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Part 2B

ADVENTURE
by
Charlotte Frost

Part 3A

They slept late, then tackled the Appalachians, driving around and stopping at all the tourist spots. They ended up at a fancy resort hotel late in the afternoon, catnapped, then had a nice dinner. Hutch eagerly talked of traveling on to Tennessee and perhaps Indiana and Ohio. Starsky had never seen his partner so content, so he readily agreed to the short-term plan to continue to tour the eastern half of the country for a least a few days more.

They walked around the hotel grounds in the cool evening air after dinner. Then they returned to their room.

* * *

They left some of the lights on this time. Starsky played the aggressor, taking tremendous satisfaction in swallowing Hutch's ejaculation. It proved how good he was at sucking Hutch, how good he could make him feel.

Starsky gave him a while to enjoy the afterglow, then he nudged him with his elbow. His hands were full of towels and ointment. "Turn your beautiful self over."

Hutch groaned with anticipation, rolling over onto his stomach in the center of the large bed.

Starsky gazed at that white butt. He wanted to try it this way. Let Hutch just relax against the mattress, rather than asking for the gymnastics he'd wanted the first time. He should still be able to make Hutch feel real good with his fingers first. Hopefully, he still would with his cock, though this was a totally different angle. Most of all, he expected to enjoy some satisfaction himself... especially with his flanks slapping against those mounds of smooth flesh. They hadn't had sex for over two days, since they'd exhausted themselves with sight-seeing, so Starsky knew he wasn't going to have the problem with not being able to ejaculate that he'd had the last time.

He laid the supplies aside and was pleased when the long legs spread for him. Starsky bent and kissed the highest point of the left buttock. Then he tongued it, enjoying the smooth texture, and made sure he deposited a good helping of spit on it. Then he attached his lips to the same area and sucked.

Hutch gasped and shuddered.

Starsky grunted with satisfaction. He moved to the right cheek. Loved it slowly with his tongue. Then sucked it back in.

Hutch quivered. "Oh, God."

Starsky giggled. "How'd you like a couple of hickeys across your backside?"

"Starsky..." Hutch warned. But he didn't sound the least bit threatening.

"Mmm," Starsky teased as he spotted the scrotal pouch against the mattress, "or what about right... here...." He started laving it with his tongue, loving the feel of the hairs against his moist flesh, the unique texture of the skin there.

Hutch spread his legs wider. "Oh, my God."

"Oh, my God," Starsky mimicked as he straightened. "Didn't know you were so religious, Hutchinson."

"Shut up and fuck me."

Starsky laughed again. He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand, remembering how delicious that had felt to him that first night in Richmond. Hutch's anus was already peeking out between his spread legs, but Starsky decided to take a closer, perhaps plant a kiss there. He kneaded the fleshy ass, then he pulled it apart.

His erection wilted.

His heart started to pound as he stared at the sight before him. Do I look like that? he wondered, his mouth dropping open. The wrinkled area looked almost... purple... with bruising. The hole itself didn't seem quite as tight as it should be. Man, I caused this? He swallowed thickly.

The room had been silent too long. "What's wrong?" Hutch asked impatiently.

"Hutch?" Starsky said in a small voice, still staring at the exposed area. "Do you... hurt... back here?"

"What?" Hutch twisted his head around. "No. Why?"

Starsky shrugged, slowly releasing his grip on the buttocks. "Looks... bruised." He took a deep breath. "I guess we need to be really careful. Not do it very often." He had an overwhelming urge to find out if he looked the same way himself. But he hadn't penetrated Hutch very deeply or very roughly. Certainly not to the degree that Hutch had done to him. He probably looked even worse, and he didn't want to subject Hutch to checking him out. Besides, he hadn't felt any soreness, either, beyond the first day.

Hutch shifted onto his side. Puzzled, he asked, "Does it look that bad?"

Starsky shrugged, tried to feel casual about it. "Just... bruised. Didn't realize I'd made you look like that."

"What about you?" Hutch asked. "Are you sore?"

"Uh-uh." Starsky shook his head. "I mean, I was the day after. But not at all now."

"Do you look like I do?" Hutch wondered out loud.

Starsky shrugged with exaggeration. He didn't want Hutch to look. But yet... he did.

Hutch just stared at him.

"All right," Starsky decided abruptly. He launched himself facedown along the edge of the bed, so that his rear was positioned beneath the brightest lamp. "Go ahead."

Hutch came toward him. Then a very gentle hand rested on his ass. A moment later his butt cheeks were parted. He knew right away that he looked the same, if not worse, because of the silence in the room.

"And it doesn't hurt?" Hutch clarified when he finally spoke.

"No. Not at all."

A finger touched him, pulled gently at the opening. Puzzled, Hutch muttered, "Almost seems like it's lost some elasticity."

"That's how you look, too."

He felt the hands release him as Hutch muttered, "Guess it takes a while to get used to it." Then a hand patted his rear protectively.

Starsky was sorry that things had gotten so serious. He shifted into a partial sitting position. "Gee, wonder if this means we're gonna have to check each other out each time before we fuck."

Hutch soothed, "Our bodies will adapt."

Starsky furrowed a brow. "Just don't ever remember a lady saying, `No, you can't ass fuck me because somebody did it to me a few days ago'. Or look at, like, porno stars. I've heard they make three or four movies a week. I've never heard of there being a limit on ass fucking." He felt more puzzled the more he talked about it. He looked at Hutch. "I mean, it's not like we were careless."

Hutch moved to Starsky, got on top of him, covering him with his protective weight. He ran his finger along Starsky's lips, then enticingly whispered, "There's plenty of other ways we can please each other."

Starsky grinned. The blood was flowing back to his cock. He kissed Hutch in gratitude. Then, without another word, they turned and lay head to waist. Starsky took Hutch's prick into his mouth for the second time within the hour. As he felt his own flesh eagerly devoured, he couldn't help but envy his partner's virility.

