It was another Days Inn, but it was some three thousand miles from the one they had visited last summer. Starsky tossed his suitcase onto the bed nearest the door. Then he grabbed Hutch, who had placed his luggage on the floor, and swung the big blond onto the second bed.

Their lips were instantly locked together, their arms tight around each other, as they rolled about the mattress. It wasn't often that they acted like this at home, and now their joining had a more excited urgency, for they were experiencing their first taste of freedom. It might be a nippy twenty-eight degrees outside, a strange land of small rolling hills, white and brown fencing, and vast pasture land housing the equine world's finest, but there was no one here to demand anything of them, no one they had to worry about hiding from, no phone to ring with news of another body found somewhere.

"'M... gonna... devour... you," Starsky managed between kisses.

"Yes," Hutch hissed in return.

It encouraged Starsky on. He wasn't sure what it was about Hutch that made the blond want to take a passive role, but Starsky had no problem with the dominating one. After all, in their day to day life, it was himself who usually yielded to the larger man's wishes. It had always seemed that way, and it worked for them. But, in the privacy of the bedroom, he liked loving Hutch, making him feel good, letting him lie there and be worked over....

Any prior thoughts he'd had about long and slow loving were quickly going out the window. They would have plenty of time for that later. For now, Starsky slipped his hands between their bodies, began wrestling with the buttons of Hutch's shirt. The blond did his share, working with Starsky's shirt. Finally, their lips drew apart so they could discard the upper clothing.

They came back together immediately, and Starsky kissed his way down to Hutch's chest. He absolutely loved its smoothness, and he did slow down when he came to the left nub. He nuzzled it, licked at it, then took it between his teeth, working it with his tongue. Hutch was sensitive there -- lots more than he himself was -- and they had discovered that the blond enjoyed the feeling of teeth as long as they nibbled but didn't pinch. It had taken some work learning to straddle the line between applying pleasure and pain, but the effort had been worth it.

"Ah, damn, that's good, partner," Hutch encouraged softly.

While still worrying the little protrusion, Starsky reached to the right one and massaged it between his fingers.

"Ah, buddy." Starsky felt a grateful hand entwine in his hair.

A few more moments of patient loving, and the blond's denim-covered hips arched upward, meeting Starsky's stomach.

The smaller man abandoned the right pap, and moved his hand down between their bodies. While still chewing on the left, he felt for the belt, deftly unbuckled it, then reached for the snap. It took a moment to get his finger and thumb positioned properly to pull the snap apart. His fingers danced along the exposed pubic region, scratched a moment, then reached inside to take the heated column and draw it out.

Hutch groaned, and the blond's hand petted back through Starsky's hair, stopping at the back of the scalp to lightly scratch and massage. Starsky loved the way the hand felt, its large grip covering almost his entire head, making him feel cherished and protected.

Starsky's mouth was starting to feel numb, and he assumed the tiny nipple was in a similar state. So he shifted -- giving the phallus a firm stroke while doing so -- and smacked his lips around the right nub. The column hardened at the new sensation, and he tried to work with both hands now, pushing the jeans down, while his teeth maintained their firm, yet gentle hold.

Hutch was reaching down as well, trying to help with the unclothing. Finally, with all the manipulations, Starsky's body was stretched too thin and he reluctantly released the little nipple. Feeling the throbbing of his own hardness, he straightened beside the bed and made fast work of removing the rest of his clothing. While doing so, he watched Hutch rid himself of his own clothes, and felt a certain satisfaction in watching the long, smooth hardness spring free of all confinement.

In most other circumstances, Starsky would have thought now a good time for a sixty-nine. But, sometime in the past month, Hutch had explained that mutual sucking tended to make the participants worry more about timing their orgasms together, rather than allowing themselves to enjoy the pleasure they were receiving. Starsky had been convinced of the argument after a number of blow jobs in which his partner sucked while he lay back and enjoyed. He found that he tended to enjoy working on Hutch more, too, when he wasn't distracted by his own pleasure.

Starsky moved to the straining phallus now, getting back on the bed between the pale, spread legs. His own groin was throbbing, but he knew that the eventual orgasm would be that much more pleasant if he made it wait its turn. He placed his mouth over the straining erection with no hesitation, and began to suck in the manner that he knew Hutch liked best. It hadn't always been that easy. The first time he'd done it, he tried to take too much of it, and when Hutch had simultaneously thrust, Starsky had experienced a split second of genuine panic that he was going to be strangled. But they worked it out, Hutch soothing with his hands and voice, verbally guiding him and assuring his partner how he liked it best. Since then, Starsky had grown more skilled, though some part of his mind wanted to insist that he shouldn't be enjoying it. As he sucked now, he was fairly confident that that small voice of rebellion had been banished for good. After all, doing this act caused his partner an immense degree of pleasure, and Starsky was determined that Hutch would never again need to search for it elsewhere. Together, they could have everything either of them ever wanted.

