This story was published in the anthology zine, Starsky & Hutch, Dangerous Lives, Dangerous Visions, in October, 2002 and premiered at SHareCon 2002. The entire DLDV 1 zine can be found on this archive. This story is also part of a series. The other stories are Bound to the Law II: Pierced by Circumstance (2 part story), and Bound to the Law III: Working Out the Kinks (5 part story), and Bound to the Law IV: The Ties that Bind (5 part story). Comments on this story can be sent to:


From the zine edition:

Editor's Note: This story has been posted to at least one of the SH fiction lists. But I liked it enough to want to see it on paper. This story is complete in itself, however, Dawn is working on a series of stories based on this premise. Flamingo

Part 1

The door of the proper white shuttered house opened revealing a woman who could only be described as magnificent. Clothed entirely in leather she looked both formidable and controlling. Her face was as beautiful as a carved statue of some goddess or queen, perhaps Aphrodite or Cleopatra, but her sleek blond hair betrayed a Scandinavian heritage. Everything about her was perfect from full sensuous lips, a long straight nose and wide eyes the color of a windy sea. Her smooth platinum hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, the twisted bun caught up in an intricate cage of gold wire skewered with a wicked gold pin to secure it. The leather bustier covered her body like armor, encasing curves Helen of Troy would have begged for, but she wore tight leather trousers below, ending with red spike mules. Flat footed, she would have been about Starsky's height, but in the four inch heels, she stood just taller than Hutch. Webster's Dictionary could have used her to define the word dominatrix.

Taking one step back, Hutch flashed his badge, looking her square in the eye, an unusual occurrence for him. "Elizabeth Carlysle?"

"Simply Carlysle," she corrected coldly, her eyes two chunks of glacier, pale blue and nearly see through.

"Uh." Starsky finally found his voice, the heat rising in his body in vivid contrast to her icy superiority. "We've received complaints from some of your neighbors about men coming and going at all hours."

"You're accusing me of prostitution?" she asked frigidly, focusing her full beauty on him. It was staggering. Just her gaze aroused him, his jeans suddenly restrictive around the hips. Starsky had a fleeting fantasy of easing himself into the moist dark cave between her leather-encased thighs and wondered if it would be as cold inside as her attitude suggested. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, but he was willing to experiment just for educational purposes.

"I am a licensed sex therapist." Carlysle said haughtily. "I counsel men—sometimes it is late at night, but that is the nature of my profession."

"Well, ma'am, there h-have been complaints and this neighborhood isn't zoned for business," Hutch replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, but he couldn't help swallowing audibly, his mouth dry as dust. He longed to reach over and liberate one of those perfect mounds rising like soft, ripe peaches above the edge of her bustier.

Sneaking a look at his partner, Starsky was amused to note that Hutch looked as uncomfortable and aroused as he did. How did such glacial calm start a fire burning in two experienced detectives?

With homicides at an all time city low the past few weeks, Starsky and Hutch had been assigned to vice cases. Carlysle was a new face in the area and neither had encountered her previously. Starsky had to bite down on his tongue to quell the urge to call her mistress and bow at her feet. He thought she'd no doubt approve if he did so, however.

"Officer, I call myself a businesswoman, not a . . . whore" Her emphasis on the last word indicated her utter distain for the call girl profession. She gave him a perfect smile, her vampire red lipstick startling against snow white teeth.

"Nevertheless." Hutch tried to maintain control but all the blood had fled his brain for more southern regions. He hadn't been with a woman in over a year, probably closer to two, since he'd committed himself to one man, but Carlysle was seriously tempting his resolve. Her stark blondness and swollen lips made him crave her touch. He wanted to caress that translucent skin, draw her against his own smooth paleness.

"We'd like to take a look around your . . . " Starsky took a steadying breath, shifting to relieve the uncomfortable fullness in his groin. "Establishment."

"This is my home. I live alone, and there is no one else here." She pursed her lips, turning them both to stone with her lethal gaze. "If you want to come in, in an official capacity, you'll need a warrant."

"If there's another complaint, we'll get one," Hutch answered, trying to match her toughness, but he didn't think he quite achieved it. She made him feel dizzy and intoxicated, without a drop of alcohol in his blood. "We could still bring you in if there's evidence of a monetary exchange for sexual favors."

Starsky silently applauded his partner's linguistic prowess. At least one of them sounded like a competent, trained officer of the law.

"Detective . . ." She raised one blond eyebrow, obviously demanding their full attention, and expecting nothing less. "Hutchinson." She placed one red painted nail against his tan leather jacket. "I welcome all men who need help for sexual dysfunction."

She chucked Starsky under the chin, looking down at him from her fetish-heel enhanced height. "Starsky. I don't suppose either of you have any difficulties in that area?"

Starsky was mortified to have a blush rise up from his chest and spread its warmth across both his cheeks. "No." He said firmly, his voice only squeaking slightly. Carlysle pressed her palm against his cheek, her touch soothingly cool on his heated skin. "Never." Starsky reiterated.

"We'll be in touch," Hutch said hastily, wrapping strong fingers around his partner's upper arm, squeezing tightly on the biceps. "We'll be going now."

"I've always enjoy a close working relationship with law enforcement in the past. I hope that will continue to be the case here." Carlysle purred now that they were leaving, "If I can be of any help, insert myself into the body of any ongoing investigation, don't hesitate to call. I'm in the yellow pages, right below Caress and above Domi-trex. Just one call and I'll be on top of your . . . problem the same day." With a deep breath that threatened to free her breasts from their confinement, she closed the colonial style front door.

Starsky was unaccountably overcome with giggles. As Hutch hauled him off the front porch and down the brick lined walk, he sagged drunkenly, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from his belly. "Damn. You?"

"Get in the car, now." Hutch could hardly contain his arousal. His full erection made it decidedly difficult to walk and he needed relief immediately.

