**Starsky knows best. You’d think Hutch would know this by now**
“Hutch? Hutch?”
“Uh… wha—?”
“It’s that time again, babe.”
“Time? Wha… time? …Oh, no, no, Starsk, it can’t be.”
“It’s dead on eight o’clock, Blintz. Definitely time.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Hey, no need to resist me, babe. It’s easy. Just be a good boy and lie back for me now, huh?”
“Don’t want to.”
“Hutch, c’mon. Just do as I say and open that beautiful mouth of yours nice ‘n’ wide, and no one will get hurt.”
“But…”
“No buts about it, Hutch. Feel these hands? See these eyes? Hear this be-ootiful sexy voice? Well, all three of ’em mean business, kiddo.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to, Hutch.”
“Starsk, just this once, don’t you think you could make an exception? I mean, if you like, I could help you out with something. Maybe…”
“Not a chance.”
“But Starsk…”
“Nope.”
“Starsky, you wouldn’t!”
“Oh, yeah? Try me. Make no bones about it, partner, I’ll do it. Your choice, of course, but I can guarantee you that this is nothin’ to what you’re gonna go through if I have to bring out the big guns.”
“Starsky!”
“Okay, Hutch. That’s enough! Now, you either lie back and take it like a man or…”
“Starsky, pl—”
“Don’t ‘Starsky, please’ me, partner. I’ve heard it all before.”
“Starsky, be reasonable.”
“Forget it. This ain’t up for negotiation, punk, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll…”
“You can be a real creep sometimes, Starsky, y’know that?”
“Creep Schmeep.”
Oh, fuck. I know the glint in those eyes and the set of that jaw. He’s really going to go through with it. If I don’t swallow that stuff, if I don’t take the damn pills, that rat bastard is gonna call Gil.
He’s gonna call him.
Again.
My life is a nightmare.
End Note: My heartfelt thanks to dear Curlew for allowing me to borrow the name and reputation of her wonderful OC, because, in my opinion, Gil is probably the only doctor Hutch will actually listen to, and, given the circumstances, I couldn’t resist. If you have not read Curlew’s wonderful Gil stories, including Lifestyle on AO3, please treat yourself!
Starsky bounded through the door, smiling from ear to ear. The holiday season was here and, as usual, he was as jubilant as ever.
“Look what I found for our front door Hutch!”
Holding it up and admiring the wreath he bought from the farmers market, he couldn’t wait to hang it. They were planning on having a Christmas party for their friends, and this was the perfect way to welcome them to their new home. They had already celebrated Hanukkah together privately, and Starsky now wanted to deck the halls with as much Christmas cheer as possible, to celebrate their first Christmas together as a couple.Continue reading “December 23rd- A Christmas Bloom by JAGIRL”
Starsky peered through his thick lashes at the small, festive box he’d placed on the coffee table in front of Hutch. “S’nothing. Just open it.”
Hutch rubbed his chin. “If it’s nothing, why should I open it?”
“Okay, okay. It’s nothing big, is what I meant to say,” Starsky told the box.
“If it’s ‘nothing big,’ why are you talking to an inanimate object instead of me, you rule breaker?”
Starsky’s gaze snapped up and fixed on Hutch’s baby blues. “I’m not—I didn’t break—”
“How is this not breaking the rules? Did you not get me, in a moment of lust-induced insanity, to agree to exchange one Christmas present?” Hutch held up his hand, palm toward Starsky. “I’m not finished. If this box isn’t a second present, what is it? Because it sure seems like a second present to me.”
Starsky ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, for crying out loud. It’s more of a—of a symbol than a present.”
“A symbol?” Hutch wrinkled his nose in a way Starsky always found both annoying and cute as hell. “What kind of symbol?”
“You’ll see when—or if—you ever open it.”
Looking as though he’d been asked to handle fresh roadkill with bare hands, Hutch picked up the box and shook it near his ear. “Coffee mug?” he guessed.
“Uh-huh,” said Starsky, nodding slowly. “Because everyone knows that a coffee mug is a symbol. Of a coffee mug.”