Hutch's hand reached down to massage one cheek. "That's terrific, partner. Incredible. Getting real close now."

Without losing the rhythm of his throat muscles, Starsky reached up and ran the flat of his hands along Hutch's exposed flanks. It wasn't meant to be pleasurable as much as soothing, for Starsky knew that Hutch had always been one who revelled in physical contact. The blond yearned to be touched, held, petted, loved... and no amount was ever enough. And Starsky knew there would never be a time in his life when he would feel unneeded.

The hand left Starsky's face. "Gonna come," Hutch panted. "Ah, man, you're good. So good. Real close now. Real close."

Starsky reached down with his other hand, stroked the scrotal pouch, then carefully squeezed it.

His partner shuddered. "Oh, man. Oh, man, I'm there. I'm there. AaaaAAAAHHH...."

The yell was loud and long. A moment later and Starsky felt the stream shoot against the inside of his mouth. Another moment, and the potent bitterness registered with his taste buds. He waited until Hutch relaxed completely, then released the sensitized organ and carefully swallowed the emission. It was getting more appealing with time. The first time he'd done it, he had thought it downright unpalatable and as deftly as possible had gone to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out. And then felt bad about doing so. But Hutch hadn't been fooled and they'd talked about it, agreeing that there was no reason why either should feel compelled to swallow it. But after going through all that, they both tended to want to carry the act through to its final completion. Now, the taste didn't seem like such a big deal one way or the other.

Surely, if they could talk about that, they could talk about anything. Starsky closed his eyes as he affirmed that to himself now. If the negative side of the coin was that they couldn't share their happiness with others, the positive side had to be that they were happier, by any definition, than those others who were free to flaunt their love in public.

"That was good, partner." Hutch lay drowsily against a pillow.

Starsky lay alongside, stretched to kiss Hutch's chin. "Welcome to our private little getaway."

Hutch furrowed his fingers through the curly hair. "Love you." He wrapped an arm around Starsky's waist. "Give me a minute, and I'll return the favor."

Starsky snuggled against his partner. "No hurry." There was no tranquilizer more effective than simply knowing that Hutch was mellowed out. But a moment later, he shivered. "Hey, maybe we oughta get under the covers."

Silently, they shifted to pull the bed clothes back, then got beneath them. They became reacquainted in the middle of the mattress, putting their arms around each other. It seemed inevitable, then, that they would kiss.

It was slow this time, their hands drifting down lazily to rub across the opposite torso. Then Starsky couldn't restrain his feelings any longer, and he moved on top of Hutch, burrowing his fingers in the fine strands of hair, brushing his reawakening erection against the flat stomach, bending to kiss the always-ready mouth with a firmness that matched his arousal.

When Starsky pulled back, Hutch softly asked, "Want to get the Vaseline? It's in my suitcase."

Starsky shook his head while capturing the other's lips once again. "We'll have plenty of time later for that," he noted gently. He was still both puzzled and fascinated by Hutch's willingness to be fucked. For himself, there were still reservations he was wrestling with, though he knew he'd give that to his partner eventually. He'd finally concluded that it wasn't the pain he feared but instead the likelihood that some deep, masculine part of him would rebel against the act itself. And even though he'd seen the proof on Hutch's face -- and in his voice, as well as the reactions of his body -- that that kind of penetration could be pleasurable, he knew that in order for it to work for him, his body was going to have to want it as much as his mind. Otherwise, it would mean an outright rejection of Hutch, and that was something that Starsky could not bear, no matter how understanding the blond might be. Hutch was willing, it seemed, to give anything to him. And Starsky knew that any gift in return had to come without strings, or it was no gift at all.

Fingers trailed alongside his ribs. "Want me to do you under the covers?" came the enticing whisper.

"No," Starsky said, decision made, "sittin' up." He moved away, then helped Hutch arrange the pillows so the blond could sit back against them.

Hutch took the shorter man's hips in hand, guided them so that the phallus which extended from between was aimed at his mouth.

Starsky leaned against the wall over the bed, allowed the hands to guide him forward, and his maleness was surrounded by loving wetness.

He liked doing it this way, fucking Hutch's mouth, for it was easier to watch the action taking place, looking down from above. He also knew it was more comfortable for Hutch, for his partner was able to relax back against the pillows. And they both liked the way hips and hands worked together to guide the buoyed erection in and out of the pleasing cavern, without it threatening to penetrate too far. It was also easier to avoid the accidental brush of teeth.