"Where to?" Starsky sprawled in the seat of Hutch's beater car, his legs splayed wide to accommodate his stiff cock. Once the door was closed he loosened the zipper on his pants just a little. It wouldn't look good to be called out on a bust with his pants undone.

Hutch thought frantically, his heart pounding when he remembered the perfect place. "Huggy's. The bar is closed while he's in Detroit and it's closest."

"Then drive, babe, cause we need to have some private time, if you know what I mean." Starsky grabbed up the mike from its hook on the dashboard, logging them out for a meal break. Luckily, since it was nearly eight p.m., halfway through their eight hour shift, it didn't look in any way unusual. They were even going over to the Pits, a bar they frequented most nights. Hopefully dispatch didn't know the place was closed.

Hutch had to concentrate to keep his mind on driving and forced himself to stop stealing looks at the hard-on straining the fabric of his partner's jeans. They usually didn't allow themselves take a quickie in the middle of a shift like this, but this pit-stop was a necessity. Otherwise, neither would be able to do their jobs in a professional manner for the rest of the night. They'd probably have no time to actually eat, but the lust Hutch saw in Starsky's eyes, directed at him, was food for the soul.

Parking in the alley behind Huggy Bear's establishment, Hutch could barely get his fingers to coordinate enough to insert a key in the back door and let the two of them inside. Standing in the hall next to the kitchen, Hutch pressed Starsky up against the wall, forcing him into a lip lock before the door had even snicked shut.

Snaking his tongue past Hutch's lips, Starsky responded enthusiastically, exploring the warm, pliant depths of his partner's mouth. This was a far better cave to slip into than any Carlysle might possess. He molded himself to Hutch's broad chest, wanting nothing more than to be inside the other man, to be joined soul to soul with him.

Hutch's big hands roamed Starsky's long torso, seeking the zipper of his jeans. He'd seen Starsky open the top button and loosen the zipper, so it should be no difficulty to ease the zip the rest of the way down and free Little Davey residing inside. The problem was how close their bodies were pressed together, and the fact that he couldn't stop the kissing long enough to pay attention to other matters. He was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of arousal coming off Starsky's skin like an aphrodisiac. The need to breathe finally broke them apart for an instant, but Starsky moaned in disappointment, diving back in for a repeat performance before he'd barely gulped a lungful of air. Hutch pressed against those tempting lips, flicking his tongue along Starsky's upper lip, feeling the bristly stubs of hair where his mustache would be. He bit down on the irresistible target, Starsky's tongue darting out to tease Hutch's lower lip. Hutch continued his ravage lower, nipping and sucking the skin just below Starsky's sharp jaw line, producing a husky moan of desire from his partner.

"H-hutch, I'll get a hickey." Starsky managed, pulling his head away for an instant.

"You already got one." Hutch laughed, kissing the reddened mark he'd made. For discretion's sake he started in on Starsky's chest where he could hide any further marks by buttoning his shirt, nibbling on a now exposed nipple.

Starsky buried his face in Hutch's silky blond hair, luxuriating in the smell of shampoo, leather jacket and gun oil that made up Hutch. He jerked at Hutch's shirttails, freeing them from his wide leather belt and discovering the firm muscles of his partner's back. Running his fingernails up Hutch's spine he shivered from the ministrations Hutch was giving his tingling nipples.

Hutch caught the nipple between his front teeth, then licked the tight nub, rubbing the twin between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted just hard enough to make Starsky stiffen, feeling Starsky's fingernails rake the sensitive skin of his back. He reversed his focus, giving the left nipple a sharp bite, Starsky's erection jutting into Hutch's crotch with undeniable insistence.

"We need to get upstairs." Hutch panted, pushing Starsky away just enough to get at his fly.

"You got all the fun!" Starsky pouted, nuzzling into the nape of Hutch's neck, the blond hair tickling him, but he followed where he was being lead.

"There's more for you." Hutch slipped his hand under the waistband of Starsky's jeans, pulling him up the stairs without breaking contact. It was hard to walk backwards up stairs, but he couldn't take his hands off his sexy partner. He wanted to touch every inch of that hard muscled body, tweak and tickle the curly hair on his scarred chest. Stopping on the stair, one riser above the dark haired man, Hutch leaned down and gave him a much more chaste kiss, thanking Starsky for being there with him.

Starsky's arms reached up, encircling his lover's waist, deepening the kiss until his brain was on overload. If there had been an earthquake at that moment, it wouldn't have separated the two. Starsky was bent backwards at an uncomfortable angle, his arms around Hutch the only thing anchoring him and any forward momentum threatened to topple them both down the stairs.

Steadying himself on the stair railing, Hutch tightened his hold on Starsky's pants.

The zipper slid down further revealing the throbbing cock wanting to be set free, but Starsky was able to lean forward and finally precede Hutch up the stairs.

The race to the little room Huggy maintained ended in a giggling heap on the bed, Starsky rolling over onto the larger man and pinning him to the mattress.

"Always wanted to do that." Starsky laughed with delight. "C'mere, stud, show me what you've got." He swiftly unbuckled Hutch's belt and attacked the pant's fly with enthusiasm. Hutch was content for the moment to watch, admiring the way Starsky's powerful chest rippled with every breath. Once, Hutch had shivered and moaned in pain from heroin withdrawal on this very bed, wrapped in the security of Starsky's loving arms. Now, he shivered in desire as Starsky wrapped his fingers around the steel hard red cock that he pulled from Hutch's pants.

Scooting backwards so he was level with Hutch's crotch, crouched between the long outstretched legs, Starsky bent down, taking his partner's penis in his mouth. He loved giving Hutch head, licking and sucking on the long thick cock. It was like a flesh Popsicle, only warm and moving inside his mouth. The tip brushed against his palate, sending sizzling waves of desire straight to Starsky's own cock and he sucked harder, savoring the salty, earthy taste. He reached down, cupping the testicles in his left hand, rolling them around like worry balls between his fingers. Hutch gave a strangled cry, the sensation sending him up like the jolting ride of a wooden roller coaster.

