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 sexual content. This story is a sequel to "It's a Dog's Life" and has only appeared in print in "The Collected Starsky & Hutch Stories of Alexis Rogers".
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 email@example.com
Please do not repost this story on another website, discussion list, or anywhere else.
Hutch walked from the house to the beach, standing for several minutes to watch his partner, before moving forward. He placed his hands on Starsky's shoulders, leaning over to kiss the forehead under the dark curls. "Why the gloom, Babe?"
Starsky's face dropped even further, the sadness unmistakable and uncontrollable. "Bob Chambers came home last night. He wants to pick Alf up today. This morning."
Hutch could not stop his enthusiasm. "Hey, that's terrific."
Starsky pulled away from Hutch and shuffled toward the water's edge until the surf lapped at his bare ankles. Alf was at his heels. Stooping down, Starsky cuddled the dog before standing and hurling the stick as far down the beach as he could. He stood poised in the early morning light watching the sleek black body fly across the sand after it. Perfect beauty in motion.
Hutch watched his lover, fighting the emotion that threatened to overflow his logical thinking. Starsky looked out of place in the dawning light, but maybe it was the lack of pure joy that usually accompanied these early morning jaunts. His shoulders were slumped and he looked as if he might cry.
Picking his way across the sand, Hutch moved to take his partner in his arms, tilting the face so that their lips could touch. He closed his arms around the lithe body as it relaxed into him. "It's okay, Babe," Hutch soothed. "Alf has to go back to work. He is a cop, remember?"
"I know, but the house will be so empty without him."
"And we won't have to be up all night because you let him drink too much wine from your glass..."
A smile teased the corners of Starsky's pouting mouth. "No, it was all that cheese..."
"And what about the night we had to take him to the emergency room because he poked his throat with a stick?" Hutch's fingers twisted the dark curls. "Our insurance doesn't cover dogs."
"But he was so pathetic curled up in my lap, crying. I didn't know a Doberman could curl up so small. Or cry, for that matter."
Hutch could not stop the smile the memory evoked. "I will have to admit that his crying got to me too."
Fingers tightened on his arm. "Hutch, could we..."
"No. Absolutely not. No dog." Hutch stood still. "No way."
Starsky turned away, kicking the sand with his toes.
Reaching out to touch Starsky's back, Hutch whispered. "I'm sorry, Babe. But it just isn't practical for us to have a dog. We aren't home enough and you've seen how much time Alf takes. Having a puppy here would be like two bachelors with a new baby."
Turning Starsky to face him, Hutch gently kissed Starsky's eyelids, then the mouth that tried hard not to respond and failed. After releasing his lover, Hutch touched his face with a fingertip. "I know how much this means to you, but be practical, will ya?" He caressed the back of Starsky's neck. "You could have had a dog all these years, if you had really wanted one. You could get one now -- I can't stop you..."
"I know, I know." Starsky fought hard to control his emotions, looked up and flashed Hutch a quick smile. "But knowing you're right doesn't help."
"Yeah." Hutch squeezed Starsky's shoulder. "C'mon. Coffee should be ready. Let's sit on the patio for a while. You know your sleeping habits have changed considerably since Alf arrived. I don't remember you ever getting up at five o'clock in the morning without strong motivation and certainly never cheerfully."
Starsky stooped down and cradled Alf's head in his arms. "I guess I'm just attached to him."
Hand in hand, the two men covered the distance between the beach and their house. Alf pranced beside Starsky, carefully matching his speed with the man's.
* * * * * *
Hutch watched as Starsky walked along the beach tossing sticks that would never be retrieved. For days, ever since Alf had gone home, it had been this way: Starsky spending all his spare time on the beach -- alone.
Hutch leaned across the porch railing and whispered to the passing gulls, "Starsky, love, you're just gonna have to snap out of this. You know we can't have a dog. It just isn't practical. And neither is your sleeping on the very edge of the bed not even allowing my touch. I won't be blackmailed."
* * * * * *
It was relatively quiet in the squadroom when Bob Chambers and Alf entered. Bob was carrying a large pot of bird's nest ivy and started to speak when Starsky jumped from his chair.
"Alf! C'mere fella." Dog and man intertwined.
Bob shook his head. "He wasn't that happy to see me after I'd been gone for three weeks," he noted. "They really hit it off, didn't they?"
Hutch watched as Starsky sat on the floor and played with the dog.
"Alf and I thought you and Starsky might like to have a new plant. A sort of thank you for watching Alf. It's a favorite of ours. We call it Henry V."