The room grew silent, except for the sound of their contented pleasuring.

* * *

The cry was ear-splitting. Sad. Desperate. Starsky knew exactly why. And there was nothing he could do to stop it, stop the cry. Nor the reason behind it.

He cringed, feeling an immense sadness of his own because he could be of no help at all.

"PLEASE," cried the desperate voice. "PLEASE. HE'S BEEN SICK. HE'S BEEN SICK. PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM. PLEASE."

Ah, Hutch. It was all Starsky could do to hold back his own sobs, as he heard sobs coming from the other person in the bed with him.

Sobs. More sobs. Such sad sobs.

Starsky blinked. It was dark. He could barely make out the furniture of their hotel room in Nashville, Tennessee. They'd left the curtain open a few inches and, from where he was lying on his side, he could see a street light on the corner in the distance. Behind him, Hutch was crying.

HUH?

Abruptly, Starsky turned over in the bed. "Hutch?" he muttered, then reached frantically for the wall, feeling for the elusive light switch. "Hutch?"

The noise in the bed was the dry sobs of dreams.

Finally, his finger felt the little knob. Starsky turned it, and the bed was illuminated with a wall lamp above the headboard.

Hutch was lying flat on his back in bed, the outline of his arms and legs visible through the covers.

Almost like he's on a stretcher....

Starsky shook him. "Hutch."

Hutch moved his head, then shuddered. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, wide and afraid.

Starsky released a breath. "Hutch?" he beckoned gently. "It's okay. You were dreamin', babe." He leaned forward and patted his cheek. "You okay? Huh?"

The eyes lost their wild look. He looked at Starsky and blinked. "Starsk?"

"It's okay, Hutch." Starsky now rubbed and squeezed at his shoulder. "It's okay. You must've been havin' a helluva dream. But it's okay, Hutch."

Hutch ran his hand over his face, then looked at it.

Starsky knew he was looking for evidence of tears. There were none. "Just a dream, babe. That's all."

Abruptly, Hutch straightened and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He was wearing only briefs and he sat hunched over, as though cold.

Starsky got beside him and rubbed vigorously up and down his tense back. "It's okay, Hutch. Just must've been one heck of a dream."

Hutch snorted with a touch of amusement, rubbed at his eyes. "I'll say." He suddenly shook his head. "Wow. Never had one like that before."

"Like what?" Starsky wondered.

Hutch looked at him. Then he suddenly shook his head and laughed softly. "Never mind. It's way too out there." He stood.

Starsky watched him take a step toward the bathroom. "Might help to talk about it."

Hutch turned and shook his head. His tone still contained the bashful amusement. "Never had a dream like that before. Can't imagine that I ever will again." He moved on to the bathroom and closed the door partway.

Starsky rubbed at his face. He remembered, so vividly, Hutch screaming and crying out. Afraid for him. Ah, Hutch. He wondered if he'd asked way too much of his partner by demanding Hutch not talk about the possibility of Starsky ever getting sick again.

Starsky grimaced. Wasn't very fair of me, was it? He stood and arched his back, trying to escape the next thought that came to mind. Damn selfish of me, actually. Expectin' the person who cares about me most in the world to not worry about me when I have a better chance than most of not seein' old age.

There was a knock on the door, sounding loud in the stillness of the night.

"I'll get it," Starsky called to Hutch. He went to the door and looked out the peephole. He saw a representative of the hotel standing outside. Starsky found his robe, pulled it on, and opened the door. "Yes?"

"Uh," the man looked uncomfortable, "sorry to disturb you, sir. But we had a couple of reports from lodgers that there was screaming coming from this room. We're required to address such complaints."

"Oh, sorry," Starsky said. "I'm afraid my friend had a really bad nightmare." The man was looking at him with a straight face, and Starsky realized that he needed to make sure that there wasn't something horrible going on in the room. He stepped back, opening the door, and glanced toward the bathroom.

Hutch emerged in his underwear, rubbing at his face with a towel. "What's wrong?"

"Uh...," Starsky hesitated, not wanting his partner to feel bad.

"There were complaints of screaming," the employee said. "We're required to check out such things."

Hutch blushed. Then he said bashfully, "Oh. I'm sorry. I had a really bad nightmare." Embarrassed chuckle. "I'm really sorry it disturbed anybody."

"These things happen," the man said, but his voice wasn't soothing. He glanced at the lone bed, looked at the two of them disapprovingly, then turned and left the room.

Starsky locked the door behind him. "Sorry to let him in, but he needed to see that nobody was being murdered."

Hutch snorted. "Feel pretty stupid. I must have been screaming really loud."

Crying, you mean, Starsky mentally corrected. He watched Hutch move back to the bed. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Hutch shook his head, making that bashful laughing sound again. "No. It's too bizarre. Just want to forget it and go back to sleep."

Starsky also got back into bed. He turned off the lamp and snuggled close to Hutch. The other still had chilly skin. Starsky put his arms around him and rubbed until they both drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Starsky groaned. There was nothing better on earth than what he was experiencing right at this moment.

He and Hutch had spent the day visiting Graceland in Memphis. Afterwards, they had found a hotel for the night, had dinner, and taken a shower together. Starsky had told his big blond to turn around and lean against the wall of the shower stall. That he did so willingly told Starsky that his partner had a pretty good idea what was coming. He'd knelt and lovingly parted those so-pale butt cheeks. "You're all ready for fucking," he'd announced happily. The bruising had disappeared, and the orifice was clenched tight like it should be. Before straightening, he'd kissed Hutch there.

