This one’s for Molo. Just because.







“I don’t get it, Hug.” Starsky’s drunk was at the philosophical stage, though not yet slurring. “Why’d John hafta…I mean…look, ok, look.” Starsky turned his barstool and engaged Huggy with a disarmingly open regard.


Huggy crossed his arms and eyed Starsky warily.


“You like girls, Huggy.”




“And you like…”


“Guys.” Huggy spoke evenly, but his dark eyes flared with challenge.


“But, why? I mean, if you like girls anyway, why would you choose, I mean…why would you ever prefer….”


“You want to know what the attraction is? Is that it?” Huggy shook his head. “Man, you have got to be the dumbest white boy it has ever been my sorry privilege to meet.”


“Come on, Hug. I’m just…”


“Curious? Curiosity killed the cat my friend. Don’t be asking questions you’re not  ready to hear the answers to.” Huggy took a measured sip of his beer.


“I’m just trying to understand.”


Huggy gave him a hard stare for a moment and then rolled his eyes and reached for Starsky’s shoulders, spinning him around to face the dance floor. He scooted forward on his own stool till he was right behind Starsky, who was still swaying a little from the sharp turn. Huggy steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close.


“Ok, look at your partner out there dancing.” Huggy’s voice in his ear was quiet, creating a bubble of intimacy in the overcrowded club. “Look at those jive white boy moves.


Starsky looked. Hutch did look a little awkward dancing, but no more so than usual. And he looked…good, relaxed for once. His dancing partner whispered something in his ear and Hutch laughed, teeth flashing white in the lights.


“Too bad, he can’t dance like he fights.” Huggy’s voice was back, warm breath in Starsky’s ear. “Man. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him in action. Nothing quite like a righteous Hutchinson rage. And fast. You went down under that dude’s right hook and I never saw anyone move that fast.”


Starsky remembered. Some stupid bar fight. The guy had been very drunk and very large and had caught Starsky by surprise. He remembered blinking up at the ceiling and then turning his head to see Hutch coming over the pool table to get at the guy. It’d made him feel strangely warm inside.


“He’s strong, too. He don’t look it so much, but he is. He ever use that strength against you, Starsky? Ever got down with you on a wrestling mat?”


Starsky flashed on a sense memory of hands grappling for purchase against the flex of muscle and tendon, of effort and the haphazard collision of body parts. Hutch’d looked down at him at one point during the struggle and flashed him a wolfish smile, eyes blazing with a kind of wild joy as he strained to complete the pin.


“Imagine that strength in bed, having a partner as strong as you are. Being able to push him against a wall and have him push back at you. Fight you. Pin you to the bed and swallow you whole.”


Starsky gasped softly, eyes pinned on his partner.


“And then imagine that body, all that coiled strength and tension… surrendering to you, opening to you…”


Huggy waited a beat and then leaned back on his stool to snag his beer. He stood and leaned over, clapping a casual hand on Starsky’s frozen solid shoulder.


“Sorry m’ man, but you did ask for it.” And Huggy sauntered away.



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