Starsky closed his eyes, thrusting in a slow, shallow motion, liking the suction that gripped around the head with each backward stroke, the tongue that teased the sensitive underside. Leaning on his left hand, still braced against the wall, he reached down with the right and petted Hutch's hair, gently furrowing, then dropped down to feel the caressing jaw.

A hand moved from his hip, reached to momentarily grip a buttock, and Starsky groaned at the way it felt, being cupped by that large extremity. Fingertips tickled up and down his crack, then one digit circled about his flesh, then gently wormed its way between. It stroked at the recess there, and Starsky spread his legs further.

So slowly, the digit teased the center. Starsky welcomed it, knowing that Hutch was intending the action solely as a pleasure in itself, rather than as a threat of a demand that he was not yet ready for.

As the finger stroked, Hutch's other hand came up and gently pressed against Starsky's testicles, then scratched along the back of the scrotal pouch.

"Real nice, babe," the darker man whispered.

Hutch leaned slightly forward, and Starsky knew it meant the sucking was going to begin in earnest. The finger circled more, then barely pushed in before withdrawing. A moment later, it pushed at the barrier again, and Starsky felt the walls yield, felt the flesh within, felt his muscle grip it. He wriggled, enjoying the feeling, the small joining of flesh, and he shivered as the stimulation increased both in front and behind. He knew from experience that Hutch's jaw muscles had to be getting tired, and he let the sensations propel him toward a known and welcome intangible.

"Feels so good," Starsky announced in a breathless whisper. "So good. Gonna come real soon now. Real, real soon."

The finger pushed in deeper, and Starsky felt the knuckle slip past the tight ring. He gripped it, felt his cock twitch, which shifted the pressure on the heavy cylinder, causing the sensations provided by the wet mouth to feel new and different. Then a firm tongue stroked his magic spot beneath the head, and he gripped Hutch's hair as those pleasures reached a crescendo. Then he screamed.

The one drawback to this favored position was that if he collapsed from pleasure, which he did now, everything came undone. His cock slipped from between the full lips, before it was through ejecting its fluid. The finger fell away, leaving him empty. And he landed in a heap on top of his partner, who gently scooted him to one side.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Starsky cracked his eyes open, saw the drops of semen that had spilled along his partner's chin, watched as Hutch instinctively stuck his tongue out and licked them up. Then those twinkling blue eyes locked with his own.

Starsky smiled.

* * *

The following day, when they left the comfort of the hotel room, the temperature had climbed up to the mid-forties, sun shining brightly. Still, for two men who were accustomed to the L.A. climate, heavy jackets were in order, and they both were wearing them as they waited in the courtyard of Winning Hit Farms. Remnants of the last snow storm dotted the countryside, and both men gratefully drew deep lungfuls of the crisp, clean, pollution-free air.

"You picked a good day to drop by," the farm manager, Mr. Jenkins, was telling them. "It's still early in the breeding season and we had only two mares to breed this morning, so things are fairly quiet right now."

They had called first, to see if there was any chance they could visit Best Partner. Apparently, Winning Hit was a relatively small operation, and the manager didn't have the aversion to visitors that most of the larger farms did. He seemed to think it was all right if the two detectives drove out and took a few pictures of the sire of their favorite race horse.

Jenkins gestured with an arm as he started out of the courtyard. "The stallion barn is this way."

Both visitors, hands stuffed in their pockets, a camera around Starsky's neck, followed the man. Neither was able to take his eyes off the tranquility of the rolling hills that stretched for miles throughout the bluegrass country. It was so unlike anything they had ever seen.

Hutch smiled to himself, pleased that they had agreed to Luke's offer. Normally, when they saw something new, Starsky was full of excitement and would babble almost non-stop, pointing things out to his partner. In this situation, however, the peace of the countryside seemed to have a soothing effect on his partner's usual frivolity.

The paved lane they walked upon curved up a slope. Once cresting it, the detectives saw a small barn just a little ways further up the road. Surrounding it were large paddocks that were so familiar in this part of the country.

Jenkins cast a glance back their way. "Did you say you were from Los Angeles?"

Hutch nodded while Starsky replied, "We're police officers. We're up here just for a few days' vacation."

The manager's eyes brightened. "My son's a policeman in Charlotte, North Carolina." Then, "I imagine Los Angeles is a bit faster paced."

Both men smiled politely, neither really wanting to talk about work.

Starsky asked, "Do you know where Partner for Life's mother -- his dam -- is stabled?"

"She died of colic a couple of years back," Jenkins replied. "She only had one other foal, a full brother to Partner for Life, who is a two-year-old now. I hear he's in training in California. I imagine he'll be ready to make his first start sometime this summer."

They were at the barn. The nearest end was already open, and the sweet smell of fresh hay, mingled with a mild hint of manure, greeted them as they entered.