“Feels like it could be a coffee mug,” Hutch muttered while tearing off the candy cane-patterned wrapping paper. “If I lift this lid and something jumps out at me, so help me—”
“Not gonna happen, Blondie. After that blindfold thing, I promised there’d be no more pranks, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you also promised only one gift. You’ve also been acting awfully squirrely today, and not just because it’s Christmas. For example, you took whatever this is out of the fridge.”
“Maybe I should put it back in there.” Starsky reached for the box. “Better yet, in the trash.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Hutch batted Starsky’s hand away. “I’m way too curious now. Maybe a little scared, but more curious than anything.”
Starsky exhaled noisily and wiped his hands on his thighs as Hutch reached into the box.
“Um. Okay. Is this—is this what I think it is?” Hutch examined the cold glass jar, which held a single small red sphere floating in thick, matching-colored liquid.
“Yup.”
Hutch scratched his head. “A cherry?”
“Not a cherry.” Starsky started worrying an imaginary hangnail. “My cherry.”
“Your ch-ch—”
“They’re not in season, obviously, so I had to settle for the maraschino kind. And I only needed one—I figured giving you a bunch of them would ruin the, uh, symbolism—so I had to eat the other 74. The first 30 or so weren’t bad, but choking down the rest nearly made me sick, not to mention they turned my teeth bright pink and I had to brush twice to get—”
“Babe?” Hutch touched a finger to Starsky’s lips. “This is—I never would’ve expected—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘thank you?’ ” Starsky studied his perfect cuticles. “Unless you don’t want it.”
Hutch gathered Starsky in his arms. “Of course I want it, dummy. But just because I gave you my, uh, maraschino—” His heart swelled when Starsky chuckled against the side of his neck. “—doesn’t mean you have to reciprocate.”
“I know that,” Starsky said, pulling back enough to make eye contact. “Since when have I done something I didn’t want to?”
“Okay, you’ve got a point, but—”
“But what?”
“Starsk, I don’t—”
“Think I’ll survive my first time? I guarantee you that I will. You did, right? In fact, the more we do it, the more you seem to like it.”
“Oh, yeah. I like it.” It wasn’t the temperature of the apartment that was turning Hutch’s cheeks rosy.
Starsky leaned in and kissed him soundly, then sprang to his feet. “Stay right there. I have to get something from the kitchen.”
Hutch enjoyed the view as his fine-assed partner dashed off but frowned when he heard a drawer being opened and metal rattling. “What are you up to now?”
Starsky bounded back to the sofa and plopped down beside Hutch. “Needed this,” he said, brandishing a teaspoon.
“What for?” Hutch asked, taken aback.
“Watch,” Starsky instructed. He grabbed the jar, twisted off the lid, and used the spoon to fish out the cherry before picking it up with his thumb and index finger. “Open that sexy mouth of yours.”
With a knowing smile, Hutch obeyed, first sucking the morsel of fruit, followed by Starsky’s fingers, past his lips. Once he released the delicious digits, Hutch chewed the cherry and swallowed it.
Eyes twinkling, Starsky wiped his wet hand on his jeans. “That’s one down,” he said, “and one to go.”
“One wha—? Oh. Right.” Hutch’s grin faded. “I hope you’re in as good a mood later, when I’ve had my wicked way with you.”
Starsky grabbed Hutch by the wrist and stood. “Would you quit worrying and defruit me already?”
With a snort, Hutch let Starsky help pull him off the sofa and into a brave new world for them both.
“Oh, my god.” Starsky was still breathing hard.
Hutch was, too. “So you keep saying.”
“That was—you were—” Starsky slid off Hutch’s slick chest and rolled on his side so that they were face to face. “The actual, uh, you know, was great and all, but what—where did you learn how to do that other, uh, thing?”
“When we first started sleeping together, remember all that time I spent in the library?”
“In the dirty books section, you mean?” Starsky snickered.
That got him his nose tweaked. “We should both be grateful for those dirty books,” Hutch mock scolded, “especially the ones that talk about gay sex. Anyway, one of the things I discovered was that ‘other thing’ you mentioned. It helps get a person ready for, um, penetration, but everyone—including women—can use it as part of foreplay.”
