I'm looking at this as the NC-17 equivalent of junk food.  Hopefully it's tasty, but I can't promise you anything with substance or lasting value. 

First rate beta was performed by the totally awesome PRZed and Callisto.  I'm lucky.  When such talented writers are working with you, you can't help but be better.

Slash.  Post SR (although the episode doesn't factor in--just figure enough time has passed for Starsk to get healthy and for Hutch to cut his hair and shave his moustache).  Rated NC-17 for sex and language (which is pretty much the only reason why this story exists).

This may be the first fic I've ever written where the intro is longer than the story...

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David Starsky pulled the furiously whirring fan to the table's edge and leaned in as close as he dared.  Any further, and he'd wind up with the nose job his cousin Vivienne had always been after his Uncle Teddy to fund.  And wouldn't that just be the perfect ending to a really, really imperfect day?

He sat there, hunched and still, for just a minute or two, curly hair wafting in the machine-made draft, before realizing it didn't matter how near he got to the spinning blades.

The fan didn't help.

Nothing did.

Fucking weather. 

This was the fifth fucking day in a row the fucking temperature had hit a high of 95 fucking degrees or better.  Hutch and he had driven by Continental Federal Bank on Broadway right around lunchtime—all the windows rolled down in Hutch's really un-air conditioned car—and the big old electronic message board out front had read 100 degrees.

One hundred degrees!

For fuck's sake.

And it hadn't gotten any better after the sun had gone down, Starsky thought with a sigh, slumping back in his chair, legs splayed as he swiped his sweaty beer bottle across his equally sweaty forehead.  Even though it was edging up on ten o'clock, he would bet the temp still had to be hovering right around 90.  What little breeze there was simply stirred all the hot air around.  It didn't offer any relief of its own.

Fucking breeze.

Of course, none of this would even have been an issue if it weren't for his partner.  Big dumb blond with his big dumb principles.

They'd chosen this apartment, Hutch and he—their first apartment together—for its treetop views, its screened-in porch, its one and half baths (one for them, half for guests), and its central air conditioning.

Only the fucking central air hadn't worked since Day One of the heat wave.

"Let's just buy a window unit," Starsky had said, the solution—to his way of thinking—a no-brainer.  "We can put it in the bedroom and have at least one place where we can be comfortable.  Come on, Blintz.  Who knows how long it'll take the dickhead who owns this building to get the central a/c working."

But, oh no.  Hutch would have none of it.

"Starsk, I'm not willing to invest our hard earned money in something our landlord is supposed to be supplying with our monthly rent."

"But he ain't supplying it," Starsky had argued.  "That's the point!"

"No.  The point is we shouldn't have to spend money on something we're already paying for," Hutch had argued back.  "If we go out and buy a window unit, any pressure Micelli might be feeling to fix the central air will all but disappear.  It's better if we just hang tough.  Come the first of the month, when we refuse to pay the rent in full because of him and his shoddy maintenance, he'll know we mean business."

Terrific.  Starsky could hang tough with the best of them.  Only, the first of the month was two and a half weeks away.  In the meantime, if the heat didn't break, Starsky was pretty sure he would.

Tossing back the last of his now decidedly warm beer, he put the empty bottle in the sink and padded barefoot to the bedroom.  If anything, it was even more stifling in there than in the kitchen, even though both windows were open as wide as they could go and a box fan was working overtime in one of them.  The curtains fluttered lazily as a result, but even they looked wilted with heat.  He could hear the water running in the bathroom.

"You 'bout done in there?" he shouted, pounding his fist on the closed door for emphasis.

"Just about," Hutch yelled back over the shower spray.  "Don't worry.  I've saved you some cold water."

"I've saved you some cold water," Starsky mimicked in a high sing-song voice as he traipsed back to the kitchen.  A part of him—the part that wasn't tired and miserable and spoiling for a fight—recognized it wasn't very nice of him to make fun of his partner.  After all, Hutch might be partially responsible for their lack of air conditioning, but the man couldn't be blamed for the weather itself.

Or for the Torino being in the shop.  Again.

Or that their past week's work had amounted to nothing more than a butt-numbing stakeout Starsky would bet his life savings—$5238.15, according to his last pension statement—was headed nowhere.

Or that the Dodgers had lost a doubleheader that afternoon to Houston.

Houston.

Fucking Astros.

He heard the bathroom door open.

"It's all yours, Starsk," Hutch called from the bedroom.

"Thanks a heap, Aquaman."  Starsky finished rinsing out his beer bottle, then ran his dripping hands over his face, down and around to the back of his neck. 