The first stall on the left was empty. Jenkins went up to the second one, where a dark head poked out the top half of the dutch door. He patted the sleek neck. "This is him. If you want to wait outside, I'll bring him out." He looked in the opposite direction and called, "Thomas." A older, thinner man's head poked out of a stall at the far end. "Bring a brush and let's bring Timmy out. We've got visitors who'd like to take a few pictures."

Starsky and Hutch backed out of the barn, as directed. "Timmy?" the shorter man whispered to his companion.

Hutch shrugged while squinting from the winter sun. "It's probably his stable name." Starsky's expression was blank, and the blond explained, "Most horses have a stable name -- like a pet name -- in addition to their registered name. You know, Secretariat was called Big Red."

"So was Man O' War," Starsky replied firmly. It was obvious from his tone which of the two famous horses he preferred.

Both men stepped back farther as the stallion, a sleek dark bay, was led out. Jenkins held the lead rope while Thomas brushed at the immaculate coat.

Starsky was fussing with his camera, and it was a moment before he really looked at the horse. In surprise, he asked, "That's the sire of Partner for Life?"

Jenkins nodded while looking puzzled, and Hutch asked his friend, "What's the matter?"

"I dunno," Starsky shrugged, "he just looks kinda short."

Jenkins chuckled as he pulled on the shank, for the horse reached forward, trying to nip, every few seconds. "Yeah, he's always been a bit on the small side. Partner for Life got his size from his dam." Another chuckle. "In fact, she was so tall that we thought we might have to teach Timmy to climb a ladder in order to breed her."

Hutch laughed while watching Starsky fool with the camera.

The manager jerked the lead rope again, warding off another bite. "I hope I'm not offending you gentlemen. Breeding horses is table talk around here." To the groom, he said, "That'll do, Thomas. Thanks." The groom nodded and backed away. To the detectives, the manager said, "Let me see if I can get him to square up and hold still."

Starsky put his 35mm to his eye and waited while Jenkins spoke firmly to the horse, moved the shank this way and that. Finally, Timmy was still and Starsky began snapping. After a few shots, he paused. "Hutch, why don't I get some of you beside him?"

The blond shrugged. "Why don't I take one of you?" He smiled sweetly. "You've always been the sentimental one about this whole thing."

Starsky hesitated, and Jenkins noted, "I can handle a camera. Want me to get one of you both?"

The detectives glanced at each other. Nodded.

The manager held out the lead rope to the groom, who had stepped forward. Starsky handed the camera to Jenkins while moving to stand beside the horse. He realized instantly that he didn't trust the teeth Timmy kept baring, and looked helplessly at his partner.

"The groom's got him under control," Hutch assured. "Here, you stand by his side. I'll stand at his head."

Starsky moved near the stallion's shoulder, while Hutch placed himself by the head. On Hutch's other side was the groom, who was working with the lead rope, and trying to get the horse to pose again.

Preparing for the picture, Hutch reached to pet the sleek neck. Starsky followed suit and, from the shoulder, also reached for the neck.

When the picture was snapped, their fingertips were touching.

* * *

The four days were uneventful, but neither man was complaining. After the stress of the Sandstone Park murders, monotony was exactly what they needed. When they weren't in bed, they were on the road. They stopped often while driving down various country lanes, when a particular group of horses, or the style of a barn, or the decoration at a farm's entrance, caught Starsky's fancy. He was especially pleased to get a shot of a pasture containing foals that were romping with their mothers, a friendly farm hand explaining that the youngsters, despite their long legs and aggressive playfulness, weren't even two months old yet.

They drove up to Louisville one day, visiting Churchill Downs. The track didn't open until May, so they were free to explore the old, vacant grandstand by themselves. More pictures were snapped, the prize being one they were able to bribe a maintenance worker into taking of them standing in the famous winner's circle with their arms around each other's shoulders. "That'll go right beside the one of us standin' on top of the Torino," Starsky said.

* * *

"So, has this little trip turned you into a Kentuckian?" It was their last night, and they were lying on top of the covers, still dressed. Hutch was straddling his companion, and the question had come between lazy kisses.

"Nah," Starsky replied after a moment. It was dark, and they had both bedside lamps on. "This is a nice area to get away to, but it doesn't have enough excitement for me."

Hutch kissed Starsky's forehead. "Me, either. But I'm glad we came."

The other's grin broadened. "Yeah." And then they shared a long, drawn out kiss, hands closing on opposing arms more firmly.

When Hutch pulled back, Starsky asked, "Wanna do it?"

It was so rare that he didn't understand his partner immediately. Hutch's brows furrowed. "Do what?"

Starsky shrugged, then placed a hand behind his head. "You know. Do it with me on the bottom."

