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The Starskini

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After finally arresting their suspect after three week long stake out, Starsky and Hutch were back in the office, doing the required paper work.
Hutch was sorting documents and photos into files and Starsky was typing their final report.
“What was that bar’s name again, where we caught this guy?”

“The Rabbit Hole,” said Hutch, not looking up from his documents.

“Oh yeah, kinda cute.”

Starsky was typing with two fingers, using the correcting fluid frequently, his mouth silently forming the words he was typing. Hutch threw him a quick glance and grinned at the sight. He was trying hard not to say anything because he didn’t want to prolong the time Starsky took typing that damn report.

When it looked like Starsky was coming to the end of the page, he was hoping this was the last one.
“Are you done? I really need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, you wanna give it a quick check? I don’t want Dobey on my back for the next few days, for handing in an insufficiently dull report.”

“I’m sure it’s as dull as a yeti’s razor. The last three weeks were really nothing to write home about.” Hutch rolled his eyes and reached over the desk to grab the paper Starsky was handing him.
He scanned the pages, nodding from time to time, tilting his head from side to side and raising his eyebrows a few times and handed them back to Starsky.
“It’s a truly prosaic masterpiece. Let’s get outta here. I need a beer or two at the pits.”

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s neatly stacked files, placed his report on top and knocked at Dobey’s door.
When he heard a yelled “Yeah?”, he pulled the door open with such a swoosh that Hutch could feel the air ruffle through his hair.

“All done, Cap. Here’s our final report.”

“I hope you didn’t write another comic book,” said Dobey, looking up at Starsky from his desk.

“It’s a prostatic masterpiece, according to Hutch,” Starsky said with conviction.

Dobey crunched up his forehead and sighed, expecting the worst as he reached out for the pile of files.

“Will that be all, Cap?” Starsky had his hands on his back and swayed from side to side, looking as if he was about to dash out, breaking the 100-metre Olympic sprint.

“Yeah. That will be all. Where will I be able to find you if I need to clarify anything?”

“We’ll probably be at The Pits, Captain.”

“Where else. Why did I even ask. Get outta here!” Dobey moved his hand as if he was swatting a fly, smiling and winking at Starsky.

Starsky didn’t need to be told twice.

“Thanks. Bye, Cap,” he called while closing the door behind him.

He dashed towards the squad room door and looked back at Hutch.

“Whadda ya waitin’ for?”

Hutch grabbed his leather jacket and was at the door so fast that he nearly ran into Starsky. They squeezed through the door together, watched by their two colleagues nearest the door who exchanged glances and shook their heads at each other.

“Huggy’s?” asked Starsky as they were strutting down the hall.

“Why not. For a warm up. And then my place for dinner, I got some steaks and potatoes for dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Starsky skipped down the steps outside the main door and ran around his Torino parked right outside the station. He got into the car and opened the door for Hutch.

Starsky drove in silence for a few blocks.

“I need a few beers now. Last few weeks were the most boring in like forever.”

“Beats being shot or poisoned,” deadpanned Hutch.

“I really hate it when you’re right, ya know?”

When they got to Huggy’s, they were greeted by Diane. The place was still as good as empty at this time of the afternoon and they headed towards the bar.

“Couple o’beers, please,” said Hutch as he climbed onto a bar stool.

“Yeah, me too,” said Starsky and grinned at Diane.

As they were drinking their beers, Starsky started retrieving trivia from deep inside his curly head.
“Did you know the annual beer consumption of the average Austrian is twice as much as the average American?”

“You mean there are two guys somewhere in Austria now, with eight glasses of beer in front of them?” Hutch said laughing, obviously pulling Starsky’s leg.

“Must be fast drinkers, otherwise it’ll all go flat,” mused Starsky.

Hutch downed one glass, grabbing the next.

Starsky also sipped at his second glass.
“Did you know the bikini was invented in 1946 due to fabrics rationing after the Second World War?”

“That’s not quite true, Starsky. There are Roman depictions of women in bikinis,” said Hutch.

“Oh yeah? What do you know about Roman history?”

“Enough to know that there are a number of references especially from Pompeii.”

“Oh yeah?”

Starsky was running out of things to say. This wasn’t going well, he’s had not memorised any more trivia on the bikini, just a few pictures of famous actresses in bikinis, including Bond girl Ursula Andress emerging from the water in her white bikini.

“Let’s go, I am hungry and you promised steak and potatoes,” said Starsky, downing his second beer.

“Okay, but I’m driving, you’re drunk,” insisted Hutch and grabbed Starsky’s arm to support him as he was getting off the chair.

“Bullshit, you had as much as me,” said Starsky and only just noticed that Hutch had hardly touched his second beer.

He let Hutch maneuver him out to the car and handed him the keys. They drove to Venice Place with Starsky declaring at every major intersection that he was hungry. Hutch rolled his eyes each time but himself felt hungrier with each of his partner’s declarations.

When they got to the apartment, Hutch placed some potatoes in the oven and grabbed more beers from the fridge, handing one to Starsky who had switched on the TV and slumped down on the sofa.

The TV was showing some programme on migratory birds.

“Did you know that Canadian geese can have a wingspan of more than five feet?”

“Starsky, they are called Canada geese, and yes, they are huge.”

Starsky’s trivia was beginning to get on his nerves. “Let’s watch something different, maybe there’s some of that Star Wars series on.”

“Star Trek.” Starsky smiled and was glad he could finally correct Hutch for something.

Star Trek was indeed on and they watched that for a while, with a few more beers from Hutch’s fridge and a few more moans from Starsky that he was hungry. When the potatoes were finally done, Hutch fried the steaks and served dinner in front of the TV with more beer.