Feeling like a groom on his honeymoon, he'd taken Hutch to bed, played with him, stuck his fingers up his ass, and massaged his prostate. While doing so he'd nuzzled at various sensitive areas with his lips and tongue, and finally managed to suck Hutch off while still stimulating him with his fingers. That had driven Hutch crazy. He'd come mightily, shaking and trembling and groaning and crying out in ecstasy, delivering his seed to the back of Starsky's tongue. Starsky had felt on top of the world, having made Hutch feel like that.

And now he was on top of the universe. And on top of Hutch. Fucking Hutch. Buried deep inside him, moving back and forth. Snug walls making his prick feel so terrific. The penetration had been achieved almost painlessly, for Hutch had been so relaxed after such an intense orgasm. Now, Starsky felt the sensations building. He would have no problem coming tonight, but he did want to prolong it as much as possible.

He was trying to share with Hutch everything he felt.... Grunting and groaning and swearing... vocalizing every wave of sensation that traveled along his cock and up to the synapses in his brain. Hutch had shared so much with him, after all, that first time. Starsky even managed a coherent sentence. "This is the best fuck of my life," he announced tightly, feeling the sweat gather on his forehead.

Hutch was in a low crouch again, arms stretched out in front of him, yielding completely to Starsky's will. They'd settled on that way because Starsky had decided it was the most natural angle. And now his big, powerful prick rammed that ass steadily, his flanks slapping against smooth buttocks, making a satisfying noise.

The wave was upon him. Starsky slammed harder, feeling the quiver in his lower region. So grateful that, finally, the proof of his pleasure was going to be delivered up Hutch's ass. Those snug walls were milking it from him... even now....

"Aaaaarrrgghhhhhh," he began as his seed was released and racing down his barrel. He cried out as the most intense part of the sensation hit, his balls freed of their pressure, his prick slowing its motion. He'd gripped Hutch's shoulders, and now he made a point of letting go.

He collapsed upon his lover's back, pressing his hips against that masculine rear, not wanting to leave that haven just yet. He lay panting, letting the residual tremors race through his nerves, announcing to his brain how wonderful it had been.

He found the energy to reach forward with his arms and wrap them loosely around Hutch's neck. He saw Hutch's head move awkwardly, and then felt a kiss planted along one arm.

"God, I love fucking you," Starsky gasped. Finally, he started to slide back, for his prick had shriveled up and slipped out on its own. He pushed away from Hutch and collapsed to the side of the bed. A moment later his head was grabbed and lips crashed against his own, Hutch's mustache tickling beneath his nose. Those lips were hungry... devouring him. He was desperate for breath when he was finally released.

Blue eyes were feral in the partial darkness. "I loved feeling you inside me." They continued to gaze at him, studying him. "You're the best lover I've ever had. I want you for forever."

Starsky growled and grabbed Hutch by the back of the head. He pressed their lips together again, and now he was the predator. He pushed Hutch back against the mattress, and then realized there was stickiness between them. Reluctantly, he let go and straightened to find where the towels had ended up. He grabbed one from the middle of the bed and coaxed it along his length. While he was distracted, Hutch took the opportunity to head for the bathroom.

When they were settled a while later, Starsky had his arm around Hutch and was enjoying the way that blond head rested against the dark fur of his chest. "What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asked.

Hutch was silent a moment, then replied, "I think maybe we should slowly head back toward Raleigh, since that's where our rental car needs to be returned. Maybe we can take another route back. Go up north. Through the bottom of Indiana and Ohio and some of those places. Then come back down through Virginia into North Carolina."

"That's fine with me," Starsky said. "I'd just as soon get goin' on our private investigation firm." He paused, then realized he should make one thing clear. "I'm real excited about it."

As he'd hoped, that brought a pleasant sound from his partner. "Good, buddy. I'm glad."

"Yeah." Starsky wanted to point out another truth. "I think it'll be neat, building something together. Special for us."

That earned him a squeeze around his waist. "It'll be two or three days before we're back in Raleigh, if we do it the way I said. We could travel straight back to Richmond, if you'd like to do it faster." Hutch's tone indicated that, for himself, the first idea was preferable.

Starsky hugged him closer. "Nah, I like what you said about seein' some of those other areas. I'm enjoyin' this. Never seen country like this before."

Hutch shifted upward and kissed him on the cheek.

That made Starsky smile and he kissed back... on the lips.

When they were again snuggled together, Hutch said, "It won't be easy breaking the news to Dobey."

Starsky shrugged. "Can't imagine he'd be all that surprised, considerin' everything that's happened the past year or so."

"Maybe not. But I can't help but think that he's hoping that this little vacation has shown us how badly we want to get back to our old lives."

Starsky supposed that might be true.

"You know," Hutch said thoughtfully, "Dobey might be a good source for clients. When he gets frustrated with red tape, he might be able to slip us a few jobs under the table. He'd have to find a way to pay us cash and that kind of thing."

"Hmph," Starsky considered, "hadn't thought of that."

Hutch grinned up at him. "That's why I'm the brains of this duo."

Starsky grinned back, so glad to see Hutch smiling. "Then what am I?"

The grin widened. "The recreation."

Lips covered Starsky's before he could manage a retort.

* * *

The next day it was near check-out time before Hutch emerged from the shower and headed for his suitcase. Starsky, already dressed, moved up behind the naked form.

"Hey," he said, laying a hand on the slim waist, "spread your legs a sec."

Hutch sighed, but he turned to the wall and leaned against it, spreading his legs.

Starsky knelt and pulled the lower butt cheeks aside with his thumbs. There was redness around the rim of the orifice, but that was all that looked abnormal. "Hurt at all?"

"Just barely." Worried, Hutch asked, "Does it look all bruised again?"

"Uh-uh." But Starsky was more puzzled than ever as to why their bodies had looked so... maimed... after their first times. Cheerfully, he said, "Looks all nice and happy and pink."

Grumbled words retorted, "Then can we stop it with all this inspection stuff every time?"