Hutch found himself filled with a mixture of warmth, love, affection... and a fear he couldn't define. "Why now?" He quickly shook his head, not liking the interrogating sound of his own voice. "I mean, why here?"

"Why not here?" Starsky countered quietly. A small grin. "I kinda like the idea."

Hutch stroked back through the other's hair. "Sure you're ready?"

Another shrug. "Ready as I'll ever be." Then, "It's okay, Hutch. I wouldn't have brought it up if I still had reservations."

The blond took a deep breath, glanced sideways a moment to get his equilibrium. When he looked back and met those deep blue eyes, he gently asked, "Sure you're not just trying to even things up?"

Starsky reached to pet through the delicate strands of hair. "No, not at all," he whispered. "I've never felt pressure about that." Another lame shrug. "I just want to at least try it. I mean, I know you're not faking how much you've been enjoying it. Maybe I've been missin' out."

Hutch tilted his head down, wondering if he'd ever be able to put into words what was in his heart. "Part of that may be psychological, as much as anything."

The stroking fingers dropped to a pale cheek, rubbed slowly in a circular motion. "How come?" Starsky wondered softly. "I mean, why do you feel you need it so much... that way?"

Hutch drew another breath, carefully dislodged himself and sat up. Leaning forward, he regarded the wall across the room. "I don't know. I haven't been able to figure that part out yet." Then he looked back at his partner, who was still relaxed against the mattress. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

The other shook his head. "No. Not as long as you enjoy it. And as for me enjoying it... well, if it turns out I don't," another shrug, "we'll know better."

The blond pivoted on the bed, sitting beside his partner with one leg curled up. He ran a hand along the other's knee. "I can almost guarantee that it's not going to be anything special the first time. Maybe not even the first few times. It's a different kind of feeling."

"Okay," Starsky said, accepting.

All the tenderness was there again, the well threatening to overflow. Hutch's voice gentled as his hand continued to rub. "How do you want to go about it?"

There was a blankness in the expression, but Starsky answered, "Well, first, I think we should take our clothes off."

Hutch laughed softly. "Moron." A trio of fingers snaked up the other's shirt, scratched at the flesh revealed by the open buttons.

Starsky shrugged again. "Whatever way you think is best, Hutch. You're the one who's experienced."

The fingers paused, and Hutch looked away while he considered the statement. Yes, he was the experienced one in this... never mind that Starsky seemed to have known a lot about it that original, first time. But he himself now had the unusual knowledge of how it truly felt, what angles were most pleasurable -- something men and women could never really know about each other.

A unique position that should be taken advantage of.

And, perhaps, that's what Starsky truly wanted tonight. The other, so far, had played the dominating role throughout their sexual encounters. Maybe he wanted what Hutch had enjoyed for so long... to just lie back and be loved, while someone else took charge.

Hutch resumed his position, straddling the other. After a kiss, he noted, "First thing we're going to do is get you to come. It'll help relax you."

Starsky shrugged. "No argument from me."

Hutch chuckled, kissing below a jaw. "You're a hedonist."

"Hey, callin' me names ain't gonna change what I like."

The blond maneuvered himself into a crouch, lips pressing even harder on the same area. "I love you," he kissed. "I love you so much." Kiss. Kiss.

Starsky grabbed Hutch's forehead with one hand, the chin with another. Pulling the other closer, he growled, "Then kiss me where it counts."

Hutch complied, lips fastening onto his partner's. His hands settled on either side of the rib cage, finding a now-familiar thrill in knowing he possessed such a exciting bundle of energy and flesh. He wondered how, at any time in his life, he could ever have thought it strange to be kissing another man. For Starsky's mouth was as exciting as the rest of his body, more pleasurable than any mouth he had ever known. Sometimes, in moments such as this, he wondered why he had wasted so many years on casual encounters. Surely, if he couldn't have this, then celibacy would have to serve as second-best.

"Love you," Hutch whispered yet again, pulling back. He straightened slightly and began unbuttoning the other's shirt with both hands. Starsky's hands were doing likewise to his own shirt, and as they worked, Hutch gazed down at the form beneath him, that incredibly thick hair sprawled about the pillow. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, parting the shirt flaps.

The other blinked once. "Hey, I always knew I was cute. But beautiful?"

Hutch closed his eyes. "In every way."

A hand moved behind Hutch's neck, drew him down. "Ah, you big Romeo."

His cheeks were held by Starsky's hands, and the other raised up to kiss him. Hutch leaned into it, at the same time reaching to stroke up and down the path of hair now exposed.

When they parted, Hutch finished the slow, careful movement of removing Starsky's shirt from his body. "Let me take it from here," he told his partner.

