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 "NC-17" for homosexual content. This story first appeared in the zine "Who You Know, What You Know & How You Know It." If you are interested in the romantic side of Starsky and Hutch and are interested in this zine, which is currently available, please contact zines@agentwithstyle.com or go to http://www.agentwithstyle.com and order from the website.

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.


It's a Dog's Life


Alexis Rogers

    As I lay quietly on the floor of the squadroom, I watched my partner through half closed eyes. Bob Chambers was perched on the back of a chair, feet resting on the seat, clutching a telephone between his left shoulder and ear. As he listened, he picked absently at a pulled thread in his navy blue slacks. His jacket had been carelessly flung over a nearby desk, and his tie hung loosely from his neck. Today he was wearing his executive look -- a style which worked effectively around the airport, in business complexes, and in the courtroom. The color accented his tan and his blue eyes, which were now weary.

   Judging by the expression on his face, the party at the other end of the phone was proclaiming a message I didn't want to hear: We'd be working again this weekend. Don't crooks ever take a holiday?  I licked the top of my paw and studied my nails; Bob had promised me a manicure this weekend (the first one we'd had off in over two months) and God knows what he had promised that new little blonde. Boy, was she gonna be pissed when she found out that Bob had to work. That was just fine with me; maybe the job would discourage her before I had to.

   Bob hung up the phone and stared at it briefly, then sighed. I wondered what new shipment of which illegal substance was going to keep Narco busy this time. "Alf, come."

   Yeah, that's me. Alf -- some name, eh? Me the pick of the litter, champion stock, too. Well, Bob chose the name, I didn't.  I stood up and stretched leisurely before answering his command. I was off duty until he told me otherwise and I was in no hurry to catch another bad guy.

   "Bad news, partner." Bob patted me on the head, then stroked my nose, which always makes me purr like a pussy cat. "My father's had a heart attack and I have to fly to D.C. tonight."

   Oh, terrific! That meant the kennel for me. Shit.

   He must have seen my ears droop, because he reached out and scratched my head, then behind my ears. "But no kennel this time, fella. I found someone to take care of you while I'm gone."

   He really knows how to make me feel like a heel. Even with his father ill, he thinks about me. There are times when I really wish I could talk, to tell him how much I care. I licked his hand.

   "Besides, after the way you behaved the last time I left you, they said you could never come back. I was really embarrassed, Alf, I mean really..."

   He should have to spend two weeks locked up in a cage with all those stupid dogs and that prissy Siamese cat who thought she owned the place. I wasn't one bit sorry, but I nuzzled his hand anyway.

   "One of the homicide detectives said he and his partner could keep you at their new place on the beach while I'm gone."

   Rubbing my nose against his leg, I let him know as best I could that I understood about his father and about his leaving me. After our recent workload, I could use some time off. The case we had just concluded had been rough -- a guy with a suitcase full of cocaine arrived at the airport and hadn't been very happy to see us. The bastard actually tried to shoot me! Anyway, the idea of lying on the beach without a care in the world was very appealing. No kennel -- that was the best part. Oh man, I could kiss you.

   The squadroom doors swung open and a man dressed in faded jeans and a tacky windbreaker sauntered into the room. The sloppy clothes belied what the posture and the expression proclaimed: This man was all cop. However, his sneakers looked like fair game.

   "Alf," Bob said, "this is Dave Starsky, the guy I told you about. Starsky, this is my partner, Alf."

   Starsky, huh? I'd heard his name around. Unconventional, and other less complimentary terms, according to the scuttlebutt; and after that grandstand play when he and his partner threw their badges away only to have them given back by the mayor, they weren't the most popular guys around town. I'd heard the brass didn't like them much either. So maybe we had a few things in common; I wasn't the most popular member of the force by a long shot. This might be an interesting and educational vacation.