Thrusting his hips, Hutch fucked Starsky's mouth, riding the orgasm up the long exhilarating crest of the roller coaster and then plunging down into freefall, his mouth open and screaming incoherently. Starsky accepted nearly the full length of his lover's rod, gulping when the semen shot out, flooding his throat. He swallowed reflexively, releasing Hutch's balls to clutch the strong thighs that bracketed his head, feeling like he'd fall into space without something to hold onto. His own erection had hardened until just the brush of Hutch's foot against it sent Starsky spinning straight out on his own amusement park ride, the whole room whirling about like a tilt-a-whirl.

"Man." Hutch whispered with a dry throat. "Too bad we don't take dinner breaks like this every day."

"Couldn't." Starsky crawled up the big body, curling himself against Hutch's side, still trembling a little from the post-coital release, "We'd never be able to get back to work."

"True." Hutch splayed his fingers over Starsky's chest, toying with the dark hair that grew over his heart.

"Maybe we should go back over there. To Carlysle's." Starsky squirmed from the sensations the tickling fingers were creating. If Hutch wasn't careful, there'd be a repeat performance on the bed. "See what she really does in the back of her house."

"No, can't set ourselves up for a harassment suit." With effort, Hutch pulled himself back into police mode, and stood, assessing the rumpled damage of his clothes. Luckily, neither of them had any embarrassing wet spots, since Hutch's cum had gone down Starsky's mouth and Starsky's had landed on the faded chenille coverlet on the bed, "We can bundle up the sheets and wash 'em tomorrow." He said, rebuttoning his shirt and tucking it neatly into his pants.

"I used to go to the Laundromat to score." Starsky grinned impishly, still sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Ask some leggy blonde which detergent to wash my shorts, whether I should use a dryer sheet to get things soft . . ."

"A leggy blonde, huh?" Hutch chuckled, tugging at the edge of the coverlet to bundle it up. "Get off. You don't need go to the Laundromat to score big."

"No?" Starsky asked with interest, flipping the edges of the sheet into the middle of the bed so Hutch could ball it into a big pile.

"The grocery's the best. Lotsa chances there to squeeze ripe . . ." Hutch reached down as if to catch up the last corner of the sheet, but grabbed Starsky's still exposed cock, hanging limply between the flaps of his unzipped jeans. "Bananas, and cucumbers."

"That could get you in a lot of trouble," Starsky snarled low in his throat. "Bananas bruise easily."

"Sometimes they're harder than you think." Hutch kept his hold as Starsky stood so they were millimeters apart, their lips so close they were breathing each other's air. "Ready for peeling."

Starsky gulped, Hutch's fingers stroking the length of his manhood, creating tiny vibrations in his groin resonating throughout his skeleton. If Hutch didn't stop soon, Starsky would no longer be responsible for his actions. "We can't." He clamped his own fingers around the wrist that held him. "Got to get out on the street."

"Most groceries give a rain check when the produce isn't available." Hutch released him, zipping up Starsky's fly with a quick flick of his hand.

"Just come back anytime." Starsky's pulse was still half in his cock and he gathered up the bedding to have something to occupy his hands and hide his groin. "When we're off duty."

"Tomorrow then, while the sheets are in the wash?" Hutch gave him a slow, wicked smile that promised heat and action.

Grabbing bags of chips and soda from the pantry before locking up the door, the duo stowed the bedding in the trunk and logged back in. Hutch pulled the car out into traffic, cruising slowly around their usual beat, prowling the night for the criminals and lowlifes who came out in the darkness. Vampires might not exist, but the blood suckers of the modern age were the drug pushers, pimps and rapists that Starsky and Hutch vowed to hunt down.

It was an average shift. There were domestic disputes to control, and bar fights to break up. Starsky ignored the cluster of underage prostitutes on a low-lit corner, knowing if he arrested them, they'd only be out on bail by the morning. It was their pimps he hated; rough, greedy men who used the women's bodies like cash.

"You think she really is a licensed sex therapist?" Starsky asked, watching the nightlife pass by the car in a never-ending parade of drunks on the sidewalks and pickpockets casing the rich folk coming out of the multiplex.

"Oh—Carlysle?" Hutch laughed shortly, but just her name conjured up images that made his blood run faster. "I don't know if there's such a thing, Starsk, but she was no ordinary call girl."

"That's for sure." Starsky rubbed the reddened welt on his neck, remembering Hutch's mouth on his skin. His nipples still ached from the bites. "I really wanted to get in there and take a look around. See what she had in the back room."


"No, y'know, see if there was any kinky stuff—whips, maybe . . . leather . . ."

"Starsky, you've watched porn before, you know what they do with that stuff."

"I was just wondering what . . . she . . . did with 'em." Starsky looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"You want to go try her out," Hutch said, glancing away from the road to catch his partner's retreat. "Have you ever been with a woman like that?"

"No, not like her." Starsky was glad of the covering darkness, hiding the blush that heated his cheeks for the second time that night. What was it about Carlysle that did this to him? "A dominatrix. It just . . . yah, I wanted to try it."

"Don't go to her, buddy, she'll eat you alive." Hutch chuckled again, throaty and intense.

"Thanks a lot. You don't think I could hold my own?"

"No." Hutch reached over, capturing the jean covered thigh so close beside him. "I just don't want you to go to her."

"I didn't mean anything, Hutch." Starsky apologized, "I'd never leave you. Just—just wanted the experience." The idea of all that leather caressing his naked skin, while he stood, hands clasped meekly behind him. She would be wearing leather gloves, a long tailed whip in one hand and her icy blue gaze would signal him to kneel . . . Starsky's penis stirred with the fantasies

"If you really want the experience, don't go to her." Hutch repeated, pulling the car in front of the precinct building. He stroked Starsky's thigh, amused at the obvious bulge growing once again in front of his pants. "I've got leather pants."