It didn't help.  Any more than the fan had.

"Took your own sweet time, didn't you, Blondie," Starsky said, his tread heavy as he made his way through the apartment.  "What d'you do?  Swim a couple dozen laps in there?"

Feet slapping against the hardwood, he entered the bedroom.  And stopped dead in his tracks. 

Everything was as it had been before—the bedside lamp was turned on low, the fan circled like a pinwheel caught in a tornado, the covers were pulled down so the sheets were exposed, white and as inviting as moonlight.

Now though, his other half was lounging on top of all that snowy bedding, his back bolstered by both their pillows, his legs stretched out, long and relaxed, in front of him.  Hutch was naked, his cock resting heavy and soft against his thigh, his skin glowing in the lamplight.  He was reading a battered paperback copy of The Thin Man.

Hutch enjoyed pretty much anything Dashiell Hammett had ever written, but he had a particular soft spot for Nora Charles.

"Feeling refreshed?" Starsky mumbled with a lift of his brows. 

"Hmm, very," Hutch said, not looking up. 

Starsky just stood there for a second, staring.  He couldn't say why exactly, but the sight of Hutch au natural made him feel as if, when he'd walked into the bedroom, he'd walked out of his life and into someone else's.  Some parallel universe's David Starsky. 

In the real Starsky's world, Hutch was as cranky and wrung out as he was.  He wasn't lying on their bed, cool as a lanky blond cucumber, all golden and…touchable.

And it was weird that Starsky would think that.  The touchable part.  Because right at that moment, he was so uncomfortable in his own skin the desire to touch anyone else's was almost unthinkable. 

Except he was thinking it. 

Which was weird.

"You really should have taken the shower first, Starsk," Hutch said, turning the page.  "Or at least shared it with me like I'd offered."  He glanced up at Starsky then, his expression veiled by the room's muted light.  "You look like you need to cool off."

Starsky couldn't disagree.  He was feeling warmer by the minute.

Mentally giving himself a shake, he stripped off his sweat soaked t-shirt.  "Two of us in that tiny tub is a recipe for disaster.  You know that.  The last time we tried it, you slipped, and nearly wound up with a faucet up your ass."

"Lucky you were there to catch me," Hutch said, returning his attention to his book, a faint smile on his lips.  "My hero."

"Yeah, well your hero isn't up to any rescuing tonight," Starsky said, balling up his tee and chucking it into the corner hamper.  Two points.  "All he's gonna do is take a nice, long shower and then hit the hay."

Hutch lowered his book and frowned.  "That's all?"

"That's all."

"Huh."  Hutch looked back down at his detective novel, but Starsky had a feeling he wasn't actually reading it anymore.

"After the week we've had, I'd say that's enough."  Shoving his shorts to the floor, Starsky stepped out of them.  Maybe Hutch had the right idea.  It felt nice not being all covered up.    "Wouldn't you?"

"I guess."  As if coming to a decision, Hutch closed his paperback and tossed it onto the nightstand.  "But it's a damn shame."

"What is?" Starsky asked, bending over to retrieve his shorts and pitch them in the same direction as he had his shirt. 

Hutch didn't answer right away.  Starsky turned to find out why.  In the same position he'd been before, Hutch met Starsky's eyes and held them. 

Even as he reached down and took hold of his cock.  "That I'm on my own tonight." 

Settling more comfortably against the pillows, Hutch bent one knee and let it fall open to the side, as if to make certain Starsky had the very best possible view.  Tightening his fingers around his shaft, he gave it a smooth, slow stroke.  Closing his eyes, he tilted back his head and did it again.

Starsky's jaw dropped an inch.  Maybe two.

You hot motherfucker.

"You're not playing fair," Starsky all but whined as he watched, his own cock beginning to stir, as if in envy.

"Who's playing?" murmured the man on the bed.

"You are, you son of a bitch," Starsky said, drawing nearer.  Hutch opened his eyes and smiled at his partner's growl, his hand rising and falling now in an easy, measured rhythm.  "You're playing me, babe.  You think I don't know that?"

"I think you do."  Hutch slicked his lips with his tongue, his eyes growing heavy-lidded as his hand continued to move.  "The question is—what are you going to do about it?"

Starsky stood now at the foot of the bed.  "Maybe nothing.  Maybe I'll just stand here and let you do all the work."

"I could do that," Hutch agreed, his voice huskier than before.  A blush was beginning to rise to the surface of his skin. Painting his cheeks, his chest, the part of him lengthening steadily between his legs.  "I could take my time.  Make it last.  Put on quite a show for you."