   I held up my paw and Starsky took it, shook it-- I like a man with a firm handshake -- then he scratched me on the head. I gave him a quick once over and liked what I saw: A well-toned body, a smile that didn't stop at his mouth, and a mop of thick, dark curls. There was a twinkle in his dark blue eyes that indicated he wasn't afraid to have fun. We were going to get along just fine. I wondered how he'd object to a game of fetch on the beach around five in the morning. The world is so quiet and peaceful then.

   "I appreciate your taking Alf, especially on such short notice," Bob was saying when I tuned in on the conversation. "He really hates the kennel and they feel the same about him. The department won't let me take him and I have to catch that ten o'clock flight."

   "Don't worry. We'll love having him. We've got a nice yard and plenty of room for him to run. Can we give you a lift to the airport?"

   "Thanks, no. I have a couple of things to do and Debbie promised to drive me to the airport."

   My ears perked up. Debbie?  Damn him and his blondes. I thought I'd successfully discouraged that relationship. If she was going with him...

   "I wish she could come along -- I could use the support -- but I have no idea how long I'll be gone or anything."

   That's a cheap shot, partner. What do you get from me -- fleas? Well, at least that girl wasn't going with him.

   Starsky nodded. "We understand. Don't worry about Alf. He'll be just fine with us."

   Bob turned to me and snapped his fingers. Jumping up and placing my front paws on his shoulders, I nuzzled the hollow of his neck. I was going to miss him. We had a good working relationship -- even if I did disapprove of his girls. Well, fair is fair, they disapproved of me, too. I made sure of it.

   "Take care of him, Starsky." Were there tears in Bob's eyes?

   Starsky took my leash and snapped it onto my collar. Rules, you know. "Alf, heel."

   I really hate being ordered around, but the public expects certain behavior from its civil servants, and the city pays my salary.

   We took the elevator to the parking garage where a tall blond waited impatiently by a flash red car with a wide white stripe. Yuk! Some people have really lousy taste in transportation. Bob owned a nifty Spitfire convertible. Nothing like wild curves at high speed with the top down and the wind blowing in our faces. The only way to live.

   I assumed that this man's second-hand clothes, slouched posture, and untidy mustache covered the same professionalism as Starsky's guise; but I wasn't sure. He was staring at me as if my ears were pinned on backwards. His mother should be informed of his rudeness.

   "Starsk -- what the hell?"

   "Calm down, Hutch. This is Alf, our house guest until Bob Chambers gets back from D.C."

   "But he's a dog!"

   Great observation, Blondie.

   "Hutch, this is not just a dog. This is a purebred Doberman! And he's a trained police dog." Starsky opened the driver's side door and ushered me into the back seat, where I made myself as comfortable as possible among empty paper cups, crumpled newspapers, and other trash. "Bob says working with a dog has definite advantages over working with some people."

   "Yeah," Hutch mumbled, "dogs don't talk too much."

   Blondie was just a barrel of laughs. Maybe I could cheer him up later -- I could sit in his lap and he could read me "Doonesbury" from this morning's paper. Bob had forgotten. I guess he'd had other things on his mind.

   Friday evening traffic on the Santa Monica Freeway was backed up as usual, people rushing out of the heat, the smog, the congestion -- going nowhere fast. As April turned to May, the days were long and warm, and everyone flocked to the public beaches. I was no different; I looked forward to frolicking in the sand and surf. It was after six when Starsky drove the Torino into the driveway of a compact, split-level house which sat near the back of a lot overlooking the Pacific. Getting out of the car, I decided to make use of the facilities, and explore the unkempt yard. Weeds of every variety loitered around the neglected roses, and crab grass had gained sovereignty over the lawn. Not exactly what I was used to, but then Bob and I had a good gardener who didn't mind cleaning up after me. I poked my nose between the trees and found a large hole in the fence. I thought Bob said this place was new, but I guess he meant it was new to Starsky and Hutch, because it certainly needed a lot of work.