"I've always liked those pants." Starsky slid down as Hutch's hand continued up his thigh. "But what do you know about the other stuff?"

"More than you think." Hutch pinched him hard up close to the groin, catching Starsky unawares. He reared up in surprise with a yowl, rubbing the offended area.

"What was that for?"

"The unexpected." Hutch kissed his fingers and soothed the injured spot. "I never knew you had a yen for kink."

"I never knew you did, either." Starsky regarded him warily, uncertain how he liked this turn of events. He thought he was privy to all of Hutch's secrets, both the dark scary ones and the rainbow hued dreams, but this was new. "When?"

"Mostly before we met—and while I was married." Hutch cast his mind back to the chaotic days of his marriage. There had been little in the way of wedded bliss, but Vanessa had had an appetite for sexual diversion that had even given Hutch pause, and he had rarely been one to say no to experimentation. Their only real connection, therefore, had been in the bedroom, and the playroom, and anyplace else they could get naked. He'd tried bondage a few times back in Minnesota, but Vanessa introduced him to a wide array of sexual toys. The first year of their marriage had proven diverting as long as they were acting out fantasies but unfortunately, Vanessa bored easily. She was the ultimate consumer, tossing out her toys after using them only once or twice. Hutch ended up just another cast off toy. When she left him, he'd put the games she'd played behind him. Most other girls he'd dated hadn't been interested in much more than a quick roll in the hay with a gorgeous blond man, and he'd welcomed the anonymity of casual sex. No strings, no commitments. There had been the occasional foray to dark, heady smelling leather bars, but they hadn't amounted to much and his taste for kink had been carefully locked up. It wouldn't look good for a police detective to get caught in a compromising position that could be construed as perverted or obscene.

When he and Starsky had finally connected on a sexual level, after Starsky's recovery from his nearly fatal shooting, Hutch had thought all his dreams had come true. He'd found true commitment with a person he adored, who loved him back and was open and honest about his feelings. There hadn't been any room for kink. It was enough just to be with Starsky and explore their new relationship. Even after two years, it still felt fresh and exciting. He almost was afraid to admit to the allure of the dangerous, thrilling world of kinky sex games.

"How was it?" Starsky asked hesitantly, feeling like a complete virgin in the woods, and afraid he sounded like one. "Do you like . . . ?"

"Bondage?" Hutch said the word effortlessly, the whole BDSM world thrusting into the forefront of his brain once again. He could almost feel the cold steel of chains sliding through his hand and the hard, unforgiving length of a leather strap. "It's almost indescribable to someone who hasn't experienced it."

"That sounds like bull, like a cop out." Starsky snorted. He got out of the car, mentally throwing cold water on his raging hard-on, so he could finish the night's arrest reports in relative comfort.

"Wait a minute." Hutch nearly ran around the car, grabbing him by the arm. "What do you want? You want to try it?"

Starsky gazed up at him steadily, not sure what he really wanted. It sounded sexy as hell, alluring in a nasty, dangerous way. "Did you like it?" He was very aware that they were standing in front of the police department and shouldn't be having this discussion at the moment, but the subject refused to die. "Just tell me and we can talk about this later."

"Yes. I did." Hutch spaced the words out carefully so there was no confusion about what he said. "If you want to try it, I would do it with you."

"Yes." Starsky was captured in his partner's sky blue eyes, unable to look away. "I want you to show me how." With supreme effort, he turned away, starting to walk into the building.

Hutch swung his hand, landing a hard, open palm slap on Starsky's rounded right buttock. It stung. Even through his blue jeans, Starsky could feel the reddened imprint of Hutch's hand on his skin, like a hot brand marking him. His breath catching in his throat, he turned around in shock.

Hutch held up one finger. "Think about that feeling for one night. We'll talk about it tomorrow. If you want this, we do it right, seriously, so nothing goes wrong."

Nodding, Starsky continued on into the squadroom to type his reports. He wasn't at all surprised that Hutch never followed. There had been a whole shift in their universe since they had first encountered Carlysle. She had been a catalyst to project them into a completely new chemical equation. Hutch had to adjust to his new status. Starsky knew without being told, without one word passing between them about it, that Hutch was the Master, the dominant one and he was the . . . he didn't even know for sure what his role was. Slave? Submissive? It was like stepping off into space; the rules of behavior had changed so completely he had to learn to walk, or more to the point, to have sex all over again.

The switch from women to men had been enough of a—well, challenge wasn't quite the right term, more like exploration. What was different in seducing a man as opposed to a woman, and what remained the same—apart from the obvious. And it wasn't as if he no longer wanted a woman, Carlysle had certainly proven that. But Hutch made him deliriously happy and fulfilled in life. It wasn't a relationship he could publicly proclaim in front of a justice of the peace, or even some of their friends, but it had worked for him and Hutch for going on two years now. What if he had completely mucked up everything now by introducing whips and handcuffs?

It bothered him more than he was willing to admit that Hutch had never owned up to this side of his life. Sure, when Vanessa was around, even though he and Hutch had hung together more often than not, Hutch had made an effort to spend time with his wife. Now, Starsky knew what they had been doing and he was both unnerved and intrigued by it.

His fantasy of icy blond Carlysle standing over him, dressed in black leather, securing him with restraints altered slightly to his blond lover, chest bared above skin tight leather pants. Hutch was holding the butt of a whip under Starsky's chin, forcing it up so he couldn't move while a finger dipped down into his . . .

"Finishing up, Sergeant?" the night duty officer asked, his voice loud in the quiet of the deserted squadroom. "I can file anything, if you need to get out of here."