Starsky obeyed, moving only enough so the shirt could be slipped from beneath him. "Hutch?"

The blond tossed the clothing to one side. "Hm?"

"Maybe we should do it while I'm real horny, like now. I mean, maybe I won't notice the discomfort so much if I'm real turned on."

Hutch pulled his own shirt off, anxious for his jeans to follow. He realized now where his earlier fear had come from. Some part of him was afraid he wouldn't be able to do this to Starsky, so intent was he on having the other dominate him. But he knew now, with a sense of relief, that changing places wasn't going to be a problem. The body was willing, there was no reason for his heart not to be.

He took a deep breath, held the other lightly by the waist. "I don't know," he said gently, "I don't think you're going to stay turned on once I put it in." Then he shrugged, not certain that he knew what was best for Starsky more than Starsky did himself. Besides, maybe he should be relieved that the other wasn't so intent on making sure he got his orgasm.

They were both naked from the waist up, and Hutch slid his hands up to Starsky's chest, repeating, "However you want it, partner."

"Let's just do it, without sucking me first. But...."

Hutch raised his brows to prompt completion of the sentence.

Starsky reached up and ran a finger back and forth along the blond's mustache. Tenderly, he said, "Can we do it facing each other? Guys sometimes do it that way, right?"

Hutch lowered his eyes as a deep well of feeling stirred within all the soft parts of his body. He supposed there would be something special about it, with the lamps turned low, being able to watch each other as they were joined together. He'd never had an urge for Starsky to do him that way because he liked the pumping speed his partner could obtain while he was face-down.

"Starsk," he said gently, drawing circles on the other's chest, "it's just not necessarily the best... I mean...," he glanced away, feeling himself blush. He had no problem talking about it when it was himself on the receiving end. But this was different.

"What do you want to say?" the other asked quietly.

Relieved that he wasn't being teased, Hutch looked back, then shrugged. "I just thought it might be... sort of overwhelming. The gravity...," he felt himself blush yet again, but forced his eyes to remain on his partner's, "might pull me in deeper than you're ready for."

A sly smile crept up the other's face. "I know there's no way you're going to let it get deeper than I'm ready for. You're too much of a softie."

The blond's eyes lowered yet again. He felt Starsky's trust as strongly as he had that first night -- already nearly two months ago? -- when Starsky had first wrapped his arms around his neck. He supposed the other was right and, looking down now at his partner, he saw that Starsky seemed to be completely relaxed about the idea all the way around, despite the bulge in the center of his jeans.

Hutch reached for the snap. "Got to get these off."

Taking the earlier command literally, Starsky didn't help, other than raising his hips at the appropriate moment. Hutch grasped both sides of denim and cotton in large handfuls and tugged the clothing down, feeling a sense of waste as he watched the thick erection spring free. It was very tempting to orally devour, and he couldn't help but think it was going to shrink at least somewhat in the minutes to come.

Both had already rid themselves of shoes, so the pants were easy to slide off the strong legs. Hutch made short work of the socks, then stood quickly and removed the rest of his own clothing.

He'd always hated all the emphasis on cock size, and felt particularly conscious about it now as his phallus jutted from his body -- wanting to love, but also able to hurt. He couldn't help but recall that he'd hurt Kathy somewhat, though her complaint had been minimal.

His brow furrowed. That night with the last time he'd had intercourse with anybody while in the dominant position. The veins of his erection swelled even more at the reminder.

He took the Vaseline from the night stand while kneeling on the bed. As a quiet descended over the room, he noticed that his partner's flesh had softened somewhat, and that Starsky's eyes were also studying the cylinder that would soon claim him. Hutch was tempted to point out that Starsky was free to change his mind at any moment in the proceedings, but that would almost be an insult, for Starsky knew, of course, that he had that option.

Hutch knelt between the legs that spread for him, trying to think the mechanics through. He'd never taken a woman anally this way, and hoped the unaccustomed positioning of limbs wouldn't make it too awkward. Finally, he reached for help. "You ever do it with a woman? Face to face?"

Casually, the other replied, "Sure, that's how I usually like to fuck."

God, what a time for humor. "Moron. I mean taking the back way."

Starsky shrugged. "A time or two."

"Then how about helping me out?" He felt only slightly embarrassed asking. With anyone else, he wouldn't have dared reveal his ignorance.

Starsky drew his knees back slightly. "You've got to put my ass up on your legs -- your thighs. And I put my legs over your shoulders."

Hutch quickly took the lid off the Vaseline jar, trying to distract himself from the image his partner's words conjured. The idea that Starsky would be willing to put himself in such a completely vulnerable position was startling. "Let's get you ready first."