"I'm your biggest fan."

Hutch chuckled, the laughter rumbling low, as if it were coming from right about where his hand was working so diligently  "But do you really only want to watch, Starsk?   Wouldn't it be nicer if you touched me, if I touched you?  Gave you my mouth.  Or maybe my ass.  Wouldn't that be better?"

Better.  Yeah.

Oh hell, yeah. 

But Starsky only said, "I'm all sweaty."

Hutch made his 'don't be an idiot' face.  Starsky sometimes wished he weren't so familiar with that face that he had a name for it.  "I don't care.  I'm not afraid of a little sweat."

"I stink."

"You smell like you.  Only more so."

Starsky was pretty sure Hutch meant that to be reassuring, as opposed to a slam. 

Still, he hesitated.  Not that he wasn't convinced.  He was.  But he couldn't give in too easy.

He didn't want the Blintz getting delusions of grandeur.

"You know, buddy, this offer doesn't run indefinitely," Hutch said as he took his other hand and slipped it beneath his balls, cupping them there in his palm.  He turned his wrist, and began rolling the vulnerable sac.  The minute he did, it was as if he had been shot through with electricity.  He jerked.  His back arching, his eyes slamming shut. 

And he moaned, in that soft whispery way that never failed to make Starsky want to moan right along with him, like an echo, or some kind of weird love duet.

Usually Hutch made that sound because of something Starsky had done.  A touch or a kiss.  A deep, true thrust aimed at just the right angle…

…and Hutch would stiffen beneath him, shake, then cry Starsky's name in a voice that sounded as if it had been screaming for hours.  But not in pain, never in pain.

And suddenly Starsky felt way too lonely with Hutch over there all by himself on the bed.  The distance separating them was only a few feet, but to Starsky it felt like miles.

"Wait for me," he murmured, climbing between Hutch's legs.

Hutch opened his eyes.  "Hurry," he urged, and stopped what he was doing.  Opening his arms, he whispered, "Come on, Starsk.  Come here."

Starsky scrambled up and onto his partner, wrapping his arms around Hutch's neck, and slipping his thigh between the other man's legs.  Bucking beneath him, Hutch grabbed hold, one hand clutching at Starsky's shoulder, the other curled around Starsky's hip.  Kissing, mouths open and hungry, they twisted and rolled, playing like kids, rough-housing on the bed.

Yeah, it was hot.  Hotter than hell, especially with all of Hutch's sweet, warm skin pressed against his. But suddenly, Starsky didn't care.  How could he kvetch when Hutch's peppermint flavored tongue was writing love poems on the inside of his mouth?  When the blond's big, strong hands were cradling Starsky's ass, gripping and releasing, and using the hold to move Starsky back and forth against his body so their erections glanced and rubbed.

Starsky pulled his lips free and tangled his fingers in Hutch's flyaway hair, tugging on the strands, so Hutch's chin was tipped up towards the ceiling.  Once he had the other man positioned the way he wanted him, Starsky nipped the long exposed length of Hutch's neck, sucked on it, ran his lips along the ridge of muscle there.  "You've got me goin' good, boy," he murmured when he reached Hutch's shoulder.  He lapped there at the small indentation above Hutch's collarbone.  It was salty with sweat.  "Never knew you were such a cock tease."

Hutch's voice was so low it was practically subterranean.  "I'd only be a tease if I didn't give you what you wanted."

Starsky pushed up on his elbow so he could look down into Hutch's face.  The other man was flushed, his skin moist and shiny.  His hair was sticking up all over the place.  He was fucking beautiful.  "I want your ass."

Hutch smiled and traced the curve of Starsky's face with the back of his hand, brow to chin.  "It's yours."

With Hutch gazing up at him, his eyes soft with need, so warm and open, Starsky felt something clench in the back of this throat.  He had to swallow hard against it and concentrate before he could speak.  Even though the words weren't all that profound.  "Roll over for me, babe."

No doubt about it.  Hutch had a way of turning him into the world's biggest mushball.

While Starsky stretched over to the nightstand to retrieve the lube, Hutch did as he'd been told.  He flipped over onto his stomach and hugged one of the pillows to his chest.  Peering over his shoulder at his partner, he then bent his right knee, deliberately laying bare the opening to his body.

Starsky paused in preparing himself, his cock full now and slippery with the stuff from the tube, just to admire the view.  The pose was classic centerfold.  Starsky half expected to see a staple in the small of Hutch's back.