Starsky couldn't blame Hutch for feeling that way. He pressed his face between that clean cleavage and kissed the delicate skin that protected the tight opening. Apologizing. And also wanting to worship that region that had granted him so much pleasure last night.

"Mmm," Hutch reacted.

Starsky grinned as he released the buttocks and stood. "No more inspections," he agreed. He started gathering up their supplies from the nightstand.

Hutch turned to face him while he dressed. "My ass loves getting fucked by your prick," he said firmly. "End of story."

Starsky's grin widened as he tossed accessories into his suitcase. He was so focused on making sure they weren't forgetting anything, that he drew a breath of surprise when Hutch grabbed his shoulders and pressed him back against the wall.

Hutch's long arms were also against the wall, on either side of Starsky, trapping him. The blond leaned close, so that his breath blew across Starsky's face. His expression was deadly serious. "When we get where we're going tonight," he threatened, "I'm going to fuck your ass, and you're going to love it. I'm going to borrow a few pages from your book, and you're going to love what I've been loving whenever you've put parts of yourself into me. So be prepared." He turned away and went back to his suitcase.

Starsky slowly released his breath. Shit. He wondered how long it would take them to get to where they were going. Because whenever they got there, Hutch would throw him down on the bed....

He gritted his teeth. Damn it, Hutch. How am I supposed to get rid of this hard-on you've given me?

What an adventure it would be. A very aggressive Hutch with one fixated purpose: pleasuring Starsky.

Starsky went back to his suitcase. And quivered.

* * *

The cry was ear-splitting. Sad. Desperate. Starsky knew exactly why. And there was nothing he could do to stop it, stop the cry. Nor the reason behind it.

He cringed, feeling an immense sadness of his own because he could be of no help at all.

"PLEASE," cried the desperate voice. "PLEASE. HE'S BEEN SICK. HE'S BEEN SICK. PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM. PLEASE."

Ah, Hutch. It was all Starsky could do to hold back his own sobs, as he heard sobs coming from the other person in the bed with him.

Sobs. More sobs. Such sad sobs.

Starsky swallowed down his own sadness and opened his eyes. The shadowy outline of the ceiling lamp slowly came into view.

Beside him, Hutch was crying.

Starsky jolted upright. What the -

All was silent in the stillness of the night, except for Hutch's sobs of despair. There would be no complaints of noise this time from other lodgers, for they were spending the night in a small cabin in Hoosier National Forest.

Starsky rolled over to Hutch and grabbed his arm. Shook him roughly. "Hutch? Hutch? Wake up. Wake up, buddy boy." Hutch was flat on his back, like before.

The blond shifted restlessly, groaned.

Starsky shook harder. "Come on, snap out of it." He slapped gently at Hutch's cheek. "Wake up, Hutch. Wake up."

Hutch shuddered and his eyes snapped open. "Huh?" He was up on an elbow.

Starsky released a heavy breath. "You were dreaming. That real bad dream again." Is this all because I won't let him talk about the virus I'm carrying inside me?

"Oh, damn." Hutch rubbed raggedly at his face as he got into a sitting position.

Starsky squeezed his shoulder. "What's goin' on with you? Huh?"

"Just a dream," Hutch said as he slowly forced his legs to the side of the bed. They landed with a thud on the thin carpet. He continued to rub at his face. "Damn. What a horrible dream."

"What's it about?" Starsky wondered, fingers gently kneading at the tense neck.

Hutch was thoughtful a moment, then he snorted dismissively. "Not sure I can even put it into words. It's so odd."

Cautiously, Starsky ventured, "Does it have to do with... me?"

Hutch looked at him. "Sort of. I don't really understand it," he admitted with a distant expression. "I'm just so... worried about you. About what's going to be...," his voice softened as he finished, "done to you."

Starsky felt as though he should understand that part, for some reason. But... "Done by whom?"

Hutch slowly shook his head. Then snorted again. "I don't know. It's just a dream, buddy. Sorry I woke you up."

Starsky felt something tighten in the pit of his stomach. "Hutch, it's the exact same dream you had earlier in the week."

Hutch looked at him, face suspicious in the darkness. "How do you know?"

Starsky opened his mouth, then realized he didn't have the answer immediately. He had to think about it a moment, then he said, "You were screaming tonight - crying, really - the exact same way you were crying that other time. The exact way. Almost like....," Starsky trailed off, not liking what he was about to say.

"Almost what?" Hutch prompted.

He released a heavy breath. "Almost like you were reliving something. Both times." Starsky thought harder, and his voice was full of puzzlement. "And I almost feel like... like I know why you're so upset."

"Why?" Hutch asked in a hushed whisper.

Starsky opened his hands, then let them flop to his sides. "I don't know. I mean, I don't remember. But I feel like some part of me knows what you're going through, why you're crying. Why you're so worried about me. Almost like I'm there in the dream with you, but... I don't remember any of it."

They both sat silent for a moment, looking at each other.

Hutch got to his feet. "Of course you do. If I start talking out loud while you're still asleep, then your subconscious or whatever is picking up on it. Sorry," he muttered, heading for the bathroom.

Starsky got back beneath the covers. He looked at his watch. It was almost two-thirty in the morning. We sure have been up late these days. All the sex they'd been having lately certainly kept them up. Plus our car breaking down that time in the middle of nowhere....

Starsky furrowed his brow, uneasy. He stared at his glow-in-the-dark watch.

He remembered being puzzled when looking at it a week ago. So tired, climbing into bed, after being hours on that road in Virginia in the middle of nowhere. It had been after one in the morning when they finally climbed into bed. No wonder we were so tired. We were supposed to be in a nice comfy hotel by nine o'clock.

Still holding the watch, Starsky brought his knee up and rested his chin upon it. How could it be that we ended up arriving outside of Charlottesville four hours later than we'd intended?

