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." This is missing scene from the episode "The Deadly Impostor".
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.
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A Handful of Sand
Gun fire. Shots echoed by pounding surf. Starsky looked right. Sun glinted off hard steel.
Hutch's words. Clipped. Cold. "It's Colby. I want him."
More shots. His job. No choice. "I got the beach." Aw Christ, Hutch, don't do anything stupid. "Police." Gun held steady. Will you people get the lead out. "Stand up. Now!"
Seconds stretched into hours. The guards took the gunmen. Starsky was free. Running. Sand sucked at his feet. His body was weighted and slowed. Oh, Hutch, don't. Please don't. For both of us.
Sun glared on Hutch's magnum. Colby lay in the sand. Wind carried the words. "Hey, Hutch, you might as well shoot me right now, man, 'cause I'm not gonna make it to a trial. They'll have a contract out on me tomorrow."
"That's your problem, John."
"No. No. It's yours, Hutch. I should have finished you in the alleyway." Colby was on his feet.
Starsky slowed his pace. Stopped. Watched. Hutch's every move a picture of the agony of betrayal. A wounded lion unleashed. Hutch's steps calculated, executed with coiled strength. He picked up Colby's gun. Threw it.
Cold statement of fact. "I'm surprised you didn't."
Colby's hands clenched. His eyes swept Hutch's body, gauntlet accepted. "I don't kill people that I don't get paid to kill."
Anger paled the face. Hutch's eyebrows disappeared. "Why is that, John?"
Colby shrugged, a veneer of relaxation. Eyes never left Hutch's. "Killing got to be real easy." Short breath. "I'm good at it." Voice flat, stating fact. "A man oughta do what he's good at."
Starsky rocked on the balls of his feet. It was Hutch's fight.
"Drop the sand."
A heartbeat. An eternity.
Hands unclenched, sand sprinkled on sand.
Hutch took a step forward, gun level, waist high. "Turn around."
Streak of blue kicked the gun. It landed at Starsky's feet. He ignored it. Hutch's forearm blocked a punch. Strong right back-handed Colby's jaw. Strength versus strength. Good versus evil. Pain to be exorcised. Colby's knee in Hutch's mid-section. Both down. Sand flew. Bodies rolled in reflex action. Up. Squared off. Kick. Twist. Turn. Hutch hammered both hands into Colby's kidneys.
Starsky's lungs clamored for air. His heart stopped. Hutch flipped his enemy to the ground with graceful ease. Long fingers rested on the exposed throat. The world stopped.
Hutch's face went white, then blank. His voice was flat. "We don't get paid extra to kill people either."
Starsky drew sea wet air into aching lungs. His white knight was victorious. He scooped the gun from the sand. "Drop something?" He slipped the cuffs from Hutch's belt, making sure his fingertips touched bare skin. A hand touched his shoulder, gripped hard for a second. Crystal blue eyes held his. The tension was viable.
Starsky jerked Colby to his feet, pleased at the pain he inflicted.
* * * * * * * *
Feds! Goddamn motherfuckin' bureaucrats. They did not care about people. Christ, it had been over an hour since Colby had been removed. Forms in triplicate. Stupid questions. Miles of red tape.
The beach house disappeared from the rearview mirror as Starsky turned the car onto the main road. Home. It had been one hell of a long day. He winced as Hutch's hand dug into the sensitive flesh of his thigh. He shot a quick glance at his partner. Hutch was ready to explode.
Starsky's gut tightened. Slipping one hand from the steering wheel, he patted Hutch's arm. "Easy, babe, easy. It'll be a while."
"I can't wait." The words a strangled whisper.
Starsky withdrew his hand. His touch would only add to his partner's agony. He slowed the Torino and scanned the deepening twilight. The setting sun cast a golden halo around the blond head, accenting the need stated in glazed blue eyes. He could deny this man nothing.
"Starsky...please..." The hand on his leg gripped frantically while the other cradled the bulging crotch. Starsky resisted the urge to cover Hutch's hand. He was not surprised at the stirring in his groin, Hutch's need awakening his own.
He made a sharp right turn onto a road he hoped would lead to deserted beach. "You don't have to beg. Just give me a minute." The pressure on his thigh would leave a bruise. "Some things require privacy."
He lit a cigarette. Pulled acrid smoke into his lungs. Passed it to Hutch. "Smoke it slowly." It would occupy at least one of the shaking hands.
The ashtray scrapped shut as he turned off the engine and set the brake. Rough hands gripped him by the shoulders. Shoved him down into burning hardness. "Now!"
Long fingers tangled in his curls, restricting his movements as he tried to open the fly. Hips bucked. Struggling with the zipper, he slapped Hutch's hands. "Let me do it!"
Hutch's reply was a cross between a moan and a sob, but he relaxed enough so that his jeans could be opened. The musk of desire was strong. Hutch thrust deeply into the eager throat.
It was fast and forceful. Bitter fluid gushed as his lover stiffened into him, then collapsed against the seat, groaning in relief. Silence enveloped the car. Starsky did not move, just relished the moment, knowing the pleasure his partner would bring him later. Hutch always felt guilty about his urgency and spent hours trying to make it up. He always succeeded.
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