"Thanks." Starsky stacked the last of the reports on the desk, surprised he'd been able to work at all with his mind completely elsewhere for a whole hour. He stood, sure he could still feel the phantom impression of Hutch's hand on his buttocks. It no longer hurt, but it had left its mark on his psyche.


Hutch loaded Huggy's sheets into the washer at the Laundromat around the corner from Venice Place. He'd had sweaty, amorous, erotic dreams starring Starsky the entire night long. He wasn't even positive he would be able to say hello when Starsky finally arrived, since all he wanted to do was jump his bones. But they needed to talk, and ignore their physical urges until things were hashed out. Could Starsky really want this? Was he really aware of what he was getting himself into?

Bondage. It wasn't something to be started blindly. It required discussion and planning to make the experience safe and satisfying for both the top and the bottom. Hutch wasn't all that sure he could totally dominate his beloved. What if he proved to be a wimpy master? Starsky would be disgusted with the whole affair and want out, maybe permanently.

All of a sudden his heart was thumping wildly in his chest and he broke out in a sweat. What if this destroyed the relationship they had built up? Could he survive Starsky leaving him? Leaning against the agitated washer, Hutch felt like his whole body was trembling in tandem with the appliance.

"Hey!" Starsky called out, swinging in through the open door, holding up a bakery bag. "You started without me. I brought breakfast—well, more like brunch I guess, since it's after ten a.m., but I was sleepin' . . . Had some strange dreams."

"Kinky?" Hutch laughed, his fears evaporating at the sight of his irrepressible friend. Just the sight of Starsky's springy curls and gleeful face made Hutch happier. The whole day improved whenever they were together. He wanted to go over and pull Starsky into a clinch right then and there. There was no one else in the Laundromat on a Tuesday morning. All the old ladies and college kids who used the place were off living their lives, leaving two off duty cops to have the space to themselves.

"More than just a little." Starsky ducked his head over the bag, "I brought you a plain bagel, since you never want the Danish."

"Not good for you." Hutch patted Starsky's rock hard abs, astonished as always that Starsky could eat like he did and still maintain such an incredible body. He let his hand linger, tracing the shape of his partner's musculature, never quite dipping down as far as either of them wanted to go, since they were in a public building with huge plate glass windows. "Make you fat."

"Not so far." Starsky bit into his sweet roll, "But if you keep feeling me up, that's not the part of my anatomy that'll get fat."

"Maybe I could make room for a little more fat in my diet." Hutch grinned, closing his fingers around the bagel instead, devouring in a few bites. He hadn't realized he was starving until he started to eat.

"Hungry, are you?" Starsky asked with an arched eyebrow, amused.

"For more than just bagels." Hutch swallowed the last of it, filching the cup of coffee Starsky had placed on an empty dryer.

"Hey, get your own."

"What's yours is mine, babe." Hutch drank half the cup, then handed the rest to his partner. That's how they usually shared everything. Fifty-fifty. How would they work it out in the unequal world of BDSM? As the dominant, Hutch would have complete control, and he wasn't sure Starsky was ready to relinquish his rights. Starsky was a very head strong, stubborn guy who never backed down from a fight. Could he really behave himself and submit, meekly accepting whatever Hutch decided to dole out? That was the scariest part, was he ready to dole out what was necessary to sexually dominate his best friend? They had to establish guidelines and conduct. Maybe a visit to Carlysle wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. She presumably knew what she was doing, after all.

"Where'd you go?" Starsky inquired, pulling the heavy, wet sheets out of the washer to lug them over to the dryer. "Looks like you're a million miles away."


"Planet of the Bondage Babes in Chains?" Starsky quipped, "I watched that once on the late, late show—this red headed chick had bazookas that must have stuck out . . ." He gestured with his hands, miming enormous breasts. "Would have hit me in the eye."

"This has a real serious side, Starsk. It's not all fun and games." He shrugged with a slight smirk, "Well, it can be, but we have to talk about it, lay out ground rules."

"Can't just pull out the ol' handcuffs and chain me to the bed?" Starsky laughed with a trace of nervousness, glad Hutch had brought the subject out in the open again. At least he knew what he was doing.

"That's another thing. If we really go through with this, I'll have to go shopping."

"Need the right equipment?" Starsky brushed a teasing hand against the front of Hutch's butter soft cords. "Looks like both of us came with all the right parts, no assembly required."

"That's the next thing." Hutch caught Starsky's wrist in his fist, applying just enough pressure for the other man to feel a slight twinge of pain. "You have to respect me—obey me totally, at least when we're playing the roles, or it won't work. I could punish you for touching me like that."

To say Starsky was aroused was an understatement. He would have done anything for Hutch at that moment, just to have him continue holding him as he was. His cock had swelled to uncomfortable proportions just with the tightening of Hutch's hand around his wrist. He wanted those fingers fisting his manhood with an uncontrollable desire. "I won't do it again, Hutch, just can we go to your place now, maybe continue this a little later?"

"You don't get to plan the action, I do." Hutch said with authority, amazed at his own bravado. He released Starsky's wrist, momentarily mortified that he'd left a faint red mark on the lightly tanned skin, but toughened his own resolve. This dominance wasn't as hard as he'd feared. "When the dryer is done, we go upstairs, and later we have to hash this out."

"Much later." Starsky risked more imaginary punishment by licking his lips with a languid tongue and then leaning forward to plant a brazen kiss on the blond man's bemused mouth.

Once inside Hutch's cluttered little abode, the lovers resumed their seduction, leaving the cleaned sheets just inside the door and moving immediately to the bedroom. Clothes were left where they were dropped and both were nude by the time they climbed onto the bed.