"Henry V? Did Alf eat Henries one through four?" Hutch smiled weakly. "He should get along well with our Phillip." Although he was talking to Bob, Hutch could not move his eyes from Starsky -- and the dog. Ah, Babe.
"He have a dog?"
"No. But I think he'd like one. But..." No, I'm not buying you a dog.
"Alf has puppies ready to wean."
"Alf had puppies?" Hutch asked.
"Yeah," Chambers explained. "He sired them. You know, it takes one male and one female to make..."
Hutch could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing the color was glaring on his fair skin. "Just isn't my day. Sorry." He tried to regain his dignity but felt very foolish. Picking up a paper clip, he proceeded to untwist it. "Are they for sale?"
"Sure. Males three hundred, females three fifty."
"Are they made of gold?" Starsky, why do I let you do this to me?
"They're champion stock, Hutch."
"I know, I know," Hutch mumbled. "I've heard this lecture before. Papers that go all the way back to Noah's ark."
Bob smiled. "Your partner's enthusiasm, no doubt. I hardly think there were any Dobermans on that Jewish boat, but the dogs do have an impressive bloodline."
Hutch looked over again at his partner and the dog. Starsky was totally oblivious to everything else in the room. And Hutch knew he had lost. Maybe some time in the future he could say no to Starsky and make it stick, but not now.
Hutch shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "When can I see the puppies? And don't tell Starsk. It'll have to be a surprise." Can I love you and hate you all at the same time?
"Why don't you meet me after work today? You know, Starsky could put the puppy through the police training program. He could make a valuable addition to your partnership."
"Yeah," he mumbled, "or be a royal pain in the ass."
* * * * * *
Hutch eased the LTD into the driveway, stopping to close the gate his partner had left open for him. The tree-lined fence had been a strong selling point when they had bought this place. It was a sanctuary, a place where no outside prying eyes could see in. A place where he and Starsky could share a love that was condemned as perverted by society.
The puppy whined in his cage as Hutch drove the car into the garage beside the Torino. The house was ominously quiet as he entered through the kitchen door. "Starsk?"
Hutch set the puppy on the floor and walked onto the patio. From there he could see Starsky on the beach, shoulders slumped in childish disappointment. Starsky was being silly and they both knew it, but it did not seem to help. Hutch certainly hoped the puppy would solve more problems than it created, but seriously doubted it. He could not stand many more of these days watching Starsky on the beach or the nights when his lover would not --or could not -- respond to his caresses. Would Starsky use sexual favors to get what he wanted? Hutch sighed, knowing the answer, just as he knew he could and would do the same.
The puppy yelped, bringing him back to the present. He lifted the frisky Doberman into his arms and headed down the path toward the beach where his partner sat staring out over the Pacific, apparently not seeing the light sparkling or hearing the roar of the waves as they broke over the rocks and crashed onto the sand.
Hutch set the puppy down on the ground. "Starsk?" Why do I love you so much?
When there was no reply, Hutch snaked his arms around Starsky's waist, pulling the still figure backwards until he could kiss the soft lips. "I'm home."
"Sorry. Didn't hear you drive in."
The puppy nipped at his ankles and yipped.
Starsky looked down at the puppy, then up at Hutch, speculation mixed with joy sparkled in the eyes that could send shivers down Hutch's spine when the man turned on the charm. "Hutch?" A hopeful whisper.
"He's all yours." He was quiet for a long moment, then muttered, "Against my better judgment."
He could not stop the smile that spread across his face as Starsky was on the ground, cuddling the puppy. "He's one of Alf's," Hutch explained.
Starsky cradled the puppy, petting the long silky ears. "How come his ears are floppy?"
"Because they haven't been cropped. It's one of the things you will have to do. Another is housebreak him. And don't expect any help from me. He's your dog."
The dark curly head was bent over the struggling puppy held tightly in Starsky's lap, sand flying in all directions. He looked up, the question a gentle breeze in springtime twilight. "Why?"
Hutch dropped to the ground, his knees sinking into the damp sand bringing his eyes to meet the brilliant sapphire eyes that danced in the beautiful face, which he caressed with gentle fingers. "Because I love you so goddamn much ..."
* * * * * *
Hutch juggled the new plant around attempting to hang it on the hook next to Phillip, where the sun would cast its soft rays. Phillip's leaves gleamed brightly as the ivy was settled in its new home.
Satisfied, he turned to find his partner sitting on the floor holding the lively puppy in his lap. "You'll have to decide on a name and then submit it with his papers."
"His name is Harold C."
"Cute." Hutch chuckled.
Scratching the dog's neck, "Well, he is a Dobey."
