This story appears through the gracious cooperation of the editor of the excellent mixed media zine, "Nothing to Hide" which is still available.  This excellent slash zine has stories and art from M*A*S*H*, Due South, The Professionals, The X-Files, Miami Vice, Once A Thief, The Big Valley, Poltergeist: The Legacy, Law & Order, Blake's 7, The Sentinel, Forever Knight, Highlander, Starsky & Hutch, Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager. The 264 page zine can be obtained from:  for $23 USA, DM 37 Germany, L 13 (pound sterling) Britain.  The price includes postage.  An age statement is required. 

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Truckin', got my chips cashed in,
Keep truckin', like the do-dah man
Together, more or less in line,
Just keep truckin' on.
Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me;
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it's been
< i>                 Truckin' – Grateful Dead


        "It's just a vehicle," Hutch insisted to me, "a piece of machinery." He wasn't even looking at me when he said it, just gazing out the passenger window from where he sat riding shotgun as we barreled down Route 25.

        "'Just a piece of machinery,'" I quoted back at him in disgust. "Sure. Like the Grand Canyon is just another hole in the ground. And Niagara Falls is just another water spout. And the Taj Mahal is – "

        "All right, all right! It's a large piece of machinery."

        The rhythm of the engine told me it was time to shift gears, so I eased our lumbering tractor-trailer into eighth, then gave my partner of seven years, my best friend in the whole world, and my most favorite blond a sly look. "Very very large. Which is just the way I like 'em."

        Hutch ignored me as the New Mexican desert rolled on by. "I thought you were into fast machinery, not large machinery?"

        I grinned and waggled my eyebrows. "Hey, I'm really hurt. How can you say that after all this time? I guess I haven't been paying enough attention to a certain piece of large blond machinery...?"

        "If there were a psychologist in this truck with us," Hutch said blithely, never taking his attention from the desert view passing by his window, "he'd tell you that you aren't really interested in flirting with me. You're really just sublimating."

        Huh? I rolled the word unsuccessfully around my mouth for a moment then groused, "Well, then, I'm sure glad there aren't any'a them psychologists around to tell me about my sublime... sublume... subsist...."

        "Sublimating," Hutch said patiently. "You're only pretending to flirt with me so you don't have to deal with the issue you're really concerned about."

        That caught me up short. I wasn't sure I liked where this was going, but never-the-less I asked, "And, do tell, Dr. Freud, what that might be?"

        "You're really worried about how you're going to deal with facing Joe Durniak again if we end up being the guys who have to transport him to his tell-all date with the Feds."

        Well, that shut me up damn quick. Man, I hate it when Hutch reads me so easy. You'd think, after all these years, I'd be used to it. Any interest I may have had with flirting went right out the window.

        I didn't for a minute believe it was our records alone that made the Feds pick us out of the entire precinct. I had a bad feeling Joey requested us – or at least me. And if we did end up being the ones chosen to pick up the Feds' star witness, for me it would involve the kind of walk down memory lane I could well do without. The bad old days in New York. My dad's murder. The funeral. Investigations that went no where. And Joey, with his fingers in all of it. I shifted in the driver's seat, suddenly unable to get comfortable.

        The long silence must've been like a blaring signal to my partner, who eventually turned away from his view of the open road to stare at me. But he didn't say anything. He just waited.

        Finally, I said quietly, "Lotta water under that bridge. Lotta ghosts there, too."

        "I know," Hutch said with a gentle smile. "But even if we are the guys who win the lottery – it's not like you'll be dealing with it alone, y'know. I'll be there with you, for the whole ride."

        I clung to the big wheel, watching the highway, the other cars, never forgetting the responsibility of the size and power of the rig I was handling -- but then the road blurred a little and I had to blink. It was amazing how such simple words could mean so much.

        After a minute I glanced at Hutch, then nodded at him. "I know, partner. I know." I turned back to the road, but felt Hutch's caring gaze lingering on me still.

        I made myself grin again. "And you can forget about that psychology mumbo-jumbo, college boy. When I'm flirtin' I'm serious business. Specially when I'm flirtin' with my favorite blond."

        Hutch had to cover his mouth, unsuccessfully trying to hide his smile as he turned back to the view of the desert. "Isn't it time for you to switch gears or something?"

        "Or something," I agreed. I lapsed into my totally charming Mae West imitation: "Hey, big boy, how's about lettin' me shift your gears."

        Hutch was grinning now too, and it pleased me to see color rising in his cheeks. "Think you can handle my stick shift, huh?"

        I laughed for real, delighted. "You kiddin'? I'll have you in overdrive before you know it!" Both of us laughed at that, but I still had a point to make – about something personal. "No jokin', Hutch. Who knows how long we're gonna be out here ridin' the tarmac in our own private love caboose? You remember what Dobey said. Could be a day, a week, a month...we won't know who's gonna get the job of picking up Durniak, or when it's gonna happen, until the orders come down. Tonight could be the first night of an extended honeymoon, schweetheart. Just you and me and Big Nellie here." I patted the semi's steering wheel. "Even got our own honeymoon cabin." I nodded back toward the small, spartan bed behind us.

        Hutch's blush deepened, the creeping red stain becoming real pronounced where his fair skin contrasted against his black sweater and black and red plaid jacket. It made me want to lean over and place a kiss there, but that maneuver wasn't exactly in the safety manual.