Starsky propped himself up on his elbow. “What do they call it, Professor Hutchinson?”
Hutch cleared his throat and tried to look serious and scholarly. “The formal name is analingus, but in informal terms it’s known as rimming, eating ass, and—and so on.”
“And you’ve never done it before or had it done to you?”
“No! Why? Have you?”
“What do you think? Of course not. But I’d like to know why you’ve never asked me to do it to you.”
Hutch flopped onto his back. “I guess—I guess I thought it might be asking too much.”
“For such a smart guy,” Starsky said, pinching Hutch’s nipple, which elicited a little shriek, “you’re pretty dumb.”
Hutch rolled back to his side and pulled the sheet up to his neck. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Oh, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. Why would you think I wouldn’t wanna do something to you—for you—that feels so damned good? Jesus, Hutch.”
“Okay, okay. You can do it to me the next time I’m on the receiving end. All right?”
“Fine. I will.”
“And Starsk? That was the best Christmas present ever.”
Starsky sat up somewhat carefully and leaned against the headboard. “Thanks, Hutch, but I know you too well. So, don’t you dare say we should stop giving each other gifts just because I’ll never be able to top this year’s.”
Hutch sighed dramatically. “Had to try.”
“I’d be shocked if you didn’t.” Starsky yawned.
“Have I worn you out?”
“Something like that. I’m gonna take a hot bath before I crash. Wanna join me?”
Hutch did.
An hour later…
“Hutch?” the big spoon whispered into the little spoon’s ear. “You asleep?”
“Sorta. Wha’s’it?”
“I have a great idea for next Christmas.”
“ ‘Course ya do.”
“Wanna hear it?”
Hutch grunted what sounded like his garbled consent.
“I was thinking—” Starsky nibbled Hutch’s right earlobe gently. “—we could do stockings for each other. Plus the one present. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Sure. Now lemme sleep.”
“Absolutely.” Starsky planted a line of kisses along Hutch’s jawline. “G’night.”
“ ‘Night.”
Starsky settled his head back down on the pillow, listening to Hutch drift off to dreamland. “Well, how about that?” he said quietly. “Seems you also suffer from fatigue-induced insanity, you big, beautiful putz. Best Christmas ever.”
It was the week after Christmas and Hutch had spent the day at the Marshall Center for Exceptional Children helping to take down decorations and cleaning up some flower beds. He was tired and fulfilled. As he turned his car onto their street, he could see Starsky’s midnight blue Charger in the driveway. Long ago, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d never be able to park his car in their garage. His beloved’s beloved Torino had a permanent space on one side, while Starsky’s current vehicle got the other space. Starsky had long argued that any car of Hutch’s didn’t need to be protected from the elements.
Thus, the Charger in the driveway could only mean one thing. Starsky had been shopping and bought something too big to fit in the house.
As he pulled in and pushed the button on the remote door opener (Starsky had acquiesced and let him have one) he cataloged what they needed that Starsky couldn’t have gotten in the house by himself. A new TV? No, he’d just given Starsky a larger one for Christmas. A lawn mower? No, Starsky left the yard to Hutch, and that wouldn’t take up that much room. The fridge had been making some odd noises, but Starsky wouldn’t have gotten a new one without Hutch’s input.
The door had rolled all the way up and he had to ponder no more. Through the dirty windshield he could clearly see the long boxes of varying lengths stacked neatly next to the Torino. The stickers on the ends left no doubt as to what they were.
“Oh, for God’s sake, what the fuck is all of that!”
Hutch got out of the car and slammed the door so hard the loose window in the back rattled; for a second, he thought he’d broken it. His calm demeanor from his day’s work had vanished and been instantly replaced with fury. “I’m going to strangle him,” he muttered as he stomped into the garage. He kicked one of the boxes on his way to the back door. He turned the knob and pushed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and came back with just as much force. The only thing that stopped it from hitting him in the face was his foot in the doorway.
“STARSKY!”