Starsky had a goal, he wanted to be inside Hutch's ass just as soon as humanly possible. With that in mind he reached out for the turgid organ standing up between Hutch's thighs. Both were sitting on their heels, facing one another. It hadn't been planned, both had just taken this position, admiring the other's physique. Placing his hand around Hutch's cock, Starsky ran a slow finger up the underside, eliciting a moan of pleasure from his partner. Hutch's breathing quickened, but he didn't move, letting Starsky make the first move, just enjoying the sensations as the fingers tightened, stroking the steel hard length with loving tenderness. He let his head fall back, not even watching the maestro playing his chosen instrument like a virtuoso. Those fingers tapped out a staccato scale down his penis, alternating with a steady, rhythmic motion that matched his heartbeat. Hutch's body tuned into the resonance of the lovemaking, tendons and ligaments vibrating to the inner music that only he and Starsky could hear.

Adding just a hint of fingernail pressure to the mix, Starsky grinned joyfully as Hutch stiffened, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Bending down, Starsky kissed the now throbbing cock, flicking his tongue out to tickle the head as cum spurted forth. It splattered down the side of Starsky's thighs, warm and sticky. Laughing, he planted another kiss on his lover, but this one higher up, at the base of the penis, on the sensitive skin of the groin. He could feel Hutch's life-force pulsing under his lips, celebrating their union.

"You can do that to me anytime." Hutch smiled when he could form words again, "But your little buddy looks like he's being neglected."

"Not really." Starsky pushed gently against Hutch's hip. "Over on your side, I've got more in store for you."

"You doin' all the work this morning?" Hutch looked up into the face that gazed at him with such adoration.

"It ain't work, schweetheart," Starsky joked, "It's all a pleasure, now turn over on your side, you big lug." Jumping off the bed just long enough to retrieve a tube of KY jelly from the bedside table drawer, Starsky squirted some of the smooth lubricant into his palm, warming it with his body heat before lightly stroking the puckered opening in Hutch's backside.

Hutch lay on his side facing away from Starsky, with his lower leg straight and the upper leg bent, knee against the bed for support. It was a comfortable position for anal penetration, for both partners, although it prevented them from looking at each other, a distinct disadvantage.

Chuckling with pleasure, Hutch welcomed the touch of Starsky's hand on his butt cheeks, the warmed lubricant soft and sensual as he felt the pressure of Starsky's fingers on his sphincter. Aiding their entrance by rocking his pelvis, he forced the fingers deeper inside. A third finger joined the other two, widening the opening.

"Now, Starsk, now . . ." Hutch breathed, reaching back to touch his partner's flat belly. His whole body was nothing more than a receptacle for his lover and he needed to be joined together, to sense the oneness of their beings.

When Starsky had deemed his partner relaxed and ready for the finale, he lightly greased his now painfully stiff cock, positioning himself behind Hutch. The minute Starsky pushed into that tight tunnel, rockets started going off in his head, their explosions echoing in his ears as he thrust deeper and deeper. His own heartbeat was pounding, his penis throbbing with desire as the head rammed Hutch's prostate gland, giving Hutch a jolt stronger than caffeine. Grabbing Hutch's hipbones. Starsky shoved in fast and hard for the last few centimeters, howling as Hutch's muscles contracted around his member, squeezing him until all he could see, feel, hear were the booms of fireworks sparking around him. Starsky shuddered, his breath coming in panting gasps, his soul shooting up into the middle of the amazing display of multicolored lights, dancing with Hutch's in a celestial celebration of love.

It took a few long minutes before either could move, disconnecting themselves from the other's body. Hutch rolled over to face Starsky, curving his hand up to cup his lover's face in his palm. "That was worth the wait."

"I kinda lost control at the end there. Did I hurt you?" Starsky asked anxiously. He was surprised when Hutch laughed, leaning forward to kiss him hard on the lips. "Did I say something funny?"

"Sort of. You're worrying about hurting me and you want me to . . . what was it you said? Pull out the ol' handcuffs and chain you to the bed?"

"That's different."

"It's all different, Starsk. Yah, there's always that twinge of pain with anal penetration. It's always there, but it's so insignificant in the whole gestalt of the arousal and the . . ."

"Sex, Dr. Freud?"

"Make that Dr. Jung. The collective unconscious and archetypal myths."

"Huh?" Starsky rose up on one elbow to stare at his best friend in confusion.

"Never mind, as Emily Litella would say." Hutch smiled, tracing his finger down Starsky's hickey-marked throat to the tiny bite marks all around his nipples. "I hurt you yesterday; you still have the marks."

"That wasn't hurting; those were love bites."

"But admit it, it hurt."

"Yah." Starsky leaned forward to claim a kiss of his own, sucking on Hutch's lip before letting go. "You're talkin' about that pleasure and pain thing."

"That's essentially what bondage and all the stuff that goes with it is all about. The fine line between pleasure and pain. Sex makes it almost indistinguishable."

"You can say that again." Starsky stiffened as Hutch's fingers tweaked his nipple, still slightly bruised from the treatment it had gotten yesterday. Hutch rubbed the hard nubbin between his fingers, pulling and twisting enough to wrench a gasp from his partner. Starsky didn't dare move with that much tension on his chest, hardly daring to breath. It was undeniably arousing though, sending thrills of desire through his body as Hutch's grip on his wrist had done earlier.

Watching his partner's face, the slightly open mouth, the hooded eyes signaling sexual need, Hutch put out his tongue to lick the painfully stimulated nipple, then released his hold. He kissed the tortured area all around, lapping his warm tongue up to Starsky's collar bone, soothing the little red love mark on his neck. Starsky relaxed bonelessly onto the bed, the TLC just what he wanted after the display of pain.

"See?" Hutch rested his head on the dark haired man's shoulder. "You liked that, even though it hurt a little."

"You made your point," Starsky agreed, threading his fingers through his partner's blond locks. The top of Hutch's head was against his cheek, so he couldn't see the other's expression, but he knew he'd read love there. "There's that feeling of danger that revs up the adrenaline. It makes everything . . ."