        "This would be your idea of a honeymoon," Hutch muttered. "Spending ten hours a day having your spine rearranged in this chiropractic nightmare." He glanced back at the black drop curtain that closed off the small bunk behind the semi's two seats. "Listen, Starsk, I don't know about the sleeping arrangements.... Dobey said we could hit a hotel if we wanted. And that bunk seems small to me. Gonna be kinda tight in there..." he must've realized what I could do with a comment like that, because his color went from faint to positively brilliant.

        And no, I couldn't leave it alone. I eyed him blatantly. "It usually is, babe. But that's just the way I like it. Big machinery and tight places."

        "You're disgusting," Hutch muttered, refusing to look at me, but his continuing blush gave away his real feelings.

        "That's not what you said the last time I was moving some big machinery around those tight places...."

        Hutch glared at me as he squirmed uncomfortably. "Will you quit! We're on duty!"

        "Only until we pick up our orders at the next weigh station. Unless we get the torn ten spot that matches ours and connects us to the delivery man, we're off duty for at least ten hours before we gotta travel to the next contact point." I paused meaningfully. "First night of our honeymoon."

        Hutch shifted again. "Is that all you ever think of?"

        I let out a sigh, making it a dramatic, long-suffering sound as I man-handled the rig's big wheel. "At the end of a long and lonely day ridin' the highway, with nothin' but that endless white ribbon runnin' ahead'a me, and the hum of the tires singin' its sad and lonely song, what else should I be thinking of but my true love's arms?" I gave Hutch my best hang-dog look and batted my lashes.

        Hutch pretended to be disinterested – at least I hoped he was pretending – and continued to stare out the passenger window. "Oh yeah? And just who might that 'true love' be this week?"

        I shot him a reproachful look, but he ignored me. But then we both spotted the sign we'd been waiting for all this time.

        Mona's Truck Stop and Weigh Station. German Food Our Specialty. Wiener schnitzel. Sauerbraten. Belgian Pancakes. Enchiladas. Extra-Hot Red & Green Chilis. All Home Cooking. Laundromat. Showers. Professional Drivers Welcomed. 2 Miles Ahead.

        "You want to try getting over that sad white-line song long enough to make our contact, Big-Rig Romeo?" Hutch asked pointedly, indicating the small rest stop and weigh station that suddenly loomed before us.

        Well, at least we'll eat good, I thought with a sigh as I downshifted and steered the truck toward the scales -- and the contact that would either lead us to the next weigh station and Joe Durniak, or tell us to sign off for the night.


        "I still don't know why we can't go to a hotel," Hutch grumbled, as we left the truck drivers' service area.

        "'Cause sleepin' out here with the other truckers is all part of it, Hutch, part of traditional Americana legend," I explained to him patiently.

        I was keyed up, wired, feeling like I'd have to bounce in place if we weren't already walking. Typically, Hutch was just moseying along at a snail's pace, while I felt like I could take a coupla laps around the parking lot. I knew it was just the Durniak thing working on me, but I couldn't unwind. Of course, Hutch tried to warn me off too much coffee at dinner, but a truck driver's gotta have his java, right?

        "It's the kind of experience we might only ever get this once!" I tried to take the whole thing in with a sweep of my arm, the parking lot, the rest stop, the open road, the big semi's, everything! "We're experiencing life on the open road. Just us and our truck and the cargo we gotta deliver."

        Hutch looked completely underwhelmed.

        "Besides, the nearest hotel's over twenty miles away," I reminded him as I leafed through this great book I'd found in the gift shop -- "Getting A Handle On CB Radio Chatter." Hutch had rolled his eyes when I'd shown it to him, but I was determined to get deeper into my role, and being able to communicate over the airways by using the right lingo was a critical part of that. That, and trying to come up with a clever "handle" was helping to distract me from thinking about seeing Joey again. "And in this part of the country, the hotels are kinda spare...old, narrow beds...thin walls...." I glanced meaningfully at my partner. I mean, the boy likes to sing at the strangest times, if y'know what I mean!

        "'Sides," I continued, "wha'da we need with a cheesy hotel when we got our own private Shangri-la right here with us? You just had a great dinner," I gestured back at the restaurant. The home style food had been fresh, plentiful, and well-prepared, and not just by my standards -- Hutch had cleaned his plate. "We both had a shower in a very modern, clean facility." Hutch was carrying our towels all neatly rolled up under his arm. I moved closer to him, bumping him deliberately with my hip so I could remind him quietly, "I changed my underwear...."

        "Much to my relief," Hutch quipped.

        But I ignored the jibe and went on. "And we both brushed our teeth!" I made sure he believed me by standing on tiptoe and huffing a breath in his startled face. Who says romance is dead? "So, wha'da we need a hotel for, when we're all set for beddy-bye and already home?"

        We both slowed as Hutch eyed the cab of our big International tractor. His expression was still skeptical.

        Maybe there's something else...? "S'matter?" I asked, pitching my voice low. Hutch's unease hadn't changed, and since we really were on assignment -- one which could end up being damned dangerous -- I found himself peering around nervously at the collection of semi's already shut down for the night.

        Hutch was watching two other truck drivers sharing a smoke outside their tractor. One of the men, a big burly brunette, was sitting on the bumper, while the other, a narrow red-head, had one foot on the bumper so he could lean over and tell the brunette something. The two men suddenly enjoyed a good laugh, then stood and clambered into their cab.

        Hutch shrugged, then looked apologetically at me. "I guess I've just been worried...about how things would look...with the two of us in there." He nodded at the small bunk that sat behind the cab's seats.

        Oh. Is that all? Leave to Hutch to worry about propriety. "Come on, babe," I said softly. "We're not in LA right now. We don't have to worry about our 'image,' or AI, or anything else. We're just two truckers out here on the highway, catchin' some zz's. Just like those guys." I indicated the two men who could still be seen moving around in their cab as they got ready to settle down for the night.

