Perigee

 

Huggy’s storeroom was dark and sour with the scent of old beer. Starsky followed his partner as they headed for the back door and the LTD parked beyond. It’d been a month and he was no closer to getting Hutch to talk about the elephant languishing on the floor between them. That hadn’t stopped him from thinking about it, himself. Hadn’t stopped the want.

 

Tonight had been one of the quiet nights, seemingly free of strain: a burger and a couple of beers at the pits, the simple pleasure of friendship and conversation after a hard day’s work. It was good. Really good. It should be enough.

 

Hutch reached the door. He stepped back into Starsky by accident as he pulled it open, and Starsky felt the full burn of Hutch’s warmth against him. Something in him broke.

 

He moved without thought, roughly pushing Hutch into the wall next to the door and pressing against his back. He buried his nose in the sweat-damp strands of hair curling against Hutch’s neck and inhaled his heat.

 

“What the…Starsk!”

 

“Please, Hutch?” Starsky’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Please? Just once? Wanna touch you so bad it hurts. It fucking hurts.” His arms banded around his tightly strung partner and pulled him closer, palms moving over his chest in helpless, possessive circles.

 

Hutch simply stood there, vibrating slightly, hands flat against the cinderblock.

 

“Just this once and I promise I’ll never ask again. I just...I gotta know, Hutch. I gotta....” Starsky’s voice cracked.

 

Hutch’s body wound itself even tighter but he didn’t try to move away. His forehead fell against the wall and Starsky felt his breathing change to harsh panting.

 

Starsky’s hands took their chance and dove for Hutch’s belt, fumbling with the clasp and nearly ripping the buttons off his 501 blues. He delved both hands beneath the tight waistband of his briefs, fingers dragging over warm skin and there was Hutch’s cock, hard and alive, twitching in his hands like a trapped thing.

 

Starsky had known it; known it would be this hot, this good to hold Hutch’s cock in his hand and coax it to greater hardness and length, this good to push his own cock against Hutch’s ass and rub. The cock in his hand jumped and he stroked it tight and rough, just like he’d known Hutch would want it, his other hand reaching lower to find the furred warmth below, cradling the heavy sac in his hungry palm.

 

And just like that Hutch came. He made no sound but Starsky felt the shudder of it echo through his whole body, felt the power in the minute pulses, the wet splashes that filled his hand to overflowing. God, so good.

 

Starsky felt contentment seep through him as he wiped his hands on his own jeans and carefully tucked Hutch back into his clothes. He wrapped his arms around the still trembling body in front of him and rested his forehead between the bowed shoulders.

 

Then Hutch turned awkwardly in his arms and swung him around till his own back hit the wall, and all peace fled. Starsky blinked up at the burning countenance above him and knew he’d fucked up badly.

 

Hutch dropped to his knees.

 

Starsky wanted to stop him, wanted to say sorry, to take it all back, but Hutch was already reaching for his belt, yanking it open and pulling the fabric down past his hips. Starsky’s cock bent downward painfully and sprung back hard as it was finally freed. He grunted at the pain, but Hutch just ignored him and awkwardly stuck his cock in his mouth. It was clumsy and rough and Hutch scraped him with his teeth. It was too desperate, too intense. And it was good, so good. God, it was the best he’d ever known.

 

Starsky’s eyes were pinned to Hutch, staring in amazement at the man kneeling in a puddle of stale beer at his feet. At his partner and best friend, the generous mouth that soothed and tortured his cock. Hutch’s technique was improving fast, movement becoming slick and hot, tongue thrashing at the vein running along his length.

 

Starsky threw his head back, ignoring the pain as it hit the wall. His fingers scrabbled at the cinderblocks, tearing the skin of his fingertips, though he wouldn’t realize that till later. He closed his teeth tightly over the moans that tried to escape, not wanting anyone to hear, but then Hutch began to suck and Starsky didn’t care anymore. The entire precinct could have walked in and Starsky would have put on a show as long as Hutch didn’t stop.

 

But Hutch did stop. He’d tried to take it all and gagged, had to back off. He glared at Starsky’s cock like it was a recalcitrant perp for a moment and then moved forward to try again.

 

“Stop! Hutch, don’t. You don’t have to…”

 

But it was already too late, Hutch had somehow managed to swallow him and the sensation set fire to Starsky’s whole body. He spurted again and again into the clutching throat, helplessly thrusting, feeling like his whole being was sucked out of him.

 

Finally it was done, and Starsky sagged against the wall, barely standing. It was all he could do to breath and stare in bemusement at Hutch as he withdrew and worked his jaw for a moment.

 

Then Hutch began to straighten him up, his care and outright tenderness such a contrast to the frantic, punishing sex that Starsky felt his eyes prickle.

 

“God! Hutch…” But Hutch only shook his head, still not looking at him.

 

“Starsk, I can’t.” Hutch sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly stood. He reached for the door and then finally turned to look at Starsky, level eyes naked, refusing to hide anything. “This can never happen again.”

 

“Yeah, ok.” Starsky could only whisper.

 

Hutch turned away but his hand rose to clumsily pat Starsky’s shoulder. He bent over and absently wiped at his damp knees then went out the door, stumbling a little down the step.

 

Starsky slid the rest of the way down the wall and buried his face in his hands.

 

-End