   "Alf." I turned at the sound of Starsky's voice and hoped the inside was in better shape than the outside.

   The odor of fresh paint tickled my nose as I crossed the threshold. Apparently they had been working on the place when they had time, and God knows, cops never have any extra time. There were boxes stacked in the dining room, but in the living room the sofa, two chairs and new brass tables had been neatly arranged around the fireplace which housed a haphazard array of plants. More plants hung from ceiling hooks and in one corner a stringy Boston fern was in dire need of attention -- or a funeral. I followed Starsky into the kitchen, which was tidy and well-stocked, and had a drink of fresh, cool water while Hutch rummaged through the refrigerator before popping the top on a can of beer.

   To satisfy my curiosity, I trotted upstairs where I found two bedrooms: the smaller full of unpacked boxes, books piled almost to the ceiling and framed pictures leaning against the walls. The other bedroom was free of clutter, had a west wall of smoked glass that looked out over the ocean, and was dominated by a brass bed carefully made with a dark blue velvet cover. The heavy furniture that completed the room was new, dust free, and conveyed a sense of cherished love. I could feel it in the air. Maybe the rumor was true.

   After completing my tour, I found a rug in front of the fireplace and lay down. I took my time getting settled, crossed my paws, rested my chin on them, then prepared to watch and see for myself.

   I wasn't disappointed.

   Starsky was standing at the kitchen sink, washing lettuce under running water, when Hutch walked up behind him. Slipping his long arms around the slender waist and rocking gently, he kissed the back of Starsky's neck. "Ummmmm, I've waited all day to do this. It sure feels nice." He was quiet for a moment, then quipped, "Hey, it's your night to cook. What's for dinner?"

   Closing his eyes, Starsky snuggled back against the larger man. "I thought we'd keep it simple, and just relax after."

   "Sounds good, but we've got so much work to do if we're ever going to get this place in shape. It's already too late for most of the stuff I wanted to plant in the vegetable garden, and the lawn..."

   "I know, I know, but not tonight." He opened his eyes and angled his head so that he could see Hutch. "This is our first weekend off in forever and I just want to spend it with you."

   "Okay, I'll give you tonight, but you gotta promise not to grumble in the morning."


   "Now, what are you gonna feed me?"

   Starsky chuckled.

   "Don't answer that!" Hutch blushed. "Some day I'm going to become immune to your sense of the obscene."

   "I certainly hope not. Making you blush is one of my favorite pastimes."

   "Just tell me what food products you have planned for my dinner."

   "Okay," still snickering, "I thought we'd barbecue a couple of steaks, toss a salad, have some of that Petite Sirah we got last time we went to Napa and then Gewurztraminer for later with cheese...and whatever."

   It was Hutch's turn to snicker as he turned Starsky so they stood face to face. "Why, Sergeant Starsky, are you trying to seduce little ol' me?"

   "The thought had crossed my mind, Sergeant Hutchinson." And now both of them were laughing, until their eyes met and held.

   "The whatever'll be good, I promise."

   "Always is."

   Kissing Starsky lightly, Hutch said, "I'm gonna hit the shower. You start the grill, then join me if you want."

   Starsky looked into sparkling eyes. "That an invitation?"

   Freely exploring the front of his partner's jeans, Hutch answered, "Sure is."

   "Gotta build a fire."

   "Thought I'd already done that." Hutch's voice was low and throaty.

   "You're not doing bad. Now get outta here before dinner gets canceled altogether."

   I decided the situation in the kitchen needed closer observation. If Curly proved uninteresting, there were always those steaks. Hopefully, Bob had told Starsky I liked mine very rare.

   "Alf, thought you were napping," Starsky said as he watched his whistling partner ascend the stairs two at a time. "Come on out and help me with the fire." He piled the lettuce into a colander and headed out the back door.