Starsky had had a fabulous morning. He couldn’t believe the deals he’d gotten at the after-Christmas sales. Since the card table was still set up in the spare bedroom, and the wrapping paper all over the bed, he thought it’d be a great idea to go ahead and wrap the things he’d gotten for Hutch, just in case his blond buddy got it in his head to snoop around next Christmas. And while he was at it, he decided to go ahead and wrap the things he’d bought for himself. In his weird Starsky logic, he thought he might forget what he’d bought then be surprised in a year’s time when he tore the paper off.
With the CD player blaring Christmas music he was in his post-holiday element and lost all track of the time. So, when he heard Hutch bellow his name from the garage, he knew he was doomed.
“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” I knew I should have taken all those boxes to the attic first! Maybe I can pretend I didn’t hear him. The music is kinda loud.
“STARSKY! Get your ass out here!”
Nope. Heard that. Buckle up, buttercup. It’s gonna take some fast talking to get out of this one.
Starsky peered through the open back door into the garage to try to gauge Hutch’s demeanor. As if the yelling hadn’t clued him in. Maybe he could still diffuse this. Hutch was pacing around the boxes, waving his hands and muttering to himself, his face turning redder by the second. An image of Yosemite Sam trying to make hasenpfeffer popped into Starsky’s mind and he had to stifle his laughter. He put on his best “I have no idea why you’re mad, I love you so much” smile, and stepped into the garage.
“Oh, hey, babe. I didn’t hear you come in. How was your day at the school?”
Hutch whipped around at the sound of Starsky’s voice. “Starsky! What the hell is all this?”
“What?”
Hutch waved his arms around the garage. “This!”
“What? The garage? Did you spend too much time in the sun this morning or somethin’? Your face is kinda all red.”
Hutch finally stopped circling the boxes. “It looks like Christmas trees.”
Starsky decided to go with the obvious. “Oh. Those. You’re right. They are.”
“Care to explain why there are five artificial Christmas trees of various sizes sitting in my garage?”
“Because you’re allergic to real Christmas trees? And it’s our garage.”
“Not good enough! Try again!”
“But, Hutch,” Starsky whined. “It was a great after Christmas sale. They were seventy-five percent off.”
“I thought we agreed to only one additional tree last year. But now we have five more? That’s seven trees, Starsky. SEVEN!”
“Okay, Archimedes, you don’t have to show off your superior math skills. And we also agreed a long time ago that you’d quit pulverizing vegetables and hiding them in the lasagna and look how that turned out!”
A moment of sheepishness crept into Hutch’s face at being called out.
Starsky continued with his best and most used argument tactic—diversion. “That’s right, buddy boy. It’s the carrots that give you away. You just can’t get ’em small enough to be outta sight.”
The tactic never worked. “Don’t change the subject! What are we going to do with SEVEN trees, Starsky?”
Starsky gave up and went with his original plan. “Well, for starters, we can have one tree in nearly every room of the house.”
“Oh, God,” Hutch mumbled as he sat on the end of the stacked boxes. He looked up into Starsky’s bright and excited eyes and the slightest bit of his ire dissipated. He softened his tone marginally. “This sounds like a slippery slope, pal. Next you’ll be putting a tree in every window instead of those godforsaken candles I have to plug in every night.” Hutch bit his tongue when Starsky’s face lit up at the suggestion.
Sensing his opening, Starsky ignored the eye roll and carried on, unperturbed. “And they can be themed trees!”
“Have you lost what’s left of your mind? Themed trees? Where the hell would we get enough ornaments for SEVEN themed trees?”
It was Starsky’s turn to look sheepish. “I guess you didn’t make it as far as the kitchen table.”
Hutch stared at Starsky slowly blinking his eyes over and over again.
“Ornaments were eighty percent off.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“No really, Hutch, you’re gonna love it! Lookit, that smallest box? It’s only a four-footer and I got it especially for your library. Your very own tree. I even got you some ornaments to get started. Wait right there.”
Hutch was left staring at the garage wall while Starsky ran into the house. He could hear the rattle of bags from the kitchen, then Starsky reappeared with a small box.
