WARNING: The Starsky and Hutch fan fiction of Alexis Rogers is homoerotic in nature and theme, and often contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between two or more men. If this adult content offends you, please go play some place else. If you are under the age of consent where you live, please go away. If you don't like the laws where you live, change them. Remember, one can make a difference.

   RATING: This story carries the slash rating of "PG-13" for sexual content. This was in response to a challenge.

   DISCLAIMERS: This story exists solely for the enjoyment of those of us who care, and is not intended to infringe on any copyright or other legality of "Starsky and Hutch", Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg, David Soul, Paul Michael Glaser, William Blinn, Michael Fisher or anydamnbody else that I might have overlooked. No money has been made from the story nor is there likely to be.

   COMMENTS should be directed to Alexis Rogers at arogers@calweb.com

   Please do not repost this story on another website, discussion list, or anywhere else.


Fifty Five Cents


Alexis Rogers


    Starsky shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hip pressed against the glass. "No, I'm not. Got plenty." He stacked the shiny coins in a neat pile.

   "Unless we're here all night. When's this creep gonna show anyway?"

   Starsky watched his partner through the layers of glass. Hutch leaned against the wall at the far end of a bank of ten phone booths. The light settled on the blond hair. It made the man look unreal. Starsky shook his head. "Quit bitchin'. You didn't hafta come. I can finger this guy all by myself."

   Hutch shifted position in the cramped quarters. "Had to. You might need me."

   "C'mon, Hutch. Richards walks in here, goes to booth number seven, picks up the package, walks out. I drop a dime in the phone, Narco picks him up. What could go wrong?"

   "Your three minutes are up, sir."

   Starsky dropped more money in the slot, hearing it clink as it fell through the metal insides of the machine. Hutch's voice grated. "That could go wrong. You're not gonna have a dime."

   Starsky idly fondled his stack of change, then checked his pockets and added a couple more. Beside the dimes he placed a nickel and half dollar. "I don't wanna just stand here and twiddle my thumbs. At least I can talk to you, or..." He tried hard to suppress the thought.

   "Or what?" Quiet pause. "Starsk?"

   "Nothing. Just thought I'd take the edge off your frustration." Starsky appreciated the blue glass that concealed the reaction in the lower half of his body.

   "This is a public place."

   "This is the L.A. bus station. I could fuck you in this goddamn booth and no one would even notice, and if they did, they wouldn't care." Starsky surveyed the lobby with its assortment of people. Mothers with small children. Old men asleep on the benches. A tired janitor pushing a broom. Not a do-gooder in the crowd. No one who gave a shit about what they did. Just people with more problems than they could handle.

   "We're on duty."

   "Of course we are. And we could be here all night. No guarantee that Richards'll even show. Besides, lover, I'm bored and I want you." Oh god, babe, I always want you.

   "Don't be ridiculous."

   "About wanting you..."

   "Your three minutes..."

   "Shit!" Another dime. "I'm always serious about wanting you."

   Hutch turned to face the wall, pushing himself against the booth. The image was distorted by the glass. "Don't."

   "Don't what, blondie?" He loved the power he had over the man. Great golden lion tamed by his touch.

   Soft cough, forced sigh. Stern command. "Don't tease. It'll keep until we get home."

   "I don't think so. Not if you think about it. Us. Together on the bed, my fingers tugging at your jeans. Think about my mouth, lover boy. Think about what I do to your beautiful cock with my mouth." Starsky smacked his lips. "You taste so good."


   "It's too late, babe. You're ready for whatever I want to do."

   He watched as Hutch slammed the receiver on his phone, heard the loud click in his ear. He watched Hutch slump against the phone booth. The man would not look at him.

   Another dime. Five, five, five. How can all the numbers in L.A. be five, five, five? Hutch did not answer. Twenty rings. Shit, Hutch, this is ridiculous. He hung up. Waited for his dime. The machine ate it.

   Another dime.

   Gruff voice. "Stop this right now."


   Another dime.


   "I'm sorry, babe. I just love you so much. I got carried away."

   "I don't wanna walk out of here with my pants all wet."

   "Stupid of me. Dumb game. If I could reach you, I'd drink it all. Never wanna waste a drop."

   Shaky laugh. "Has some protein too."

   A tall black girl in short, tight hot-pants stepped into a phone booth. Oh no, not number seven. Starsky hung up his phone. Shit. He watched in anticipation as she dialed a number. When she emerged, she stared straight at him. Somehow he had the feeling that he had a neon sign on his forehead flashing cop.

   Another dime.

   The girl walked away, paused to look over her shoulder, and winked. Then she sauntered out of the room.

   Hutch's voice was calmer now. "You gonna pay attention now?"

   "I thought she was gonna spot the stuff."

   "Oh? I thought you were afraid she was gonna spot you."


   "Aren't you about to come out of your jeans?"

   Starsky shifted, the bulge in his pants painful. "I want you."


   The game had been turned. The power he had wielded against his lover was now being used against him. "I want your sweet ass. I wanna feel you under me, feel you accept me, take all of me."

   "Can't. Phone booth's too small."

   The receiver clicked as Hutch hung up.

   Another dime.

   "Hutch, don't leave me like this. Do something."

   "Unzip your pants and I'll tell you what to do."

   Starsky stared at phone booth number seven. "No." He replaced his receiver.

   Another dime.


   "Slip your fingers inside your shorts. Feel the shock run through your body. Think about what my fingers do to you. How they know every inch of you -- inside and out. That's right, babe, move your hand, stroke your cock. Think about my ass and how good it feels when you shove your cock inside me. Feel the muscles tighten, hold you, milk you dry. Think about fucking me, babe. Your body moving in mine."

   Starsky swayed against the glass. He tried to fight the words, the emotion. Failed. He tried to hang up the phone and could not. He was trapped in the web he had woven. Hutch had control now.

   "Harder, lover, harder. Feel yourself climb higher, higher. Now."

   His body responded to Hutch's voice and his commands. White fluid splattered onto the blue glass, trickled down. He felt sick and lightheaded. "Hutch!" There was no sound. And no dimes. "HUTCH!"

   A man entered phone booth number seven.


   Soft whisper. "Yeah, babe?"

   "Richards." Breathing took all his energy. "I'm outta dimes. Hutch?"

   The phone went dead in his ear. Richards walked away with a small brown package. Starsky closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the receiver and hated the smell that pervaded the small space.

   A gentle touch on his shoulder was followed by whispered words in his ear. "C'mon, babe. I'll take you home." Hutch's fingers tucked him in, fastened his jeans. "It's all right."

   "I botched it and you say..."

   "Shhh." Hutch touched his fingers to Starsky's mouth. "I took care of it. That's what a partner's for." Hutch pocketed the fifty-five cents in unusable coins and pulled Starsky from the glass box. "If you're gonna play in the major leagues, you better be able to handle the penalties."

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