He thought harder. Of course, their car had broken down. But it hadn't taken four hours to fix, had it? No, it started back up almost right away. At least, I think it did....

Starsky's stomach tightened further with the realization that he didn't know for sure. He couldn't remember.

The bathroom door opened and Starsky looked up at Hutch. He demanded, "What do you remember about that night our car broke down in Virginia?"

"What?" Hutch asked, throwing a towel to one side.

"Just answer the question. What do you remember about that night?"

Hutch shrugged, getting back into bed. "The car just up and died. For no reason. But then it started up again. Why?"

Starsky was still sitting up, facing Hutch, who had reclined back against the headboard. Desperately, he asked, "Hutch, do you remember us talking in the car when we started out on that back road? Remember talking about how it was going to take us about thirty minutes longer to get to Charlottesville? That we should get there about nine o'clock?"

Hutch sighed. After a moment, he replied, "Yes, I remember something like that. I didn't mind because I wanted to see the country."

Starsky's hand tightened on his watch. "Hutch. Do you remember what time we arrived in that town outside of Charlottesville?"

The other shrugged with exaggeration. "I don't know. But it must have been about nine." Another shrug. "I don't remember noticing. I just remember being really tired."

Starsky nodded quickly, glad to have his partner's agreement. "Right. I was tired as hell, too. And I took off my watch when we got into bed. I looked at it, Hutch. You know what time it was?" He paused to take a breath. "It was one-fifteen in the fucking morning."

The other's face paled in the darkness. "What?" Then, disgusted, "That's not right. You're mistaken."

Starsky shook the watch, feeling his voice tremble as he delved further into the unknown. "No, I'm not mistaken. I looked at my watch that night, Hutch. My watch has been on the correct time before and since, so I know there wasn't anything wrong with my watch. I kept thinking how tired I felt, and I looked at my watch after taking it off, and I thought `No wonder we're so tired. It's one-fifteen in the morning.'"

Hutch was silent.

Starsky drew a heavy breath, voice quieting even as his tone grew more intense. "And you know what's even weirder? You and I never gave it a thought. We woke up late the next day and never questioned why it had taken us so long to drive that friggin' road. And you know what's even weirder than that?"

Silence answered him.

Starsky didn't try to stop his voice from trembling. "We never gave a single thought to what was going on with the fucking car. We never said one word to each other about it. Never took it in to have it checked. Never had the slightest worry that it might die on us again."

Hutch's voice was high-pitched, as though he were grasping at straws. "But that's because it started up right away after it died."

"Are you sure?" Starsky challenged. "Do you remember it happening like that?"

"What are you getting at?" The blond's voice now carried apprehension.

Starsky moved closer to him, sitting on his knees in front of Hutch. "I'm getting at that I don't remember. I remember us talking about getting to Charlottesville about nine. I remember us talking about moving and deciding that Los Angeles was the best place to start our private investigation firm. And I remember the car just suddenly up and dying out in the middle of nowhere. But after that... all I remember is that we were driving on that road, and I felt incredibly tired and I couldn't wait until we got out of that fucking forest so we could find a motel and sleep." He drew a deep, deep breath. Then demanded, "What happened to those other four hours, Hutch? Do you remember?"

Hutch's mouth had dropped open and he gazed at nothing.

"Do you remember getting out of the car at all?" Starsky prompted. "Do you remember doing anything that would have made the car start again? Do you even remember turning the key to make it start up again? Do you remember being glad or relieved that the car started up again so easily?"

Hutch slowly shook his head, then scratched at his hair. "N-no," he replied unsteadily. "I guess not. I remember... us talking. Then the car just suddenly up and died. The entire car. Lights and everything. And after that....," he was thoughtful a long time, "I guess it was like you said. I just remember feeling incredibly tired and wishing we would hurry up and get to Charlottesville. I just wanted to go to sleep."

"And that next morning," Starsky prompted further, "do you remember having a single thought about the car? About how unreliable it might be? About how maybe we ought to have it checked into?"

Slowly, the blond head shook. "No," he replied in a puzzled whisper.

Starsky swallowed thickly, fearing the answer to what he wanted to ask next. "Hutch, have you ever had these dreams before this vacation?"

An incredulous snort. "No."

Starsky took a deep, steadying breath.

Still incredulous, Hutch asked, "Do you think one has to do with the other?"

"I don't know," Starsky replied with frustration. "But is it just coincidence that there's four hours of our lives that neither of us can account for, and you've been having very intense, horrible dreams? And I have this weird sort of feeling that I know what your dreams are about, even if I don't specifically remember?" He struggled for a sense of calm, and his voice was quieter. "Hutch, just exactly what are your dreams about? I don't care how crazy they seem. Tell me."

Finally, Hutch wasn't going to argue with the importance of telling. "I-I'm on some sort of table. Naked. I don't think you're there, but I know you're... somewhere... nearby. And it's like... samples or something are being taken from my body. And I know that whatever they're doing to me is going to be done to you. And I-I-I'm so afraid. Th-th-that whatever they do to you, it'll bring your disease out of remission."

That all jibed with the way Hutch had talked - cried - in his sleep. Curiously, Starsky asked, "Who is it that's doing it to you? That's taking the samples from your body?"

Hutch shook his head. "I-I don't know. I can't remember... seeing... anybody around me." His lip suddenly twisted. "I do remember them sticking some - some - some thing up my ass."

Starsky's eyes widened. No.... No.... No....

Hutch swallowed, studying him. "What? What is it?" he asked fearfully.

"H-h-h-hutch..." Starsky could barely get the word out. "Don't you see?" he implored, feeling his heart pound. "The bruising. The bruising we both had. My prick didn't do that to you."

"No," Hutch insisted, voice exceedingly soft. Then, firmly, "That's quite a stretch to say that my dream has anything to do with the bruises."