   Evening was falling in the mountains and the smog from the Valley hung heavily in the air, turning the sun to a blood red ball. The dark ocean waves were amethyst. Finding a spot from which to watch Starsky, I enjoyed the quiet peacefulness that settled in the yard. A gull cried as it circled overhead, a bell rang in the distance, and the laughter of children Dopplered on the salty breeze.

   After successfully starting a white-man's fire in the stone barbecue pit, Starsky disappeared back into the house. I was much too content to follow, so I stayed where I was until a red Frisbee flew over my head. I chased it, returned it, and chased it again.

   Sometime later Blondie reappeared looking refreshed, comfortable, and cool in red shorts and a faded gray tee-shirt which proclaimed Coors and Wheaties to be the breakfast of champions. Starsky turned just as Hutch stepped into the fading light, and seemed mesmerized by the scarlet rays flickering around damp blond hair. I guess Blondie wasn't too hard on the eyes if you're into blonds, and if Starsky liked him who was I to complain?

   "Thought you were gonna join me upstairs?"

   "If I'd known you were gonna look like..."

   "Look like what?" Seduction gave way to disapproval. "What were you doing anyway? Playing with the dog?"

   I didn't like the tone he placed on that last word and had to control my urge to sink my teeth into his bare flesh.

   The mood was shattered as Starsky became defensive. "Yeah, I was playin' with Alf." He stared at the Frisbee in his hands. "He's kinda neat. I was thinking..." He scruffed at a dandelion with the toe of his sneaker. "Well, since we have this place and all, maybe we could get a dog of our own, maybe a good watchdog."

   Thanks, Curly, I can use all the friends I can find, and Blondie sure as hell ain't one of them.

   Hutch held out his arms and Starsky accepted the embrace. "I'm sorry, babe. Sometimes I forget how much joy you get out of things like playing with a dog." He tousled the dark curls and dropped a kiss on the tip of Starsky's nose. "I'll watch the fire while you shower. Steaks marinating?"

   "Yeah. In the kitchen. Salad's in the fridge."

   "Okay. And how about we throw a couple of potatoes in the microwave?"

   "Sounds good." Starsky tossed the Frisbee one last time, then asked me, "You wanna come up with me or stay here with gorgeous?"

   I took a long look at "gorgeous", who scowled, and decided I'd go watch Curly play in the water.

   In the bedroom Starsky stood at the window watching Hutch in the garden below, a soft smile on his face. After several minutes he removed his tee-shirt and dropped it into the blue hamper, placed his jeans on a hook inside the closet, his sneakers on the shoe rack, then slid the door shut. The neatness seemed to be a carefully practiced routine or ritual.

   The bathroom held traces of steam from Hutch's shower, but no mess. The neatness seemed to carry into this room as well with its carefully folded towels and tidiness. Starsky shaved, then rinsed out the sink before starting the shower and stepping behind a plastic curtain of butterflies and flowers. Covering my ears with my paws didn't drown out the horrible sound. I've never understood why humans think that running water makes them great singers.

   The caterwauling thankfully stopped when he turned off the water. Starsky grabbed a towel and dried himself while standing in the tub. Careful not to drip water from his hair, he stepped out, folded the towel, and replaced it on the rack. Still wearing the soft smile, he dressed while watching Hutch through the window. Before leaving the room, he ran his fingers across the bedspread, then touched the shiny wood surface of the bureau. The smile remained and the blue eyes were wide, almost in awe.

   I was watching Hutch's face as we descended the staircase, Starsky wearing indecently tight cut-offs that were more white than blue and a football jersey that covered his chest but left his stomach bare. Hutch was glowing, and I could feel the implied embrace throughout the room. Bob had entertained lots of ladies, but I had never seen anything like this before. Finally noticing the two glasses in his hands, Hutch offered one to his partner and lifted his own in tribute. "I love you," he stated as the crystal touched with a quiet ring.

   Curly slipped his arm around Hutch's waist and kissed his cheek. "Yeah, me too. But can we have dinner first? I'm starved."