"Brighter, clearer." Hutch finished his sentence. He'd never craved danger like Starsky did. Starsky liked the fast, the unknown, the thrill of the adventure, while Hutch wanted more order, more structure, to be in control, but he still understood Starsky's addiction to the natural speed of life. It also explained why they both had easily slipped into the roles of dominant and submissive. He controlled, Starsky anticipated the dangerous unknown. But would Starsky be able to simply submit without fighting back? That was the question.

"What if . . . ?" Starsky started, rubbing his cheek on the silky fair hair.

Hutch smiled; trust Starsky to start with the 'what if's?' "Go on."

"What if, after you've done all the shopping and all the prep work, I don't want to do it again?" Starsky closed his eyes, unaccountably frightened of this idea. His groin contracted with the thought, afraid that Hutch might not want him any longer if he turned away at that point.

"Then, at least, you'd have experienced it correctly instead of some fantasy rape scenario where the girl wants you to tie her to the bed."

"I've done that. It was really awkward. I couldn't get into it—she was fakey screaming and then forgot who I was or somethin' and yelled out 'Jerry!', twistin' around like I was hitting her and I couldn't even get . . . ."

"This will be both more real, and more what both of us need, together," Hutch promised, slipping one hand under Starsky's ribcage to bring him even closer. "But I need to know what you want, exactly."

"I'm not sure I do." Starsky laughed abruptly, the sharp intakes of his breath setting up a wavy sea on his chest muscles, bouncing Hutch's head in time to the laughter. "Aren't you s'pposed to be in charge of that?"

"Yah, but let's see . . . I think without even discussing it that infantile play would be a turn-off."

"Right on the money. Do people do that? "

"Some people masturbate over women's shoes."

"Not happening."

"I knew that one." Hutch laughed himself, petting Starsky's chest hair. "You want handcuffs."

"Yah, I guess." Starsky had that freefall sensation of space walking again, nothing was safe anymore, nothing was certain. He trusted Hutch implicitly, using his love and experience as the net when he cast off the line holding him safely to the normalcy and gave up control of his destiny. "Whips are usually involved?"

His throat tightening, Hutch looked up at Starsky. They'd never turned on the lamp when they'd come in from the Laundromat, it had been barely 11 AM, but the sky was overcast and now only an hour later, it was dark and shadowy in the little bedroom. He could just make out the expression on his face. Starsky looked scared and excited at the same time. Like he did when they were on a particularly tense bust. "That one, I don't know if I could."

"You already smacked me on the butt and it wouldn't be the first time you've thrown a punch at me," Starsky said reasonably.

"If we go on past the first time, maybe there might be pain play, but that's for later," Hutch resolved, wanting the whips to be far in the future. "Now it's the basics, and I want you to know what's going down, the outline anyway, in advance."

"No surprises?" Starsky pouted.

"Oh, there'll be surprises, I'm not telling you everything. I want you to trust me to make the evening perfect."

"That one is a given." Starsky captured his mouth again, lengthening the kiss until both had used up their stores of oxygen and had to come up for air.

While rain pattered on the roof, the rest of the afternoon was spent in questions and answers, both men revealing their fantasies, wants and desires in the kinkier realm of sexual play.

Saturday was to be the day, but Starsky still had to get through three more days of waiting. He cajoled Hutch on more than one occasion as to the specifics of what would unfold, but Hutch remained firm, his demeanor, when they were off duty, becoming more and more domineering every day. Instead of going with Starsky to Huggy's on Wednesday afternoon before their late shift, Hutch left on his mystery shopping expedition. Starsky was told in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to ask about the items purchased or to attempt to look for them. All would be revealed on Saturday and not until then.

Starsky alternated between a giddy anticipation of the day in question and a dread that kept him awake at night. What if this were all a big mistake? Had he gone too far, telling Hutch all the things he'd kept so long inside, those dark, slightly scary dreams that blossomed in the night when his bed was empty. Hutch hadn't been revolted, far from it. In fact some of his fantasies had matched Starsky's, startling both of them with their similarities.

The job he did every day, the crimes and deaths he faced should have been enough to turn Starsky away from wanting bondage and deliberate pain. It frightened him, but he also could see that using those same things that he had to fight against as a cop could empower him. They wouldn't hold such negativity for him. Was that a good or a bad thing? Starsky couldn't even fathom an answer. But he'd been captured for real and tied up on more than one occasion by criminals intent on using him as a hostage and even planning to kill him. The terror of those times was still a palpable thing in his nightmares. So what made this . . . bondage play different? Why did this arouse him as nothing had in a long time? Being tied up had never been sexually stimulating before. Was it because of Hutch? Why would he have such a strong desire to be physically dominated by a man he loved more than life itself? Why did he lie awake in the long hours before dawn imagining Hutch restraining him, holding his hands behind him?

Sex with Hutch had been perfect up until now. They did their share of experimentation, since neither had a great deal of experience with other men, although Hutch had a bit more than Starsky did. So why throw handcuffs into the mix? There was no answer to a question he barely understood, but Starsky knew this was what he wanted, deeply, strongly inside.

The long discussion of that rainy afternoon had laid a general groundwork of what was allowed and what wasn't. Both had agreed that even if the session were a rousing success, and they wanted to continue, it would never be every day. This would be a special time, to be cherished, if that were the right word, and anticipated. Perhaps once a month, maybe less, maybe more. Obviously, they had to keep that time secret, but since few people knew of their relationship beyond that of detective partners, secrecy wasn't a major problem.

Hutch was having a case of nerves about his ability to control Starsky. He was so afraid of going too far, hurting him accidentally. And the whole pain play thing. He had deliberately not purchased anything to strike his partner with. Except that in the right hands spanking was a very erotic form of foreplay. It didn't necessarily hurt that much, and Starsky seemed somewhat surprised he didn't want to include whips. Remembering his experiences with Vanessa, he'd never liked that part much, although she had. She'd used a whip liberally once, drawing blood, not his favorite memory.