"You're doing nothing for my self-control," Starsky warned, gliding his clean hand down one pale buttock in a shaky caress.  Hutch was warm.  Of course.  And his skin was softer than a tough guy like him really ought to have.

The tough guy lifted his brow, his expression amused and more than a bit provocative.  "Feeling a little quick on the trigger there, bud?"

"We'll see who's quick, Hutchinson," Starsky said, giving that pale buttock a good sound smack.  Hutch jumped and laughed.  "Don't go gettin' cocky—you'll pardon the pun.  I plan on makin' you beg."

"Give it your best shot, tiger."

The challenge on, Starsky moved into position, kneeling between Hutch's widespread legs.  Coating the first two fingers of his left hand liberally with lube before tossing what was left to the side, he reached out and lightly traced the tiny pucker between Hutch's cheeks.  The blond arched his back and lifted his behind as if to meet Starsky's touch. 

"Ohhh," he sighed.

All that trust, Starsky mused, watching as his fingers circled round and round, stimulating the nerve rich muscle at Hutch's core, coaxing it to loosen and let him in.  Making love was always so intimate, especially between two guys.  There were so many ways it could hurt or just be damned embarrassing.  Yet they never worried about that, Hutch and him.  Each knew the other would make it good. 

I'm gonna make you fly, babe.

You are gonna take a first class trip to the stars.

Judging Hutch was ready, Starsky slid two slick fingers inside him, just to halfway.  Hutch froze for an instant, as if in surprise, his chin lifting and his brow furrowed.  Starsky held still until he felt the familiar give, then pushed in deeper, before pulling out and pushing forward once more.  Hutch shuddered, closing his eyes and bowing his head.  Yielding.

"Atta boy," Starsky murmured soothingly, working the narrow passage, easing in and out, scissoring his fingers.  Hutch began to move with him, as if he were riding Starsky's hand. "You are so hot, Blondie.  You know that?  And it's got nothin' to do with the fuckin' weather."

Hutch chuckled, his eyes still closed, his laughter strained.  "You sure about that?"

"Sure I'm sure," Starsky said, rubbing his other hand along Hutch's shivering flank, the caress long and slow.  "I mean…look at you.  You're movin' on my hand like you're the one on top.  Do you know that?  Do you even realize you're doin' it?"

Hutch shook his head, but he didn't stop rocking his hips.  "N-no."

"You are," Starsky said, his gaze locked on where their bodies met.  "And it's beautiful.  You're takin' what you need.  I love that."

"I love you," Hutch said, lashes lifting again so he could peer up at the man behind him, the blond's eyes hazy and dark with pleasure.

Aw, Hutch.

"Yeah?"  Starsky said, smiling, his heart feeling full enough to burst.  "Then let's see how you feel about this."

He shuffled closer and changed the angle of his penetration, pressing now against the front of Hutch's body as he slowly dragged his fingers over…

"Oh!" Hutch said, convulsing suddenly around Starsky's hand, his hands gripping the pillow with white-knuckle force.

Starsky did it a second time, skimmed his fingertips lightly over that highly sensitive little gland.  Hutch twitched and moaned with the caress, his eyes closing as he gave himself over to sensation, his hips in constant motion. 

His klutzy blond had never moved like that on the dance floor.

So, Starsky did it again. 

"Starsk!"

Then one more time.

"Please!"

Told you I'd make you beg.

"You ready for me, Hutch?" Starsky asked, as he edged nearer and took himself in hand.  He loved this, playing with Hutch, making him crazy.  But neither of them had come yet, and the teasing had gone on for awhile now.  It would be a shame if one or the both of them lost it before they ever got to the main event.  Taking care, he slipped his fingers free of their snug prison, and patted his partner gently on his rump, his hand resting there when the patting was done.  "Gotta have you, babe.  Don't think I can wait any longer.  You on board?"

"Stop talking and just do me," Hutch muttered.  Letting go of the pillow, and drawing in his legs, he pressed up onto his hands and knees, and looked over his shoulder one last time. 

The heat in those eyes made Starsky's temperature soar.

"I'll take that as a yes."

His hand on Hutch's hip to steady him, Starsky took hold of his cock with the other and pressed it home.  Slowly, the swollen flesh disappeared into his partner's body.

Now it was Starsky's turn to moan.  "Aww, fuck!"

He paused just inside to allow them both to adjust.  It didn't take long.

"Move, Starsk.  Move," Hutch urged, all but crooning his need.  "Please…  Touch me."