        Hutch smiled, and there was warmth in it now. "Oh, I don't know if we're just like those guys."

        I felt that familiar ribbon of desire uncoil in my gut as my blond partner suddenly focused on me – this man who'd become so much more than a partner to me. "That's right. We never have been exactly like any other guys, have we? So, what'd'ya say? Should we put a note on the driver's-side door -- 'Don't come a-knockin' if the tractor start's a-rockin'?"

        Hutch gave me one of those haughty looks he does so well. "Well, that'd be a hell of a lot better than the one you put up on the dashboard -- 'Gas, grass, or ass, nobody rides for free!'"

        I tried my best innocent look. "I told you, that was already there when they brought us the tractor!"

        Typically, my innocent look never went very far with Hutch. "Don't give me that. You put it there, and on the passenger side so people would wonder just how I was paying for my 'ride.'"

        " are you payin' for it?" My eyes narrowed as I deliberately closed the gap between us.

        "Probably with my back," Hutch complained, "after sharing that bunk with you. I'm telling you, Starsk," the blond continued grousing as he clambered into the truck's cab, "we should've hit a hotel."

        I watched with genuine admiration as Hutch's well-padded rump disappear into the cab, but ignored the traditional Hutchinson complaint-fest that usually preceded our more adventuresome evenings. But when I climbed up after the blond, my partner was already ensconced behind the black leather drop screen that ensured privacy and a darkened environment for a tired driver.

        I could hear the rustling of clothes coming from behind the curtain, along with the typical unsnappings and unzippings that indicated Hutch was undressing, but when I tried separating the curtain to climb into the bunk myself, the blond snapped, "Will you just give me a minute! It's dark as a pit in here, and if you think there's room for two of us to undress at once, you're crazy."

        His tone started to worry me. Maybe his back really did hurt. Maybe he just wasn't in the mood. Maybe he just wasn't in the mood for me. "You really want me to find us that hotel?" I asked the curtain softly.

        The clothing sounds stopped for a moment, then resumed. "No. I guess I'm just trying to get used to the idea of the two of us shacking up together in a public parking lot." He snorted in amusement. "With Dobey's blessing yet."

        I relaxed and smiled. If Hutch could find the humor in it, we'd be okay. "How's the mattress?"

        A few more shuffling sounds, then quiet again. "Not bad. Sheets are clean. Blanket's warm. Mattress isn't too firm. Not too soft." Pause. "I can't believe you let that go by."

        "You act like I have no self-control," I protested.

        "That's right," Hutch confirmed. "Okay, I'm settled. Come on in, partner."

        Right on cue, I felt the flutter of anticipation I always got before bedding my blond. It wasn't anything I ever took for granted. We weren't monogamous, and the women we dated weren't smokescreens either. But there were no other men in our lives, and more and more I found myself cursing the screwed up world we lived in that wouldn't leave us alone to hold onto whatever happiness we could find together.

        I left my sneakers in the cab, climbed awkwardly through the taut curtain, and found myself at the foot of the bed. "Damn, it's dark in here. There's a light somewhere--"

        "Leave it off?" Hutch requested. His voice sounded soft, and kind of insecure. "There's a vent near the ceiling and the parking lot lights shine through it. Give it a minute and your eyes will adjust."

        I blinked and did as he asked and soon the black interior of the bunk became more evident. A thin shaft of light highlighted Hutch's reclining form, making me glad I'd waited. Hutch seemed to glow softly, all golden where he lay against the white sheets and pillow of the bunk. He was bare, at least from the waist up, with the covers pulled up to his collar bone and the rest of his long form hidden beneath it. He was beautiful in the dim light, as ethereal as a vision, and I wondered, not for the first time, how it was I'd ever gotten so lucky as to have this man, of all men, love me.

        "Can you see well enough?" Hutch asked. All the anxiety seemed gone from his voice now as he grew more secure of our privacy in this strange environment. Hutch never stopped being a cop, no matter where we were or what we were doing, and the assignment we could be facing might be the most dangerous of our careers. The low tone in his voice and his relaxed state told me he finally felt safe here in this tiny place. Just the two of us. Alone.

        "Yeah," I whispered, but my voice had gone all rough. "I can see well enough."

        Neither of us said anything for a moment, then finally Hutch broke the pause by asking, "Can you find the clothes hook in the dark?"

        I turned, remembering where I'd seen it in the light, and ran my hand along the end wall near the ceiling. Hutch's clothes were already hung up neatly, and the second, unoccupied hook would be for my stuff. "Got it," I told him, and turning my back, perched on my knees and unzipped my jacket.

        The atmosphere in this dark, intimate place seemed to grow closer as I tried to undress, fumbling with my favorite jacket and nearly strangling myself as I yanked my sweater over my head. I'd barely gotten to the top button of my shirt when Hutch moved up behind me. Both of us were on our knees as his long, powerful arms encircled my waist so gently, so carefully, you'd have thought I was made of fine crystal.

        "Need some help with that, cowboy?" Hutch murmured playfully as he started pulling my shirttail from my pants.

        "Never was very good at undressing alone," I managed to say.

        He unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off my shoulders. My skin registered the change of temperature with a flush of goose bumps as I leaned back against him. I needed the warmth of his bare chest against my spine to fight the cold of my past creeping over my heart, and the power of his arms to hold me up. It felt so good to settle against him and take advantage of his strength. I was home now. It didn't matter where we really were; it was only when I lay in Hutch's arms that I was ever really home.