"You gonna call him Captain for short?"
Setting the puppy on the floor, Starsky rose and made his way to Hutch, arms open. He stepped into the embrace, kissing the waiting, parted lips. He felt Starsky respond and thrust his aching body against his partner's. Hutch nuzzled the neck, tickling the offered ear with his tongue. One hand roamed downward to the front of Starsky's faded jeans, bringing a low moan from his partner, while the other hand ruffled the dark curls. "You gonna make love to me tonight?"
Squirming in response to his movements, Starsky mumbled, "You keep that up and I'll have no choice."
"You didn't have any problems making a choice last night or the night before that." He heard the bitterness in his own voice that he had not intended to express. Damn. He felt Starsky try to move away as though he wanted to run from the biting accusation, but Hutch had complete control now and he knew all the right moves. In a matter of minutes, Starsky squirmed in his arms, trying for closer contact, climbing against him, the hunger apparent in his kisses.
Through the curls, Hutch whispered, "I don't like cold showers when I have you."
"Sorry" was muttered against his mouth before lips touched his, drawing the breath from his lungs.
Warm wetness trickled down his leg. Hutch dropped his hold on his lover and swore. "Shit."
"Your dog just peed all over my leg." Hutch stopped, disgusted, and stared at the offended garment. "This is worse than having a baby in the house."
Starsky dropped to the floor, cuddling the gangly puppy in his arms, looking totally bewildered. "Hutch, I don't understand. You went to all the trouble of bringing him home to me and you act like you hate him."
"I don't hate him, Babe, it's just that..."
He turned away to stare out the window, unable to face the blazing blue eyes. "I don't like the kind of control you have over me. I hate the fact that you haven't made love to me in days and I'm practically begging you now. I'm a prisoner to my own love for you and it scares the hell out of me. I'm frightened by the very fact that I can't stand to see you unhappy for even a moment and I'm willing to do anything to prevent it. I love you so much it scares me. Your very existence controls my destiny. And the thought of life without you..."
He twirled strands of ivy in his fingers, head pressed against the window. The sudden pain at the thought of life without Starsky cut through him with the precision of a sharp knife. Then another thought hit him, one he had not considered before. His words were barely audible as he talked to the window. "And I'm jealous."
Without turning, Hutch continued. "Okay. I'm possessive, too. Alf, and now the puppy, is going to take part of my time with you. And I don't like it."
Starsky's warm hands were on his neck, massaging taut muscles. "Ah, Babe, that's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."
Then Hutch was turned in strong arms to face the most beautiful man in the world. "I love you," Starsky stated.
The puppy squealed.
"See what I mean?" Buying that puppy was one big mistake.
"It'll be okay. I'll take him outside, then we can go to bed." Seduction dripped from Starsky's voice.
"And pray tell, where is Harold C. going to sleep?"
"In our room, of course."
"Oh no, he's not." Goddamn it! I'm not sharing my bed with him, too.
"C'mon, Hutch, he's just a baby."
"You can put him in the bathroom where he can't destroy anything -- and remember, he's not housebroken."
Hutch pulled Starsky to him, tightening his hold. "It's been days and I need you. And I don't want it spoiled by a crying dog." His mouth silenced the protest, plunging his tongue deeper and deeper into the receptive abyss, hearing his moans of pleasure echoed from his partner's throat.
* * * * * *
The moonlight threw tangled shadows through the curtained windows. Starsky's fingers ran down the length of Hutch's spine and he trembled. But his own doubts caused him to stiffen. Troubled voice whispered in his ear. "What's wrong love?"
Hutch rolled out of his lover's arms and onto his side. "For three nights I tried to bring you to life, to feel you move under me, to hear you beg me to love you and..."
"I can't do to you what just a simple touch from you does to me."
"I'm a prisoner here. A prisoner to your hands, your mouth, and the very love I feel for you."
Words died unspoken and thoughts refused to form as Starsky's hot hands roamed Hutch's body, drawing a response he could not understand or explain. Fire touched his ears, lips, chest, stomach. Mouth covered his as the hard body stretched full length over him, hips oscillating, taking possession.
Starsky's hungry mouth raked his body with kisses, laving the dark nipples, leaving him weak with passion, his groin on fire, his cock struggling against the body that covered him. Lips moved downward, washing, sucking, promising. Hands slid between his legs, stroking straining thigh muscles before cupping his buttocks, lifting them off the bed, squeezing, caressing, exciting.
Hutch thrust upward, silently pleading for the touch that Starsky refused to give. His cock throbbed, a drop of fluid seeping out like a tear-drop, then splashed -- red hot -- onto his taut belly.