Being in control, that was what Hutch liked. He could shape the encounter to his specifications; keep the play safely in strict boundaries that would still be mind-blowingly arousing. His groin ached every time he imagined Starsky kneeling naked in front of him, waiting for his command. Starsky would obey him, looking up with such love and trust in those indigo eyes, and then open his mouth as Hutch slid his dick down his throat.

Both Starsky and Hutch just had to wade through the usual crime sprees, murder and mayhem that boiled every day on the city streets, biding their time until Saturday.

Friday morning, Hutch spent his time setting up the scene to his exact specifications. Rather than using either of their familiar and comfortable apartments, he had chosen the country cottage of an old friend who conveniently worked as a flight attendant and had offered the house to Hutch for a weekend retreat when ever he was on a flight. It was perfect for Starsky's first time: out of their usual milieu, giving it a somewhat foreign appeal and secluded, giving the appearance that they were alone in their own world. He set up all his supplies and some food for the weekend, then carefully wrote out a set of instructions to be given to his supplicant.

As often was the case, Friday night was a free for all, with high school kids roaming the streets drunk, drug dealers openly selling their wares on the corners and micro-mini skirted girls wearing too much makeup and the world weary expressions of women twice their ages while displaying their bodies to anyone who would care to shell out the money. Starsky and Hutch were called in to break up a bar fight that extended onto the street and ultimately involved several street walkers, two rival pimps and a drug dealer who got shoved while making a sale, spilling his nickel bags of cocaine all into the gutter. Several of the combatants scrambled wildly after the drugs, prompting the dealer to draw the semi-automatic pistol he kept under his coat. He fired into the crowd, wounding two high school seniors who'd just downed an entire six-pack each, and lacked any sort of ability to get out of the way of the bullets. With ammunition flying through the air, Starsky dropped, grabbing Hutch by the tail of his tan leather jacket and they hid behind the red Torino, watching for an opportunity to defuse the now overly volatile situation.

"You with the gun!" Hutch hollered. "Put down your weapon, this is the police!"

This proclamation was met with a volley of shots. "They be stealin' my stuff." The dealer, a slight, mocha-skinned boy with swirls of black tattoos decorating both arms, yelled indignantly, "I just be protecting my own stuff!" He aimed the pistol at one of the prostitutes who was keening shrilly, her voice rising and falling like some ancient religious chant. "Shut the fuck up, pussy!"

"Well, this is getting us nowhere fast," Starsky commented out of the corner of his mouth.

"What do you suggest?" Hutch glanced away from the scene for long enough to catch Starsky's fearless expression. It sent waves of terror through him.

"A little of the element of surprise." Starsky grinned fecklessly. He gestured with his forefinger, indicating he was going around the end of the Torino and along the line of parked cars, which would put him at the far end of the motley group of street brawlers, most of whom were now spread-eagled on the sidewalk. The drug dealer squeezed off another clip, catching the keening girl in the chest. Her singsong chant stopped in mid-syllable replaced by anguished cries of pain. The sound of an approaching siren only added to the cacophony, increasing the crowd's stress level tenfold. The second prostitute began inching towards her fallen sister, weeping.

"Starsky!" Hutch hissed, wishing he had any sort of dominance over his partner right that moment. The dark haired man ran in a semi crouch around the cars, crossing the street in a flash when the drug dealer's attention was diverted by the oncoming patrol cars. Hutch would have given anything to grab his partner back from the fray and turn him over his knee for such a dangerous stunt. Despite his rising anger, he admired Starsky's take-charge attitude. Something had to be done before the poor girl bled to death, not to mention the two boys who hadn't moved in the last few minutes.

Hutch gave a sigh of relief as Starsky dove for shelter on the opposite side, no longer out in the open. There were trashcans, mailboxes and the remains of an old refrigerator to use for cover. The dealer had caught Starsky's movement out of the corner of his eye and directed a flurry of bullets into the discarded fridge. Nobody cowering on the sidewalk moved, and luckily no one was hit.

Sighting his Magnum up over the hood of the Torino, Hutch called out, "Put down your weapon!" He fired one shot over the heads of the wary crowd just as back-up finally arrived.

Starsky skulked down the sidewalk littered with prostrate bodies, until he was only yards away from the gun-wielding dealer. The boy was barely seventeen if he was a day, but he had the hardened face of a career criminal, a knife scar above his eyebrow giving him a rakish, mean look. He wore an expensive pair of basketball shoes and his jacket bore the colors of that year's Super Bowl winners. He held his arm out straight, a deadly weapon clutched in his fingers, pointing the gun at the Torino. Starsky sprang from his hiding place behind the fridge, sweeping his gun in a tight arc that caught the boy on the back of his shaved skull. He dropped instantly, the blow knocking him out before he even hit the pavement.

His was heart trip-hammering so fast Hutch had the kind of buzz that usually meant he'd drunk too much coffee, but he dashed around the car, signaling to the blue uniforms to take over the scene while he and Starsky arrested the dealer.

It wasn't difficult; the guy was still out cold and they had to wait for the paramedics to check out his head wound before they could cuff him. Hutch took the opportunity to push Starsky up against the alley wall, a furious expression on his face.

"What the hell did you think you were doing out there? T-trying to get yourself shot again? That guy had a semi-automatic; look what it did to that poor girl!" Hutch's words tumbled out in a rush, speeded up by his still racing heart.

"I was tryin' to save her!" Starsky growled savagely, adrenaline speeding out of control through his veins. He always hated when it finally dissipated, leaving him spent and weary, but he was like Superman until then. "And I did it without firing my piece, so even IA'll be happy. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Starsky, at this moment I'd just like to knock some sense into . . ."

"Save it for tomorrow," Starsky hissed, but as he turned away his eyes flashed in such a seductive manner Hutch could feel his cock jump in response.

"That can be arranged." Hutch muttered to himself, then went to help mop up the crime scene.


Part 2