        "Don't worry about Durniak," Hutch murmured suddenly, surprising me. Like he knew every little thing going on in my head and my heart, like he held the key to my very soul--which he did. Or maybe he just wanted to bring me peace of mind over something that had hurt me for so many years--and maybe he could. If anyone could, it was Hutch. I leaned against his face, felt his nose nestle into my hair, felt his lips brush against my ear. "Don't worry about the past, or the future, or any of that. It's just you and me tonight, in the here and now. First night of our honeymoon. For however long we can make it last."

        The whispered words of trust, compassion, and real, true love were like a lightning bolt of pure aphrodisiac mainlined right into my heart. My cock came up so sudden and hard it nearly strangled me as it tried to grow out of jeans that were suddenly way too tight for my health. "Hutch!" I breathed, my voice trapped behind a lump that had somehow grown in my throat.

        "I'm here," he promised. "I'm here."

        At the same time, his big hands were moving, stroking, touching me everywhere, feeling so much of me all at once. I loved Hutch's hands, their size, their beauty, how deadly they could be when handling his gun, how fiercely they'd respond to any threat to me, how comforting they were whenever I hurt – but most especially I loved how graceful they became whenever he touched me with passion. His left hand was running through the scattering of fur across my chest, outlining my abs, then my pecs, then zeroing in on my right nipple. God, I loved that! The strong arm attached to that hand held me tight against his chest, pinning me there. He worked the nipple slowly, pinching and teasing and pulling, so gently at first, then just a little cruel, then gently again, until the blood was rushing through my ears and I couldn't hear anything but my own breathing and my heart's wild pounding.

        Then Hutch's right hand, which had been resting on my hip, started moving, sliding smoothly over my bare stomach, lighting up every nerve ending it passed as it moved lower, over my waistband, pausing casually to undo the button there before slipping further down over the denim to cup my swollen mound.

        His right hand held me there while his left kept working my nipple. He surrounded my genitals which fit so well in his palm I didn't want to move, just stay there with him holding me. It was intensely sexual, yet comforting at the same time. I was held. I was safe. I was home.

        He stroked me then, not like he was trying to excite me, just like he just wanted to calm me, make me feel good, yet take my tension away. He knew me that well. I rested against him, feeling it, loving it, letting him do whatever he wanted. I brought my left hand up to cup the back of his neck, and placed my right hand against his hip. That was when I realized he was nude. Oh, god, that rocked me so hard my cock jumped in his hand. But I embraced him that way, leaving my body open, unguarded, to let him know I was ready for anything he wanted. I needed so much, but it was his call. I was too wound up to let it go down any other way.

        He already knew that, though. He knew me. He whispered in my ear while petting me so slow, so nice. "Ssssh. I'm here. I'm here. You're so tense. Ease up, babe. I've got you."

        I nodded, unable to say anything, just letting myself feel everything--the way he toyed with my nipple so slow, so confidently, the way he worked my aching cock and balls, the way his body moved against mine as he nestled his big, heavy shaft against my jean-covered ass. If he needed it, it was his, he knew that. But I was wired tonight, and he's big. It'd be rough going, but I could handle it. I could handle anything for Hutch. Specially on nights like this when the kind of need I had I couldn't find words for, could barely understand myself.

        He touched my cheek with his lips, his kiss so gentle I nearly came all undone. "Tell me what you want, Starsk. Tell me."

        How could I tell him what I didn't even know? I shook my head, my voice all locked up tight inside. I was never good with words, especially at moments like this, and he knew that. "Hutch!" I managed, but it was a strangled sound. My cock was killing me it was so hard, trapped so tight in my jeans.

        He took hold of my zipper and pulled it down real careful, making sure it wouldn't catch on my briefs or grab a bit of me instead. My hard-on tried to explode out of there, but his big hand was there to catch me, pull me out of the briefs, let me feel the air. The coolness made my rod jerk, so he surrounded it with his warmth and stroked me smooth, easing the terrible ache, the terrible need for him. I realized he wasn't just holding me close anymore, he was holding me up as I sagged against him.

        For me, the evidence of his physical strength was always a turn on, so that just cranked things up another notch--like I needed that. I was trembling now and tried to relax, to just enjoy the feel of his hands on me, his nearness. All I wanted was to be the center of his attention for awhile. It was only at intensely private moments like this that I ever felt he was all mine. The rest of the time I had to share him--with the department, with the job, with the women who desired him but inevitably broke his heart. When you love a man like Hutch you gotta share him with the world, and I could handle that. For moments like this it was all worthwhile. Moments when it was just the two of us, body against body, need matching need.

        He continued holding me up with one arm while gently pushing my jeans down over my hips with the other. He wanted access to me and I loved knowing that he wanted that. He loves handling me, he's told me many times. We both crave physical contact, and lots of times we can't help ourselves, we gotta reach out right in public--he'll grip my shoulder, or pat my stomach, or I'll touch his arm, or when I'm really desperate I'll grab hold of his hair. Sometimes, when we've been too long without, we can't help it, we just gotta. I know lots of the other cops wonder about us, especially when we really forget ourselves and hug or something, but no one's had the balls to say anything--and as tough as our rep is no one will, either.

        My jeans were halfway down my ass now, as he lifted my balls completely free of them so he could slide his right hand down inside, fondling every inch of my genitals, playing my cock and balls so fine I thought I'd go crazy. His fingers dipped under my sac, brazenly stroking the sensitive place behind it, right near my ass. Teasing. Warning? My whole ass tightened up in response which turned him on some more. I could tell 'cause he purred in my ear and rubbed his cock hard against me. His smooth crown kissed the crack of my ass, right near the top, his silky soft foreskin still covering part of him. All I could think was: Anything you want, Hutch. Anything you want. But I couldn't say a word.