But as soon as a greased finger stroked at his partner's opening, Hutch found all erotic images fleeing from his consciousness, replaced by concern and a strong sense of purpose. He had teased his partner with a finger before while sucking him, but that had been merely to provide extra stimulation. Now, he was going to make sure he didn't make the same mistake as he had with Kathy.

Once his index finger was fully ensheathed, which had occurred with Starsky giving no sign of protest, Hutch rotated it around and around with gradually increasing speed, making larger and larger circles. He watched as his partner's eyes closed and lips parted. Starsky's penis twitched as he whispered, "Man, that's somethin'."

Hutch smiled knowingly. "There's a lot of nerves in that little muscle."

The finger was gripped, and Hutch felt an answering surge within his own groin. He quickly withdrew to scoop up a large helping of additional lubricant, then, using a similar circular motion, gradually worked in two fingers at once. "Okay?"

Starsky met his eye with a hooded expression. "Yeah, feels good."

Hutch leaned forward, bracing his free hand against a pelvic bone, then halted the circular motion and probed deeper. "Tell me when it's starts feeling really good." He pressed the digits against the inside of the tract... feeling, stroking. The fingers were fully ensheathed, and his partner was accepting the stretching with no complaint.

Starsky's eyes were on the ceiling. Gasping slightly, he said, "Yeah, behind my nuts... sort of."

Hutch shifted, moving his fingers against the front of Starsky's body and felt them gripped with a powerful contraction. Starsky's penis was reaching full erection, and Hutch watched with satisfaction as his partner groaned, eyes closing gratefully. With all the Vaseline as a barrier, he couldn't quite feel what he was stroking, but knew what it had to be.

Starsky's mouth dropped open, and he panted, "Ah, that feels so damn good. So good."

The blond was tempted to forego the fucking and just do this, for it gave him such gratification to be pleasing his partner so much. But he also knew that Starsky wouldn't be able to come that way alone, and he bent to wetly kiss the top of the flaring head.

The smaller man hissed, then opened his eyes. "I'm ready now, Hutch."

Hutch stroked a moment longer. "That's where I need to rub against, when I'm in you. That's what makes it special, for men."

Starsky shook his head, his voice and tiny smile full of tenderness. "No. You being the one doin' it to me is what makes it special."

Even as his heart warmed at the statement, Hutch felt an emptiness, and realized that all the physical manipulations had not been supplemented by a kiss. Usually, they were very close to each other during their love-making, both floating on a cloud of air, only forfeited when Hutch chose to roll over and demand the masculine strength that pounded into him. Tonight, once Starsky had announced his decision, it seemed all their focus had been on the act itself. He missed the affection.

Hutch carefully removed his fingers, wiped them against the spread, then leaned down to his partner, his chest against the other's ribs. He brought his hands up to rub Starsky's breast bone, planting soft kisses wherever his mouth could reach. He felt the protest of their trapped erections, but couldn't be sorry for the stolen interlude.

Starsky must have felt the same, for his arms suddenly came around Hutch and squeezed mightily. Then they furrowed into his hair, massaging in such a pleasing way that the blond simply relaxed against the other's body.

"You're a hedonist, too," Starsky noted affectionately.

Hutch looked up at him without moving his head and countered, "Why not?"

Starsky didn't reply, other than chuckling softly, and rubbed a finger along Hutch's upper lip, stroking at the hairs there. "I hope you aren't having second thoughts."

Hutch answered by grinding his hardness against a lower thigh.

The humor left his partner's voice. "I'm all ready for you, babe." Hands gently pushed at the blond's head.

Hutch hoisted to his knees in one swift move. His partner's desire was fueling his own, and he wondered if he might finish the moment they were joined. He tried to distract himself by thinking only of the other.

"Starsk," he whispered, gingerly applying Vaseline to himself, "the most difficult part is when it first penetrates -- it might seem too big." His voice softened as he set the jar aside. "Show me what you're feeling, and I'll just press a little at a time when I know you're ready." He reached out, gently laid a hand on the furred stomach. "I've found it's easiest if you accept the pain, let it become a part of you. Bracing against it only makes it worse."

The other nodded once, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I know. I've always been able to feel when you deliberately relax like that."

Hutch took the other man's hips, and with a heave lifted them onto his thighs. He was tempted to ask again if Starsky was sure he wanted it like this, for it seemed like such a thoroughly dominating position. But before he could speak, Starsky had placed his legs over his shoulders.

Hutch took a deep breath, felt for the opening with one hand, guided his phallus with the other. When it was positioned, he pressed forward. It barely bumped against the orifice, and he pressed more firmly, feeling the slick walls yield.

Starsky let out a yelp of surprise. Hutch waited, watched the dark lashes squeeze shut and the chest rise and fall with rapid breaths from the inner struggle to not fight back.