   The laughter was warm and comfortable like a blazing fire on a cold winter day.

   After dinner (which was excellent, my compliments to the chefs), we retired to the living room: I to my selected spot on the rug; Blondie perched on a stool next to the piano, guitar in hand, strumming chords; Curly on the floor, his back resting against Hutch's stool.

   "Sing to me," Starsky commanded softly.

   Hutch smiled and caressed the dark curls. "Anything special?"

   "No, just sing."

   Time suspended as the soft tones of the guitar blended with a seductive voice edged with gentle caring.

    I'll bring the fire in the winter
   You'll send the showers in the spring
   We'll climb through the falls and the summers
   With love on our wings

   The words, the music, and the mood created by the two of them charged the atmosphere with an electric emotion I could only describe as love. It was something I had never seen before and I was awed by the presence of such intensity. The feeling was so palpable that I could have reached out my paw and touched it; but it was so delicate, like spun glass, that I was afraid to move, afraid I would somehow break the spell.

   Setting the guitar against the wall, Hutch stretched his body and flexed the fingers of his left hand, then pulled Starsky to his feet. Leaning into the embrace, Starsky whispered, "Do you really love me that much?"

   "You know I do. How many times do you want me to say it?"

   "Forty or fifty million should do." He wrapped himself around Hutch and nipped at his earlobe. "I never get tired of hearing how much you love me. After all the things that have happened -- botulism, you getting shot by that kid, our quitting the force, this past year with Kira and Marianne and all the fuck-ups. I guess I can't believe you love me as much as I love you."

   "I'm not sure I'm capable of loving as deeply as you do, but I'll try. Whatever I am, I'm yours. Forever." Hutch stroked the upturned face, outlining the lips with a fingertip. "Forever can be a very long time." He touched his mouth to his lover's.

   "Ah, babe, forever can't be long enough, not when you do this to me," Starsky murmured.

   Hutch pressed his thigh into Starsky's groin, evoking a soft moan of pleasure. "Way I see it, we got a coupla choices."

   "I don't feel particularly kinky tonight. Let's just go to bed." Starsky's eyes blazed with dark fire and settled on Hutch's bulging crotch. "You get the wine. I gotta check the kitchen."

   Placing a single forty-five on the turntable, Hutch set the selector to repeat, then flipped off the lamp. Collecting the bottle and glasses, he waited for Starsky, who returned with a large glass of iced water.

   "You thirsty?"

   "Could be -- later." Starsky smiled gleefully.

   I nudged Blondie behind his knees as we started up the stairs. "Starsk? What's this dog doin'?"

   "Why? Is he licking you?"

   "No, but his cold nose is on the back of my leg."

   "He loves ya, too, Hutch."

   "And just where does he think he's goin'?" Hutch turned to glare at me.

   "You don't think he'd sleep outside, do ya?"

   "Isn't that generally where dogs sleep?"

   Not this dog, honey. I'm not lettin' you outta my sight. I wanna watch!

   In the master bedroom Hutch removed the coverlet from the bed and caressed it lovingly before folding it and carefully draping it over a chair. He watched Starsky light a candle and place it on the bedside table.

   "What's the matter?" Starsky asked as he intercepted the glance.

   "You always want light."

   "I always want to see you when we make love. I never get enough of you."

   Hutch sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his tee-shirt. "How long's it been? Five years?"

   "Five years, eight months, twenty-five days. We've got an anniversary coming up." Starsky poured wine into both glasses and handed one to Hutch.

   "Here's to August thirteenth."

   "Not again. Hutch, you promised -- our anniversary is August seventeenth."

   "You made love to me on Monday that first time --"

   "But it wasn't until Friday that we made it official -- both of us agreeing..."

   "I suppose we could compromise on the fifteenth."

   "No way. I want it to be the seventeenth like it should be and I want us to celebrate with something really special."