"What do you want?"
Starsky's hands came to rest at the inside junction of Hutch's legs, tantalizing by their stillness. "Are you ready to listen to me now?" Starsky demanded.
Hutch's body was twisted by hands that gripped harder, causing him to cry out in pain.
"Good. Now that I have your attention, you're gonna listen to me -- whether you like it or not." A light kiss was dropped on his leg.
"Do you have any idea what your beautiful hands do to me? You make music with your touch. My body sings for you in any key to any tempo."
"But nothing, Babe. Sometimes I need a little space. These last few nights I had to get some things straight in my own head. Nothing more. Do you hear me?"
Hutch shivered as Starsky's hands moved against his sensitive skin.
"You don't have to buy me gifts or bring me a puppy. All you have to do is be here for me. And know what I need from you. Like now." Starsky's hand moved to firmly grasp Hutch's hard cock, his tongue licking delicately at the glistening droplets.
Hutch's thoughts reeled, the feel of those hands and the cadence of that seductive voice driving him mad. Fire raced through his veins where once blood had flowed and he arched upward wanting the burning touch of Starsky's velvet mouth.
"Hutch, you aren't listening." A painful slap short-circuited the ever-burning, never-consuming flames. "I want you to take these beautiful long fingers." Hutch's fingers were uncurled and nibbled. "And that gorgeous mouth -- oh god, that mouth." Hutch's body was straddled by Starsky, heat radiating in every direction, and his mouth was captured and devoured. "And create a whole fuckin' symphony."
Hutch gasped for air and coherent thought. "Now?"
Hutch lay still for a moment willing strength back into his limbs, but the body that pressed on his moved exquisitely, draining him of thought and control. His head threatened to explode into a kaleidoscope of colors as Starsky circled his hips ever so slowly.
With supreme effort Hutch flipped his lover under him, covering the man with the full force of his weight. Mouth claiming mouth, tongue thrusting with matching rhythm to the rest of his body.
His mouth moved down into the forest of soft dark curls, seeking each nipple in turn. Sucking the tiny bud caused Starsky to moan and twist under Hutch's weight. He found the other nipple with his fingers, pinching, evoking a scream.
Easing himself onto the bed, Hutch rolled Starsky on his side, left leg on his shoulder. Hutch's fingers probed, seared, prepared, as the muscles tensed and relaxed in response. Hips gyrated and soft cries touched his ears.
Slowly, with infinite care, Hutch shoved his cock into Starsky's body until he was fully impaled. Hands clawed at Hutch, pulling him closer and closer to the central core, the pit of unquenchable fire. His own hands wrapped around straining flesh, matching the movement of his hands to the thrust of his hips.
Lost, forever floating in the black vastness of space. The darkness dominating while he was drawn to the vortex, swirling, swimming, revolving. Sounds in the blackness -- groans, screams, cries -- as he was pulled further under until it was too late. The single light twinkled, then grew to blinding brilliance and just as the brilliance threatened to blind him, the light exploded, showering the blackness with a myriad of pinks and golds and greens that dripped slowly away, leaving only the velvet darkness.
A noise tugged at his consciousness, a tiny intrusion in his womb of blissfulness. The sound began at one corner of his black covered dream and ripped the peacefulness to shreds. Hutch covered his closed eyes with his arm in an effort to recapture the lost dream, but to no avail. The cries of torment reverberated louder and louder.
Hutch eased Starsky's relaxed body off of him and pushed himself upright. "That goddamn dog! Starsky, why do I let you do this to me?"
A light snore was his only answer.
And the puppy whined incessantly.
Hutch grabbed for a robe, struggling into Starsky's blue one, just a bit too small, and headed for the bathroom. Without turning on the light, he picked up the puppy and took him down the stairs. "Better start on your training right now."
Watching the animal roam the yard begging to play, Hutch yawned. When he bent to retrieve the young Dobey, he was rewarded by frantic licking on and about his face, the puppy nuzzling a cold nose into the hollow of his throat.
"Okay, okay. I know when I'm beaten. C'mon."
The bathroom door had no more than closed when the whining began again, soft, heartbreaking, insistent.
He scooped the crying dog into his arms and carried it into the bedroom, laying it beside Starsky's leg. The puppy snuggled up to the warmth and was soon sleeping.
Hutch stretched out on his back, watching the shadowy patterns on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of night, and smelling the heady musk of sex. He sighed, defeated and committed. He loved Starsky and would have to learn to handle that love and all the demands it made.
A hand snaked across the sheets and captured one of his, stroking the fingers. The sleepy voice said, "I love you."