        He released my nipple then but it was so over-stimulated that just made it throb more. Before I could think about any of that, both of his hands were in my drooping pants, his broad palms rubbing down my thighs over and over. I clutched a fistful of his hair just to hang on while he explored my legs. He was always telling me he thought my legs were hot, my legs and my ass, and I loved it that he felt that way. The way he touched my thighs--so possessive, yet so sensuous, I could barely stand it. I tried to spread wider for him, to give him more access, and that made him gasp.

        Suddenly, his tongue was in my ear, making my cock slap my belly hard. I cried out his name helplessly but that only made him laugh while his hands stroked down the inside of my thighs, then came all the way up, under my balls. One hand boldly touched my anus and I nearly lost it for a second because it was such a surprise the way he did it. But then the touch was gone just as quick, and both hands went to my ass, still half-in my jeans, as he started holding, squeezing, rubbing--owning.

        I kept making steady moaning sounds like some kinda wounded animal, and that started workin' on him. He was panting in my ear even while he licked it, nipped it. He was blowin' in it too, just to make me crazy. I couldn't take much more of that. I needed him. On me, in me, somehow. And he needed me. He was rubbing on me steady, but not enough to get off. But I couldn't say anything still, so I couldn't direct him, couldn't beg him, and I sure couldn't stop him. It was his show. I wanted him to take me away from it all, and he was doin' that, oh, yeah. We're just two men trapped in a little steel cave tryin' to find our way home.

        "Come on," he said finally, only this time it was his voice that was shattered. Good. It meant he wanted it bad, and that's the way I wanted him. "Come lay down. Get these jeans off."

        I nodded, hardly able to move, so he helped me. The space was small, not our usual territory--his big brass bed or my ample mirrored one. Challenging. Couldn't wrestle him in here, and that would be weird. Sometimes our screwing around just turns into another game to us--who's on top. It could start out one way and end up another and that was all okay since it always worked out even sooner or later.

        He moved me like I didn't weigh anything and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back with my jeans stripped off, and the socks, too. My eyes had adjusted real good, but he's always easy to see, even in the dark. He looked like a big golden god kneeling between my spread legs--a god wearing a halo and a lightning rod for a cock. He was a vision. My vision. My hands were all over him now that I had the chance as I felt his smooth skin, the baby-fine gold hairs dusted all over him. I couldn't touch him enough, or him me, and we just spent a minute touching all we wanted, all the places we couldn't touch the rest of the time.

        But then I couldn't stand it anymore. I sat up and reached for that lightning rod and before he could react or stop me or say anything, I took it in my mouth. My mouth that had been watering for him since we got in here. He cried out in surprise, just once, but I figured they must've heard him in the restaurant and almost laughed, but I couldn't cause my mouth was full. He loved it whenever I did this, and it made him a little crazy he loved it so much. He was so excited I could feel his blood pulsing in the flesh in my mouth which was a total turn-on to me, since I was the one making that happen. I used my tongue on that special place under the crown and he murmured my name and buried both hands in my hair.

        There were times when I'd done this to him that it made him so nuts he'd lose it completely and would pull me onto him hard, shoving down my throat, needing me that bad. It was so sudden, the first time he did that, he was so hot, so out of control, that I lost it and came at the same time, even though I couldn't breathe, and for a minute I almost passed right out on him just as he came in my mouth, nearly drowning me. But he was in control tonight, and just pulled my hair a little cause he knew I liked that. Then real gently, he touched his thumb to my lower lip, feeling where we were connected and then he moaned again. I was shaking as if I were the one getting blown, and my ass was clenching over and over, dying for him.

        He stroked my hair, my spine, my face, called my name, but then finally he pulled away. He was gasping for air and I could see he was trying to get control of himself, but I wasn't sure I wanted that. I rubbed his cock hard, squeezed his balls, and he winced cause I hurt him a little. I couldn't help it. I was edgy and hot and needing something to happen right now, right here, but I didn't know what. He could tell I was nearly out of control, so he tried to ease me onto my back, but I wasn't cooperating. I tried to go down on him again, I was so hungry for him.

        He got more forceful then, and pushed me down against the bed, holding me in place, but the kiss he pressed on me was sweet and dampened my blaze just enough. We kissed again and I relaxed against the bed and opened my mouth. The kiss grew mellow as our tongues reintroduced themselves and this time his moan went right down my throat as my arms enfolded him and pulled his long frame right on top of me. I loved the feel of his weight pressing me down in the bed and spread my legs to accommodate him. He pressed his rod alongside mine and humped me slow and easy, rubbing our cocks together, not trying to burn the building down, just keeping the fire banked. Oh, it was good, so good. We kept on kissing, humping slow, touching each other, hands everywhere again. We both moaned soft, we were liking this so much.

        But finally, his lips pulled away from mine, leaving me empty and gasping for air. He nuzzled my throat so I bared it for him, not caring if he marked me. I'd just end up wearing one of his turtlenecks, the ones he wears when I forget myself and brand him. Can I help it if he bruises so much easier than I do? His teeth nipped me over the jugular, then his tongue seared a path to my collarbone. Licking and nipping, he found his way to my nipple--the one he tortured before--then kissed and sucked that incredibly sensitive thing to an unbearable delight while his hands stroked my flanks, the side of my ass, the inside of my thighs. His mouth and hands were killing me, driving me insane, until I wished he had four hands, eight hands, a dozen. I wished he would pull me apart and devour me whole.