Leaning forward, Starsky captured his lover's cock.  Cradling it in his palm, he thought he could feel Hutch's pulse in the hot, silky length.  Or maybe it was Hutch's great big heart he could feel beating against his chest or arm, pounding its way through Hutch's body and into his.  Either way, the rhythm was racing.

Time to cross the finish line.

Starsky wrapped his fingers tight and pressed a kiss to Hutch's shoulder.  "My pleasure."

He shoved forward with his hips, the stroke mirrored by his grip on Hutch's erection, then pulled back before plunging forward again.  He could feel Hutch's body hugging every hard, aching inch of him.  God, he had been created for this.  They both had. 

Hutch moved with him, his head hanging low, the muscles in his sturdy frame bunching and releasing beneath his skin. 

Starsky began to pick up speed, his hips slapping Hutch's behind, while he shifted his approach, trying to find that magic button, the one that made Hutch writhe and cry.

"Ahhh!"

There it was.

Once he located it, Starsky pounded against it, over it, his assault merciless.  Hutch yelped and slammed back to meet Starsky's every thrust.

"That's right.  Come on, babe," Starsky chanted.  "Give it up.  Give it to me, Hutch.  Let me have it.  I want it all."

Hutch panted and swayed and groaned, until finally he broke out in an all-body shudder. Arms folding beneath him, his cock jerked and spurted, coating Starsky's hand. 

"Starsk…!"

Starsky could feel it on the inside too, Hutch throbbing all around him as his body found release.  The other man's surrender was enough to push Starsky over the edge as well.  Wrapping his arms around his partner, Starsky crushed him to his chest, nearly lifting Hutch back onto his knees again, and pumped like a wild man.  His forehead pressed to Hutch's spine, Starsky's jabs became shorter and faster, frantic, until with one last great shove, he spent himself inside his partner.

"Hutch!"

And collapsed shamelessly, driving them both to the mattress.

"Starsk…Starsk…oh god…oh…"  Hutch reached out blindly behind him, as if desperate to touch the man covering him like a living, breathing blanket.  His trembling hand landed on Starsky's ass, which he petted gently.  Further dexterity seemed beyond him.

They stayed that way for a long time, each content.  Not to mention exhausted. 

Until Hutch said wearily, "Starsk, you gotta move.  The family jewels are getting squished."

Starsky chuckled and nuzzled the back of Hutch's ear.  "Well we can't have that."

Shifting carefully, he separated himself from Hutch with a small wet sound, and rolled over onto his back.  Lifting his head, Hutch looked over at him blearily.  From what Starsky could tell, his partner was lying in the wet spot.

"You're heavy, you know," Hutch said, his tone accusing, his eyes fond.

"I'm a healthy boy."

"And hot."

"Why, thank you."

"Not like that."

"Says the guy who begged."

Starsky wouldn't have thought Hutch's cheeks could get any rosier.

The thing was, Hutch looked pretty damned adorable when he blushed.  So Starsky decided to let him off the hook.

Just a little.

"That's okay, Blintz.  Everybody asks for something sometimes.  For instance, I seem to remember talking to you about an air conditioner."

Hutch pressed up to his elbows and glared, his sense of menace seriously undermined by a bad case of bedhead.  "Do you really want to have that conversation now?"

Starsky lifted his arms and folded them behind his head.  All was right with his world.  "All I'm saying is if you thought tonight was heated, just think what it would be like if we had our very own a/c."

Hutch sighed and balanced his chin on the heel of his hand.  "So you're telling me from here on out I've got to offer bribes to get you in the sack?"

Starsky shook his head, trying to, but not quite succeeding at keeping a smile from his lips.  "Not at all.  What I'm sayin' is you and me together did a pretty good job of raising the temperature in here when it was already hot to begin with."

"Yeah.  So?"

"So imagine how creative we'll be—how much harder we'll work—if we're actually trying to stay warm."

Chuckling, Hutch sidled up alongside of him so he could rest his cheek on Starsky's shoulder and drape his heavy arm across Starsky's middle.  Starsky would have liked to believe affection was Hutch's only motivation.  But he was pretty sure Hutch was also trying to escape the wet spot.

"You always make me hot, Starsk," Hutch murmured, settling in for a good, long cuddle.  "You know that."

Starsky yawned and lowered his arms, wrapping one of them around Hutch's shoulders to hold him close.  "That's good to hear, babe," he said, dropping a kiss onto all that messy blond hair.  "'Cause I'll tell you something."

"What's that?"

"It doesn't matter what that board at Continental Federal Bank says.  You always warm me right up."

*******

The End

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