"Then how do you explain it?" Starsky demanded, hoping desperately that Hutch would be able to. "I pounded your ass the other night. Deep and hard. And yet... you hardly showed it the next day. But when I looked at you a couple of nights after that night...." He trailed off, not wanting to draw his conclusions out loud.

Hutch snorted. Harshly. "So what are you saying? That some - some perverts raped us along the side of the road, gave us concussions or something, or maybe drugged us, so that we would forget, and then sent us on our way?"

"Hutch," Starsky had to take a deep, deep breath in order to continue, "perverts along the side of the road would not have been able to make our car go dead like that. And why would perverts along the side of the road want to take body samples from us?"

Hutch stared at him. A long time. Then he looked away. "It's just a dream, buddy."

Starsky wanted to believe that with all his heart. "All right," he said more calmly. "It's just a dream. But that still doesn't explain the missing four hours."

Hutch swallowed. Loudly. Then he said, "How do we know the four hours is all that's missing?"

* * *

They turned on the lights and got out the maps. They spent the rest of the night recalling everywhere they'd been since flying into Raleigh. By daybreak they were satisfied that there were no other chunks of time that they couldn't account for. But that still didn't explain the four hours.

"Maybe," Hutch suggested tiredly, "I'll keep having the dream. Maybe it'll become more vivid with time and eventually we'll be able to figure out how it connects to reality. Maybe you shouldn't wake me up."

Starsky only looked at him. He remained silent, because he wasn't sure he could agree to that. The extreme desperation and sadness that Hutch expressed in his dreams was unbearable to listen to. How could, whoever it was that did this to us - if it was somebody who did it to us -- not listen to him? Starsky knew within his bones that whatever had happened to Hutch had also happened to him. After all, he'd had the same bruising. Raped and violated and we don't even remember it, he thought grimly. Unless there's some other explanation....

"I'm ready to go home," Hutch said as he started to pack.

"Yeah," Starsky agreed, throwing his own clothes into his suitcase. "No kidding."

"We can head up to Indianapolis. Catch a flight there."

Starsky wasn't going to argue. But he noted, "The rental car company is going to fine the hell out of us for not returning the car to Raleigh."

"Doesn't matter. We can afford it."

Oh, yeah. As Starsky continued to pack, he wondered how returning home was supposed to make them feel better about the fact that something awful had happened to them that they couldn't even remember.

* * *

As they approached Indianapolis, Hutch stopped for gas in a suburb. He also took the time to call the airport. When he hung up, he told Starsky, "It won't be until seven o'clock tonight that a non-stop flight leaves for Los Angeles that might have some seats. Even then, we'll be on standby."

Starsky nodded. If worse came to worse, they could just stay the night and take the first flight out the next morning. He nudged Hutch and gestured across the street to a small shopette. There was a book store with a big banner that said "Going Out of Business Sale". Tables of books were in the parking lot. "Maybe there's something to read on the plane." As it was, books in airports were ridiculously expensive and the selection limited.

Hutch shrugged and they moved across the street. They joined the crowds around the tables, browsing through literally thousands of titles that were spread about. Eventually, they got separated, for Starsky was focusing on suspense novels. He imagined Hutch was looking at the non-fiction stuff that was more educational. Or, perhaps if he got bored enough, he would go sit on a bench in the park next to the shopette.

Starsky finally decided on a couple of paperbacks. He desperately hoped that they would be able to keep him distracted. As it was, the drive to Indianapolis had been very tense, neither of them speaking other than when it was necessary, and then usually in sharp, frustrated tones.

Maybe we're making way too much of it, Starsky thought hopefully. What's four hours out of a person's life? And maybe that bruising really was because of having fucked each other for the first time. And maybe those dreams are just a reflection of Hutch's fears that I might get sick again.

There was a line at the cash register, which was set up at the end of one of the tables. Starsky took the time to scan the area and found that his partner had, indeed, opted for the park. Hutch's tall lean body was looking off into the distance. He had one foot resting on a picnic table bench. He was holding a hardback book at his side.

Good, he found something to read, too.

Starsky paid and headed for the park, holding the sack with his two paperbacks. He noticed, as he approached, that Hutch hadn't opted for a sack, as though he'd intended to start reading right away. In fact, that was definitely the case. As Starsky drew even closer to the tall frame, he saw that Hutch had a finger stuck in the pages of the book, as though marking a place where he'd already started to read.

"Hey, what'd you get?" Starsky asked as he came up behind Hutch. He halted, expecting Hutch to turn around.

Hutch didn't move. Starsky realized the blond was trembling. And breathing heavily.

Startled, Starsky moved in front of Hutch. And looked up into his face. He stifled a gasp.

Hutch's face was the most literal visualization of having "gone pale" that Starsky had ever seen. His complexion was white. A soft white. And his wide eyes, rather than looking off into the distance, stared straight ahead at nothing. They were filled with fear. Obviously the same fear that caused the shaking visible in his body.

Those fearful eyes had not acknowledged him. Starsky's own heart was pounding, but he very gently prompted, "Babe? What is it?"

Hutch didn't react.

Starsky gulped and looked down at Hutch's hand. The one that held the book. He slipped his own finger in between the pages where Hutch's was, then gently took the book from him. He looked at the cover.

It was black with an illustration painted on it. The painting was of a greyish-white bald figure with big, insect-like eyes. A small slit mouth. Starsky had seen paintings and drawings like it before - whenever he'd read about UFO close encounters or abductions. In fact, the title of the book was Alien Visitations.

His chest tightened as he let the book fall open to the place his fingers was.

It was the beginning of a chapter titled "Missing Time". That wasn't a new phrase to him, either, Starsky realized. He knew that people who claimed to have been abducted by aliens, the stories of which were usually brought out via hypnosis, often first suspected something strange had "happened" to them when they realized there was "missing time" from their lives that they couldn't account for.