“See, it’s a Hallmark. You know, when you care enough to send the very best?” With his eyebrows raised to match his question, he handed the box to Hutch like a peace offering.
Hutch tried to regain some calmness. He reached out for the box and rotated it to see the image. The calm didn’t last.
“Starsky! That’s the Grinch!”
“If the shoe fits, babe!”
The End
Until next year when Starsky discovers outdoor lights synched to music!
“It doesn’t make sense. How can keeping one hand on a wall and just walking work?”
“Well, turning alternate left and right sure didn’t… don’t kick my car!!”
“Fucking parade float! That man was laughing at me!”
“It was kinda funny. Two detectives being rescued from a maze.”
“I hate being laughed at!”
“Shoulda listened to me, babe! Anyway, walking behind you all that way gave me some excellent ideas for cheering you up. Let’s go home. You want to navigate, or shall I?”
Starsky couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, if he could work out exactly when it was that Hutch had given up, he could turn back the clock and make things right.
There had been a time, not so long ago, when Hutch still thought it mattered for him to do what he believed to be the right thing in any given situation, in life, in general. Somewhere along the way he’d lost faith, in himself or the world or both—who could say—and Starsky hadn’t clocked it as a permanent change and not just a bad few days until it was too late to turn the tide. Now he watched, helpless and angry as Hutch gave in to his petty side, his cruel streak, his self-destructive urges more and more as the bone-deep exhaustion claimed him. He looked so different. All the light was gone. Continue reading “December 20th- Fixing It by ACL”
Starsky gave a pat to his cat, Zebra, who was curled on his lap. The Christmas tree was decorated, the twinkling lights were turned on, and all was cozy and warm. Presents were wrapped and piled under the tree, where Starsky’s model train ran. Zebra purred loudly. Starsky sipped the eggnog, liberally mixed with rum and topped with nutmeg, that he held in his hand. It was Christmas Eve and life was good.
The only thing that was missing was Hutch, who was working late. But Starsky wasn’t worried. Since taking the lieutenant’s exam and receiving his promotion, Hutch was in a much less dangerous position, mostly supervising more junior officers. Since Starsky’s shooting by Gunther’s goons, and his return to work after his recovery, he had been working cold cases, which meant he rarely worked late, so he was home in the house he shared with Hutch, waiting for his lover to return. Continue reading “December 19th- A Christmas Eve Tale by Silver Chipmunk”
Entry 182.5‑A:Christmas Shopping, Bad Wrapping, & One Very Oblivious Partner
Timestamp:22:23:59, Christmas Eve
H.U.T.C.H. says Christmas is “commercial euphoric sentimentalism,” which is a lot of syllables to say they’d like the holiday better if it came silent, unlit, and preferably unobserved. They don’t like twinkle lights, or jingle bells, or crowds acting cheerful in synchronized pro-social bursts. Last week, I made them sit through three Hallmark Christmas rom-coms, three in a row, which I’ll admit was cruel and unusual partner behavior, and they announced they’d rather take an acid bath. Unfortunately for them, I did not have acid on hand. They said bleach would be fine. So that was the tone we started the season with. Continue reading “December 19th- Deniability with Tinsel: A H.U.T.C.H. Bot story by Nicoltyler”
It had been a long week.Christmas week and as always, Starsky and Hutch were on duty. They appreciated it was a time for families, but the last few years working ‘round Christmas taught them one thing. There were plenty of empty houses in the city as people visited and stayed with loved ones out of town. Bay City became split, shadow and light. Burglaries spiked every year, but Starsky and Hutch were determined not to allow them to ruin people’s memories of their Christmas.
This year was no different, four burglaries already–all empty houses. Neighbors or friends keeping an eye on properties had reported them.
“Officer, can I take my newspaper? The lad always gets our addresses mixed up. See it’s got my house number on it.” The elderly lady pointed to the house number written on the top of the newspaper. “She cancelled her newspaper delivery with the shop.”Continue reading “December 18th- The Case Closed, The Heart Opened by Shell007”