        My hands were on his hair now, feeling the soft baby-fine strands, and that was just one more sensation for a brain already on overload. I was trembling like I had a fever, like I might die, and maybe I would, but not yet, not yet. I just held onto his head, not pushing, not rushing, just holding his hair for comfort, for the sensual feel of it, clean and fine, slipping through my fingers.

        Then finally he tired of battering my nipple with his teeth and his tongue and his mouth started traveling down. I was so tense I arched up to meet him, I couldn't help it, couldn't stop my own reactions. His hands took advantage of it, and slid under my back, trailing down my spine, while his mouth went by the overland route. His lips pulled at my belly hair and he rubbed against my chest and stomach with his face. He treated me like a big feast, inhaling my scent, sampling my skin with his tongue, taking a bite when he needed to. My cock was insane with need, waving in the air like a flagpole, waiting for something I was afraid to even imagine, I wanted it so bad.

        The hands under my back moved lower down my spine, pulling me against his magical mouth. His right hand found the triangle of hair in the small of my back which fascinated him. He toyed with it, tugging it, stroking it, and then abandoned it so both hands would be free to take possession of my ass. I thanked God for this ass of mine that fascinated him so much as he grabbed hold of each cheek hard, his huge hands holding most of it, gripping it, wanting it so bad. He used my ass to hold me in place as he went down on me finally, taking me in all at once, the wet furnace of his mouth sucking sweet and hard while his tongue whipped me into a frenzy. I shouted out loud and nearly came, and it was all I could do to hold onto it. But it was too good to let it end so soon, so I clung to my control with bloody fingertips as he showed me what that wide, pretty mouth could do. God, he was born for this.

        I called his name, finally finding my voice, and yelled it to the parking lot. I cursed him, thrashed on the bed, and tried to shove myself down his throat, but he had me in his two-fisted grip and my ass was pinned to the bed. Oh, god, it was good. Unbearably good. He swallowed my whole length and I thought I'd found religion and started calling for Jesus. I'm not as big as him, but I'm not small either, still, I was all inside him now. No one ever does me like this, so fine, so beautiful, only Hutch. I felt his eyes on me and managed to open my own and watched him watching me fall apart. He loved that, controlling me, and that was okay with me. But only with Hutch. Nobody else.

        I touched his hair, his cheek, let my fingers linger on his long, lovely throat to feel the muscles there swallowing me, giving me so much incredible pleasure.

        I couldn't take much more and sagged on the bed, telling my body to go ahead and come, come or die, one or the other. But that signaled Hutch, too, and he must've had other plans, cause suddenly the cold was hitting my wet cock which was back waving in the air, abandoned. I nearly sobbed from the loss, my hands flailing to find his head, pull him back, but he was gone already, crawling up beside me, planting little kisses on my belly and my abs.

        "Not fair, not fair..." I muttered, helpless in my need for him. He was smiling, loving it that he had me so rattled, so needy for him. I swore I'd kill him after I came, I promised myself I would.

        "Ssssh," he admonished, taking hold of my chin and making me look at him in the dim light. "I've got a present for you."

        "I hope it's an orgasm," I gasped and he laughed. "It's the only thing I ever wanted," I insisted, but he just shook his head, laughing. I was glad he was happy, but I was wishing I was happier.

        He reached under the pillow and palmed something so I couldn't see it. "You'll like this, I promise," he said.

        I shook my head. "Hutch, I know you still believe in the tooth fairy, and I didn't mind slipping that five under your pillow when the dentist had to pull that broken tooth of yours, but I gotta tell you--there ain't no sex fairy who puts orgasms under your pillow at night."

        "Oh, no?" he said, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

        My need to come was ebbing, the fire sinking back down from the huge blaze it had been. I could live with it now. I didn't like it, but I could live with it.

        When he pulled my legs apart and knelt between them again I held my breath. Oh. Okay. He's ready now. Like I said, sometimes we actually wrestled to determine who would be on top. It was kinda neat the way he'd sucked me into submission, but I was way too hot now to argue with his technique. He wanted to fuck? That was okay with me.

        I eyed his heavy member standing straight at attention. It was so hard, the foreskin had completely disappeared. Sometimes it was a real effort to accommodate him, especially when I was wired and tense like tonight. But I couldn't imagine turning him down. Not as bad as I was needing him.

        "If that's my present, why ain't it wrapped?" I complained, reaching out and taking that monster in my hand. I gave him a sweet stroke and he hissed in appreciation. "You'd look cute with a ribbon tied around your balls."

        "Yeah, you're kinky enough to like that, too," he said, grinning. "But that's not your present." He held out his hand, opened it. There was a tube in it, something new.

        I reached for it, but he pulled it back. "Wait. You'll like it." He unscrewed the cap then squeezed a small amount onto his fingers. "I found it in the gift shop while you were looking through that ridiculous book. They must have a pretty active prostitute trade going on among the truckers since they had an interesting assortment of sexual aids."

        He'd finished warming the stuff, then reached over and rubbed it on my nipple. Not the sore one, the one he'd been ignoring up till now. The stuff was slick and smooth and felt great and even smelled good, too.

        "It's water-based," he explained, "so it won't wreck the sheets or leave us feeling greasy, since taking a quick shower isn't all that convenient in our little Shangri-la. And it has another added bonus--" He leaned over and took my oiled nipple into his mouth and sucked it for a good long minute until my blood pressure climbed to a dangerous level. "It tastes delicious."