Gently, the blond assured, "No more until you're ready." He was in such a short way that had they not been in this position, with gravity in their favor, he was sure he would have slipped out.

Firm hands gripped Hutch's wrists, and the taller man soothed, "Relax, partner. You're doing fine."

The grip eased, fingers massaging. Starsky managed a slight smile. "S'okay," he whispered. "Just surprised me a second... felt like I was being torn in two."

"I know," Hutch whispered.

"It's okay now." Starsky closed his eyes, visibly relaxing.

Hutch knew it was okay before the other actually spoke. He felt the relaxation and allowed himself to sink another half inch. He watched a grimace cross his partner's face, then a moment later there was another nod. Carefully, he slid in a little more, the slick, warm walls massaging the head of his penis, all the sensitive areas threatening to explode.

Hutch looked away.

"Keep coming, buddy," came his partner's loving voice. "I want all of you." As though to emphasize his words, Starsky flexed his lower muscles.

"God," Hutch gasped. "Don't. Please don't." A quiver went through his body as he strained against the sensations.

Starsky wasn't going to apologize. "All of it, Hutch," he beckoned softly, now pulling gently at the blond's hips.

Hutch closed his eyes as he felt himself sink further into the chasm. And then he understood the appeal of this position. Starsky had never been in him this deep.

A small grunt from his partner, and then Hutch felt his flanks brush against strong, round buttocks.

"Love you," Starsky said.

The blond squinted his eyes open, slowly leaned forward to rub at his partner's chest. "Love you so much," he whispered back. Though Hutch was penetrating Starsky, it was he who felt he was filled to the point of spilling over. This felt good... and not just because of the sensations surrounding his cock.

Carefully, Starsky reached for his hands, entwined their fingers. "Stay just like this a bit," he said gruffly.

Hutch held still, his weight resting against Starsky, his eyes closed, absorbing the warmth of the moment, the quiet of the room. He was searching for a sense of calm, but found his maleness wanted something else.

"Want to make you feel good," he finally gasped out.

He felt a hand reach up to his face, brush along his cheek. "I feel great, just like this."

It was more than he could take. With alarm, Hutch realized he was suddenly past the point of no return, and choked out, "Sorry," as he pulled back, lunged, then pulled back again. At the second lunge, he whimpered in defeat, feeling the coalesced sensation as the fluid burst from him.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, over and over, as he disintegrated against the other's body.

Hands were in his hair again, fingers entwining, massaging here and there. With a hint of humor, Starsky said, "I think you needed that."

Eyes still closed and breathing heavily, the blond managed a sheepish smile. "Wanted to make it good for you," he said as he carefully drew back, having already reached for a towel.

Starsky's legs fell away. "Hey."

Hutch looked up as he used the towel and met his partner's eye.

Gently, the other said, "You are good for me."

Tossing the cloth aside, the blond lowered himself alongside his partner. "Come 'ere," he said tenderly, gathering the other close.

Starsky grinned as he was embraced.

Hutch stroked along the other's forehead, then back into his hair. "Makes you kind of understand more about women, doesn't it?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Hutch shrugged. "You know, there's the cliche about how they like to be held afterwards. Since we've been doing it, I understand why there's the need."

Starsky burrowed more closely against the smooth chest. "It is kinda nice."

"But I don't think it's just that," Hutch went on, breath recovered. "I think, when you've given yourself to someone, like that, then maybe you need reassurance afterwards that you're loved as a person -- that you weren't just a nameless, faceless body providing pleasure."

"Umm," Starsky replied noncommittally. "I admit that I'm not the most philosophical person right after sex."

Hutch chuckled, ran a finger down Starsky's nose, then buried his face in the curls. After a moment, he asked, "Okay for you?"

"Yeah. A-Okay. It's yours whenever you want it."

Hutch reached around to stroke along Starsky's spine. He didn't question the other's sincerity, but he was also certain that the submissive position did not enthrall his partner as much as it did himself. Guess we won't have to worry about arguing much over who gets the top spot every time we do it. Certainly, it had been special being inside Starsky, sharing that way. But not as special as feeling the other's strength and masculinity as Starsky pounded into him.

Lazily, his hand drifted down, circled around to the front of the compact body. When it brushed against the lax penis, the organ stirred, seeking his hand.

Hutch straightened. "Let's get under the covers."

Starsky raised up. "Why?"

"Because I'm gonna finish you off, pal. And you don't get to watch. Just feel."

Starsky chuckled and began pulling on the bed clothes. Hutch got up to turn off the lights. When he returned to bed, he immersed himself beneath the covers, and found a full erection waiting.

* * *

They returned to L.A. early the following afternoon. Within the hour, Dobey called to say that another body had been found in Sandstone Park.