   "Our house isn't special enough?" Hutch patted the bed and Starsky dropped next to him.

   "You know it is. God, Hutch, I love this house and I love you for finding it and I love you for making things right between us again. For a while there I didn't think we had a future."

   "When you walked out onto that beach and threw your badge into the ocean beside me, I knew we were back on an even keel. I didn't mean for you to find me that day --"

   "The hell you didn't!"

   Hutch touched his finger to Starsky's mouth. "Let's not argue about it now." Taking both glasses, he sat them on the table. "I love you, only you, and you're stuck with me for the rest of our lives." He pushed Starsky back onto the bed and tugged at the zipper of the cut- offs. "You got too many clothes on."

   Laughing, Starsky assisted with the removal, neatness forgotten, then pulled Hutch's mouth down to his. When the two men parted, both were gasping for air. "Jesus, Hutch, you been taking Vitamin E again?"

   "And exercising. And I'm fixing to exercise some more." Again the mouths clung together.

   The light glistened on the sweating bodies as Starsky reached toward the nightstand. Hutch shivered at the sound of ice tinkling against the crystal. "David...don't...you know I don't like --"

   "Yeah, babe? Since when?" The dark head leaned forward, absorbing the light thrown into the room. Time and life suspended for one breathless moment before Starsky laved the nipples on Hutch's chest.

   "Ohgod!" Hutch gasped, then ordered hoarsely, "Move over here. I can't reach you."

   Complying, Starsky scooted around on the bed as his lover's arm reached out for him, then beyond. The ice clinked softly. Starsky's body stiffened and trembled as he awaited Hutch's touch.

   The music coming from the speakers in the room was the same song Hutch had been singing earlier and continued the spell of love and magic.

   "Please, babe," Starsky begged, "please now..."

   "The dog, Starsk," Hutch yelled, "the dog -- he's licking my --can't stop -- Starsk..."

   "Can't help, he's licking my..."

   As a leg kicked in my direction, I moved back a step and watched as the two men made love, then slumped together, arms around each other's hips. In the silence, as the record ended and before it began again, their breathing slowed and quieted.

   The phone jangled.

   "Aw shit," Starsky grumbled. "I can't move. Alf, answer the phone."

   Who me? I'm not your secretary, fella.


   The phone rang again and Hutch reached across Starsky's leg, snared the receiver, and growled, "This had better be important." After listening for a moment, he asked in a totally professional tone, "Captain, say that again."

   He listened while Starsky twisted around to share the phone. "But Captain, we haven't had a weekend off in years. Yes, this is Starsky. I have a very important date in the morning with a paint brush -- no, here, not at the station -- and if Hutch doesn't get at that crab grass, it's gonna take over the entire Valley. Have a heart..."

   Relinquishing the phone, Starsky rolled off the bed and grabbed his pants from the hook in the closet. He was mumbling something I was sure I didn't want to hear.

   Hutch finished the conversation with, "Yes, Captain, we're headed out the door."

   In minutes they were downstairs where Hutch stopped to turn off the stereo while Starsky retrieved their weapons from the hall closet. The lingering words floated on the air:

    Through the years as the fire starts to mellow
   Burning lines in the book of our lives
   Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow

   Caressing the deep furrow between Hutch's eyebrows, Starsky asked, "A line in the book of our lives? Can we have a whole lifetime, Hutch? Just the two of us against the world?"

   "It's always been just you and me against the world and now that I have all of this," he spread his arms to encompass the room, "I'm not about to give it up. C'mon, let's go so we can get back and pick up where we left off."

   "Alf, come."

   Who me? Sorry, fellas, but I work Narco. I didn't sign on for homicide.


   Reluctantly I jumped into the Torino's back seat and was promptly slammed into the floor as Starsky skidded out of the driveway and onto the street. As we sped away into the night, I wondered if I shouldn't have gone to the kennel after all.

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