        He put a drop of it on his finger and touched it to my lips. I sampled the flavor--a cross between pineapple and coconut--then sucked his finger into my mouth to show my delight. He bit his lower lip when I did that, and his cock waved hello.

        "Nice present," I assured him, when he'd pulled his hand away. "Feels good, too."

        "Makes your skin soft and smooth," Hutch assured me in his I-know-what's-best-for-you voice.

        "I was worried about that," I said. "Not having smooth skin after sex."

        He crouched between my legs and squeezed out a healthy dollop of the lube onto his hand. I watched, fascinated with the ritual. Whenever he prepared me for this he always did it so lovingly, so carefully. Like I was precious or something. And I loved that kind of attention from him, so I tried to relax and enjoy it. But when he wrapped his lube-filled hand around my aching hard-on, the jolt of delight that rocked my spine confused the hell out of me.

        "What--Hutch, oh god--what are you doing?" Once again my body was arching up helplessly in rhythm with the slow stroke of his hand.

        "Giving you what you need, babe. Exactly what you need." Then he climbed on top of me, straddling my thighs, mounting me in an unmistakable gesture. But when he lubed his hand again and reached behind himself, I still couldn't let myself accept the obvious.

        "Hutch, wait! I don't know...I don't think...."

        "Don't think. I don't want you to. Just lay there and let me give this to you."

        I shook my head, unable to fathom how the dynamics had changed between us so quickly. I'd already accepted how things were gonna go--how come he was on a totally different wave length?

        "Don't wanna hurt you," I choked out, unable to figure out any other way of turning this around.

        He just laughed at me. "You got so much going on inside you, you're wound tighter than a spring. You think I'd even try to fuck you in this condition? Come on, Starsk, it'd tear you up too bad. I know what you're like when you can't relax. And you're such a hard-head you'd never admit it. What would I say to Dobey tomorrow? 'Sorry we had to miss our rendezvous, Captain, but Starsky had to take a hot soak at the nearest mineral baths.'"

        He'd been stroking me through this whole little speech until I could barely follow it, until I didn't give a shit about anything he was saying.

        "No, you don't get to move the big machinery around tight places this time," he said. "Tonight, I'm gonna shift those gears for you. Because I know what you need, lover," he released my erection and moved up over my hips, "even when you don't know yourself. Just like you know about me when I'm hurting inside. That's why it's always so good between us." He settled over me slowly, rubbing his perineum against my slick, lubed cock.

        I had to close my eyes it was so sweet. "You could just do that, Hutch. That would be fine." I wasn't lyin' either.

        "That's not all you need, my Big-Rig Romeo," he insisted, his teeth flashing with his smile. He reached under himself and took hold of me, positioning me.

        I forced my eyes to stay open to watch him do this to himself, to us. It was fascinating, mesmerizing. I felt like a spectator more than a participant. Then the flaring head of my crown touched the tight ring of his ass and I didn't feel like a spectator anymore.

        As he pushed his body down on me, his face was transformed. His mouth opened in a silent cry, and while his lids lowered, he never stopped watching me, gauging my expression, looking for the joy in my face, like I was looking for it in his. Even though he was running this show, he seemed amazed at the first intrusion of my flesh into his body, and I know it shocked the hell out of me, too. It always did, the feel of him opening up to me, surrounding me, so incredibly tight, so impossibly hot, so alive, pulsing with an inner beat, an electricity of sexual sensation. I gripped his thighs for a minute, then fumblingly reached for his cock, but he pushed my hands away.

        "Not yet," he gasped.   "Can't handle it yet."

        Yeah, I knew that feeling. One touch and it's rocket's red glare. But I had to touch him somehow, so I stroked his long thighs, feeling the fine dusting of hair tickle my palms, the powerful, athletic muscles just under the skin. He sighed so it must've felt good, and I contented myself with that.

        He raised up a bit then, pulling away from me, only to sit back down again, taking me in deeper. Then up, then back down, taking it slow, careful, while pinning my body in place so I couldn't move and do something too rough.

        It felt incredibly weird fucking like this--not that we'd never tried this position before, but when in our regular beds, I had a tendency to take over the minute I was fully sheathed. That was usually when Hutch lost control of the situation and I'd roll him over and nail him to the mattress. But we just didn't have the room in here. If I even tried that I'd end up slamming his head into the side of the truck, which would hardly improve our performance. No, this was Hutch's show. Was I fucking him, or was he taking me? It didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was watching him ride me, feeling him pull me inside inch by slow inch until I felt like I was all cock sliding so deep inside him I might grab hold of his heart.

        He was sweating now, his nipples pebble hard, his hard-on pulsing, waving at me like a prize I couldn't catch. Meanwhile, my cock was in heaven, a warm, tight, sensuous place where it was loved and cherished and given an incredible amount of pleasure. I wanted to stay inside Hutch forever. I was all the way in now, and it was wonderful. His face and shoulders had relaxed, telling me the worst of the tension was over for him, that he was open and ready for his own enjoyment. And I wanted that. Wanted more than anything to please him. To fuck him to orgasm. To come deep inside him while he screamed my name and sprayed my chest.

        He leaned over me, holding himself up on his arms and started to rock back and forth on those strong, long thighs I kept petting. "Isn't that it, babe?" he whispered. "Isn't that just what you need?"

        I reached up, cupped his cheek and looked hard into his eyes. "You. You're all I need. All I ever need."

        His eyes glistened in the dim light and he swallowed hard. He kissed my palm, then murmured, "Starsk," and moved stronger over me. He started tightening his ass, getting serious, and then he leaned all the way down for a kiss. I groaned and opened my mouth, letting him set the pace, and he invaded me with his tongue as deeply as my cock was invading his ass.