Starsky stared at the book. No, he denied instantly.

"Th-th-they-y-y- looked... like that," Hutch said in a small voice.

Starsky looked up. Hutch hadn't moved. Not even his eyes. But he had spoken.

Calm, Starsky decided. He's on the verge of mental collapse. Keep him calm. Be rational. Careful to keep the accusation out of his voice, Starsky said in a firm, distinct voice, "Hutch, you told me that you didn't know who it was that was doing things to you in the dreams. So how do you know this is what they looked like?"

"I... lied." Hutch swallowed thickly. Then, with slightly less of a strain in his voice, "I... knew they looked like that, but it was so ridiculous that I - I didn't bring it up. It was so... impossible... that I thought it couldn't have anything to do with what had happened to us."

Starsky let out a breath. Hutch was the kind of man who didn't allow himself to get taken with flights of fancy. In fact, he had always scoffed at Starsky's notion of UFOs, ESP, and related phenomenon. So, it was highly unlikely that he'd seen the cover of the book and convinced himself that the picture there explained their four hours of missing time.

No, Hutch wasn't kidding.

Starsky forced down a thick lump in his throat. His whole chest felt like someone was walking on it... with heavily cleated boots.

He'd been holding something back as well. Like Hutch, he had truly thought it didn't matter. But now it did. Very much. "Hutch?" he forced out his dry lips. The other had managed to blink a few times, but he was still rooted in the same spot and hadn't even moved his head. "Do you remember, when we were on that road, that when we were talking, I rolled down my window? And I said something about an airplane flying really low?"

"Yes," came the hushed reply.

Starsky had to swallow again. "I just assumed it was an airplane. I couldn't tell how it looked. I just saw the lights. And then I said something to you. And when I looked over at the airplane, it wasn't beside us anymore. It was behind us. Even lower than before." He paused, amazed that he was going to speak the words. "And then the car died."

Hutch looked at him sharply. "It didn't happen!" he said angrily. He pointed to the book cover, animated now. "That's what they looked like in my dream. But it didn't happen to us. It didn't! That's the biggest bunch of hogwash I've ever heard in my life. It was a dream. That's all."

He can't deal with it, Starsky realized with alarm. He can't face it.

Hutch suddenly dropped to his knees. His arms came up, clenched fists pressing against his forehead. With despair, he said, "I'm losing my mind."

Starsky knelt and gripped his arm. "No, Hutch," he quickly soothed. "No, you aren't, babe. It's gonna be okay. Whatever is goin' on with us happened to me, too. And we'll figure it out. Together." He gripped the arm harder and shook it. "You gotta believe that, Hutch. Whatever else you believe, you gotta believe that."

Hutch was still in the same position, but a relaxing breath went through his body.

Starsky took his own deep breath, wondering what to do next. He looked out at the park. It was a beautiful park.

But will I ever see the world the same way again?

Damn, he realized suddenly. I can't deal with this, either. Gotta just focus on Hutch....

Not knowing what else to do, he put a hand on Hutch's back and rubbed in a small circle. With his other hand he released the page in the book. The breeze ruffled the pages and Starsky caught glimpses of drawings of faces similar to the one on the cover. Then he saw a crude drawing of someone lying naked on an examination table. He grabbed for the book and found that page again.

The chapter was titled, "The Examination". There was a drawing of a nude woman on a table, beings with large eyes around her. Various things in the room were labeled. Some sort of instrument pointed at her navel was labeled "Pregnancy Test". There was a microphone-like thing hanging by an elastic-looking cord from the wall where the woman's lower body was. It was labeled, "Rectal Probe".

Oh, my God.... Starsky gulped. Again and again. He released the book and let the wind close it.

Hutch had brought his arms down. His eyes were closed and he was still trying to take deep, cleansing breaths.

What do we do now? Starsky wondered helplessly, still petting along Hutch's back. It's not like we're just gonna forget about it just because we'll be back in Los Angeles.

He looked around, lost. No answers anywhere. People all around. Strangers. Who knew nothing of what had happened to them.

Anyone would laugh at us if we tried to tell them. No one will believe us. Hutch refuses to believe it. I can't even -

Starsky found himself looking at the back cover of the book. A heavyset man with a beard was pictured there, with the caption "Sydney Von Glick". The paragraphs below it mentioned other books he had written. And the fact that he taught astronomy at the University of Indiana.

Hope flared. "Hutch." He tugged on the blond's sleeve. When he looked up, Hutch wearily opened his eyes. A least some of the color had returned to his face. "Hutch, we can talk to this man," he frantically tapped the book with his finger. "We gotta get to a phone and see if he still teaches at the University." Hutch at least appeared to be listening, though his upper body swayed as though he was having a hard time keeping himself upright. With forced cheerfulness, Starsky said, "Surely he's heard lots of stories like ours, that aren't real UFO experiences. He can explain it to us." Yeah, he'll explain everything. He'll be annoyed with us for wasting his time, because ours isn't a story he can write about. Then we'll understand what happened and it'll all make sense and we'll feel so foolish for having ever been concerned about it.

He wanted so, so much to feel foolish.

Starsky jumped to his feet, still holding the book, and pulling on Hutch's arm. "Come on, Hutch, we gotta find a phone. See if we can get a hold of this guy." Hutch stood and Starsky grabbed the sack with his own purchases. The gas station across the street probably had a phone, but between the park and the bookstore was a little restaurant that had a phone booth outside. He clasped Hutch's hand. "Come on."

A grimy, dark-eyed, long-haired man stepped in front of them. "Faggots," he hissed.

Starsky stared at the man as he maneuvered Hutch in an arc away from him. He was puzzled as to why the man thought that important. In a world where people from spaceships kidnapped people and examined them against their will, how could anyone be bothered by the simple fact that somebody was a faggot?

