense stare and, just like dancing, Starsky leads them to the bed. Another lightning bolt lights up the sky, followed shortly by a crash of thunder.

The rain outside is slowing considerably and the thunder and lightning have diminished. Starsky pulls Hutch closer to him. He sighs contentedly as Hutch relaxes against him.

“This is all I ever need, Blintz,” he murmurs, smoothing back a few strands of blond hair. “You and a place to love you. Maybe a pizza occasionally.”

Hutch snorts. “Am I safe to assume I’m higher on the list than pizza?”

“You are at the very tip top of the list. Always and forever.” Starsky wraps his leg around Hutch’s hip. Everything just fits with them. It’s something that could never easily be put into words. He squeezes Hutch tighter, since he can’t pull him any closer.

Hutch makes a contented sound, as he rubs the back of Starsky’s hand with his thumb. Starsky hums contentedly.

They settle into contemplative quiet, and Starsky doesn’t feel compelled to break it. He’s quite happy just to be here, holding Hutch like this.

“It actually is drying up a bit, we could still get to Prospect Park before having to meet up with your mom.”

“Let’s not. We could stay here, cozied up like we’re, y’know, in a crystal-ist.”

“Chrysalis,” Hutch corrects gently but automatically. “Does this mean we’ll emerge from here as butterflies? And you are right. Who knows, another storm could start right up?” Hutch wriggles a bit to free himself, flipping around to face Starsky, grinning wide.

“Exactly. Unpredictable nature and all that,” Starsky agrees, kissing Hutch and pulling the covers up around them, as the rain stops and the sun begins peeking in.