        Soon, we were making a beautiful rhythm in that narrow bed inside our steel cave. Hutch rode me like I needed breaking and kissed me like he owned me, which he did. My cock was on its way to heaven and my whole body was ready to follow when I felt Hutch put the lube in my palm.

        "Do me, now, babe, please," he gasped, and I realized how hard he'd been holding back, making sure he could give me all the good lovin' he thought I needed. I filled my hand with the stuff and took hold of him with both fists, rubbing it all over his big cock, his impossibly tight balls.

        He gasped and pulled away from my mouth, sitting straight up on me again, and the angle change made me see stars of intense pleasure. He sat down hard on me, pinning me with his gaze, and it was hungry now, needy, as needy as I'd been myself. He was a god again, a golden god gleaming with a sheen of sweat, his hair plastered in ringlets to his skull and face, his small brown nipples pebble hard, his body a study for a statue called "Rapture."

        He must've found the perfect angle for my erection to massage his prostate because his expression was pure bliss, but the way he was taking me was manic. So I worked him with my hands the way I knew he liked it, stroking his cock tight and slow, squeezing his balls easy, rubbing the underside of his crown with my thumb. I knew him, knew what made him wild, and I wanted him wild.

        He was fucking like a crazy man now, taking me so fiercely I couldn't find my breath. But I wouldn't shut my eyes, wouldn't dare lose sight of his face, the pleasure on it. It was like he was transcendent, no longer just Hutch, just like I was no longer just me. We were one person right now, with only one thing in mind, our partner's desire. And all the things burning in my soul were gone, blasted away, and I didn't give a shit about Durniak, or the past, or all the nagging bitterness that had been eating at me. All I cared about was making this man scream my name for every damned bastard in the world to hear. I wanted every one of those macho truckers to know how he loved me, what he was willing to give me. Everything he was. Everything he had. Just like I was giving it to him.

        But when it happened, it took us by surprise. I guess I thought we could hold onto that peak forever, but we couldn't. I went first, about five seconds before Hutch. I thought my balls would explode as I roared out my joy and emptied everything I had into him. I must've squeezed him real hard when it happened because he jumped and threw back his head and shouted my name, which reverberated around the steel cave until I could feel the vibrations in my bones. He erupted so hard he drenched me...and the bed, and the walls of the truck. We'd be scraping tiny spatters of dried come off the cabin for a week. But I didn't care. No, really, I did. I thought it was great. The best.

        Then he collapsed, shuddering with aftershocks, looking almost like he'd taken a bullet. I forced myself to release his shrinking erection so I could take him in my arms as he fell over me. He was shaking so hard I was afraid he'd caught a chill, and as I slipped out of his body, I jostled us around and pulled the covers up to warm him.

        He was clinging to me, trembling as I tucked us in. I kissed his face gently, telling him how great it was, how destroyed I was, how thoroughly fucked out.

        "Was it good?" he muttered inanely.

        It was World War III, it was total annihilation, it was complete devastation. Was it good? "It was perfect," I whispered against his cheek. "It was everything I needed. Just like you said." And I wasn't lyin', either. I wasn't wired anymore, I was mellow and at peace. I wasn't worried about Durniak, or any of that ancient history. Hutch was with me in the here and now. That was all that mattered. Being with my partner. Taking care of him. Watching his back. Trusting that he was watching mine. And knowing he'd be with me for the whole ride, no matter how it went down. Yeah, it was good. It was real good.

        Hutch stopped shuddering finally, but I could tell he was destroyed, and tried not to feel smug about it. "Get the washcloth," he muttered.


        "Foot of the bed, in the corner. Wrapped in a towel." He was nearly monosyllabic, but I followed it clear enough.

        I groped around at the foot of the bed and then found it – the roll of towels we'd used after our shower. Hutch had rolled them up all neat while I'd gotten dressed. At the time I just thought it was part of his general fussiness, but now I realized he'd wrapped the towels around two wet washcloths. They were still warm. Pretty clever, my blond. I uncovered him just enough to gently wash his rear, then his genitals. I dried him with the outer towel, then washed myself with the other cloth.

        He'd made small contented sounds through his bath, then mumbled half into the pillow, "I knew there was no way we were gonna have the energy to go back to the showers."

        "That's what I love about making it with a Sea Scout," I told him as I wrapped all the damp things up together and deposited them on the floor of the cab. "You're always so prepared."

        "Mmmm," Hutch agreed, as he snuggled back against me. I pulled the covers back up and shifted around so I could hold him in my arms. He was so warm and there was so much of him that I found it incredibly comforting to have him so near.

        "Still think the place is too small for us?" I murmured against the fine blond strands tickling my nose.

        "Nope," Hutch sighed, even as his badly used body began to sag into sleep. "Think it's just right. Big enough to play in, but not so big that you can wrestle me down. I like that. 'S got potential."

        "Oh, yeah?" I said with a grin. "Got plans for me, huh?"

        "First night of our honeymoon. Who knows how long it'll last."

        "Think you'll feel like drivin' in the morning?"


        "Good," I sighed, snuggling tight against him. "Cause I think I'm gonna need to sleep in."

        He kissed the side of my face and smiled. "You sleep. I'll drive in the morning, and wake you with a song as the sun rises."

        "Sounds good partner. A song in the mornin' and a lotta singin' every night."

Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me;
Other times I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it's been
Truckin', I'm a goin' home,
Whoa whoa baby, back where I belong
Back home, sit down and patch my bones
And git back truckin' on.
Hey now git back truckin' home
Truckin' – Grateful Dead