Thankfully, Hutch didn't appear to be any more interested in confronting the man than Starsky was. They continued to the restaurant. Starsky was fishing change out of his pocket as they came to the phone booth. He inserted coins and dialed information, then held the phone to his ear as he prepared to write.

"What city, please?" the operator asked.

"Indianapolis."

"Go ahead."

"The University of Indiana."

"That's in Bloomington, sir. One moment, please."

Where the hell is Bloomington? He had assumed that a big state university would be in a big city like Indianapolis.

The operator came back on and read him the number. Starsky scribbled it down. He put in more change and dialed. Please still teach there, Mr. Von Glick. Please still teach there.

The main switchboard answered and Starsky had to be transferred a couple of times before he reached someone who told him that, yes, Professor Sydney Von Glick was still on the staff roster. She said she couldn't transfer him, but gave him the direct number to Dr. Von Glick's department.

Starsky was grateful that he found more change. He risked a glance at Hutch and saw that the blond was standing idly by. He looked much better.

Starsky's fingers trembled as he dialed the number. Please be there. Please don't be on vacation. Please don't have left yet for the afternoon. Starsky looked up at the sky. He guessed that it was close to five o'clock. Please don't have another commitment tonight.

"Astronomy Department," a female voice answered pleasantly.

"Uh, yes, can I speak with a Dr. Sydney Von Glick please?"

A pause, then, "May I tell him who's inquiring?"

Oh, thank God, thank God. "Uh... he doesn't know me, but my friend and I... well, we saw his book and... we really need to talk to him."

"Which book is that, sir?"

Starsky couldn't remember the title. "The one about alien visitations. " I can't believe I'm saying this. "Yeah, I think that's maybe what it was called. My friend and I have... had something happen to us. We'd really, really like to speak with him, please."

"One moment. I'll see if he's in."

"This is Dr. Von Glick," said a firm, comforting voice a moment later. "Who am I speaking with, please?"

Starsky realized that he was breathing hard. "My name is David Starsky and I'm a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. My partner and I have been vacationing out this way, and... and... something happened to us. We'd...," Starsky wondered why the words were so difficult, "we'd... we really need to talk to somebody." He cringed at the shaky voice emerging from his throat. He shouldn't have stated it that way. He'll think we need a shrink and he'll send men in white coats, and we'll be locked up. Forever. He was puzzled by the sense of comfort that thought brought. If we're locked up we won't have to deal with this....

"Are you saying that you and your friend are victims of an alien abduction?" The question was asked very calmly.

"We - we don't know. But...," he drew a ragged breath. "We really need to talk to somebody about what happened. We don't know of anybody else..." Starsky cringed again. Why am I being like this to a complete stranger?

A sigh on the other end. "How far are you from the campus?"

"I - I don't know. We're in Indianapolis."

Pause. "If you can get here by seven, I should have enough time to see you. You should be able to get here by seven. Do you need directions?"

Starsky held up the pad he had. His pencil was shaking.

Suddenly, the writing utensils were grabbed from him. Hutch forced him aside with his lanky body and took the receiver from his hand. "Hello? This is Ken Hutchinson, Dave Starsky's partner. I'll be driving so I thought I'd better take the directions."

Starsky blinked. Hutch looked fine now. In control.

He rested his head against the side of the phone booth. Thank God he's okay. Because I'm losing my mind..... He drew another deep, deep breath.

Hutch was writing. Talking pleasantly. "Okay, we should be there within an hour. Thanks very much." He hung up.

Starsky wasn't sure he could straighten from where he rested against the phone booth.

The deepest, clearest blue eyes looked into his own. "You going to be okay?" Hutch asked in the most tender of voices.

Starsky blinked again. There wasn't any reason why he shouldn't be okay. "Thanks for handlin' that. I don't know what I was thinking." He was embarrassed at the memory of the plea in his voice when he talked to the professor.

"You needed help," Hutch explained gently. "And I was a little slow in being there for you."

Starsky straightened and met his eye then. Maybe that was the simple truth of it. They were always so dependent upon the balance in the partnership. If they both fell apart at the same time... they were doomed.

Hutch sure snapped out of it fast, he realized... with admiration.

Hutch was holding out an arm to him, and Starsky quickly stepped next to him and put his own arms around Hutch, glad to feel the strength that came around his own body. He leaned against Hutch as they made their way back across the street, not caring what others thought. They were at the car when Starsky realized they were in for another road trip, and his throat felt very dry and his chest was still heavy. He nodded toward the gas station. "Need to get some stuff."

He moved under his own power as they raided the small conveniences at the station. A couple of bottles of water apiece. Candy bars for energy. Crackers for starch. Potato chips for salt. Starsky felt more himself as he settled in the passenger seat, glad that Hutch was driving.

He started in on the food as the sun set and they weeded their way through rush hour traffic. He passed things back and forth to Hutch at the blond's request. Then he settled back in his seat, wondering if things would ever seem "normal" again. As the traffic thinned out in the darkness, Starsky looked over at his partner, who seemed alert and reasonably content. He decided it was time for a reality check. "Where are we?" he asked casually.

Hutch drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. He didn't even question why Starsky was asking. "We're headed south toward Bloomington, Indiana," he replied cheerfully, "to the University of Indiana where we're gonna to see a Professor Sydney Von Hagen - "

"Von Glick," Starsky corrected.

"Von Glick. Who is going to listen to our serious story about missing time and rectal probes. And who is going to laugh at us for thinking we may have been abducted by aliens. And who is going to shoot holes in our story and offer alternative explanations."

Starsky felt himself hunch down in the seat. He looked out the window at the star-filled sky. He's not dealing with this at all. He won't even admit to the possibility that it may have really happened.

Starsky envied him.

Part 3B