When they were done and Starsky had picked the last left overs off Hutch’s plate, Hutch noticed that he was actually quite drunk. That and his full stomach made him quite sleepy, and he realised that Starsky was hit by the same fate.

“Come on, let’s go to bed, before we fall asleep on the couch,” he said, pulling himself up.

“Can’t,” moaned Starsky. “Too full.”

Hutch pulled Starsky up and dragged him to the bedroom. Without another word, Starsky sat down on the bed and dropped his body backwards, his feet still on the floor.
Hutch could hear him snore lightly as soon at his body lay flat on the bed.

Feeling equally drunk and tired, Hutch decided nevertheless to go to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
As he was standing at the sink, brushing, his eyes fell on the razor. An idea formed in his head.
He chuckled as he rinsed out his mouth.

He dried his face, grabbed the razor, switched off the lights and went back into the bedroom.

Starsky was still on his back on the edge of the bed, by now snoring loudly.

Hutch unbuttoned Starsky’s shirt and stroked his hairy chest. Starsky stirred briefly but continued snoring. Hutch chuckled again and got to work.

He shaved Starsky’s chest and stomach, leaving just two large triangles over his nipples and two lines leading from the tips of the triangles up to the shoulders. Starsky stirred from time to time but Hutch did not stop his work and just stroked over Starsky’s chest.
When he was done, he stepped back and regarded his artwork, hardly able to contain himself. His shoulders trembled as he tried not to laugh out loud.

He took Starsky’s pants off, rolled him over into the bed and under the blankets, brushed some of the hair off with his hand and slipped under the blankets next to Starsky. He giggled again and fell asleep.


The sun was sending its first tentative rays through the bedroom window and Starsky stirred. He scratched his itchy chest. Something was off. He needed a leak and his head was pounding. He’d had a lot of beer on an empty stomach the night before and he feared that he would be punished with a hangover. Barely awake, he got up and trudged to the bathroom to relieve himself, looking forward to get back under the covers as soon as he was done.

When he stood by the porcelain throne he caught sight of himself in the mirror and was instantly awake. His chest hair was shaved in the shape of a bikini top.

“What the fuck!? Huuuuuuutch!”

He had barely finished his business and ran back into the bedroom, beating his fists on the human shape under the blankets.

“Hutch, you fucking bastard!”

“Whaaa, Starsk! Ouch!” The human shape snaked away to the other side of the bed.

“What have you done to me?”

“What?” Hutch sat up, blinking and holding his arms up to shield himself from Starsky's fists that followed him across the bed.

“That is the meanest thing you’ve ever done.”

Hutch finally managed to get a look at Starsky and blurted out a laugh when he saw his chest hair bikini top.

“Stop laughing, you bastard,” Starsky screamed. “Wait until I am done with you.”

More fists were raining on Hutch’s body until that body fell off the edge of the bed on the other side with a thump.

“Starsky, I am sorry. I was drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Geez, Hutch. That is the damnedest thing ever.” Starsky knelt on the edge of the bed looking down at Hutch on the floor. He was ready to kill the blonde.

Hutch was now fully awake. He was crawling away like a crab on all fours with his belly up and backside down to keep the angry Starsky in his sight.

Wow. He never expected that reaction. He was trying hard not to laugh out again. Starsky looked utterly ridiculous.

“I am sorry.” That was all he could say without breaking into a laugh again and was trying to stand up. Damn. His head was swirling. Either Starsky had hit him heavily on the head or he had a hangover.

“Fuck. And it’s itching,” Starsky scratched his chest and stomach with both hands and pulled the blankets up to cover his defaced chest.

Now it dawned on Hutch that he had really royally fucked up. He crawled back on the bed towards Starsky and was trying to touch his shoulder to apologise. Starsky brushed his hand away and bit on his lips.


“You are repeating yourself.” Starsky let himself fall back on the mattress with force so that the whole bed shook.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘I’m a fucking bastard’?”

“I’m a fucking bastard.”

“You are indeed.”

The alarm on the side of the bed rang.

“Damn,” both men said in unison and Starsky jumped up to go into the bathroom again.

When he got out of the shower, he wore his towel wrapped around his chest, like women do.

“I’ve never felt so exposed,” he grumbled and slipped into his shirt. When he buttoned up the middle button, he realised that the disaster area that was his chest would be fully visible and buttoned his shirt up all the way to the top.

“If I get choked by this shirt collar, it will be your fault.”

“You can wear one of my tee shirts under your shirt,” suggested Hutch.

“And sweat to death?”

Hutch realised that whatever he was going to suggest was not going to appease a pissed off Starsky.
He got ready for work without saying anything else and they left for Metro in silence.

The icy silence between them continued in the office. Fellow officers were glancing at each other, not saying anything, only Minnie dared speaking to them when she casually walked over to get a cup of coffee.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Starsky growled at her and Minnie quickly walked off with her coffee.

Dobey also noticed the change when he called them into his office to speak about the case they had just wrapped up. He could not help staring at Starsky’s buttoned up shirt. ‘The man had never used the top 3 buttons of his shirts before,’ he thought to himself. There was no banter between his two detectives, no glances exchanged.

“You're all buttoned up today, everything alright?” he asked when the two men were about to leave his room. “Sorry, just a figure of speech. None of my business,” he said when he didn’t get an answer.

Back in the squad room, Starsky kept scratching his chest though his shirt and tried to stretch his shirt collar with his fingers to no avail. He unbuttoned the top button for a second and buttoned it up again immediately. It was also getting too hot with this shirt and rarely had felt so uncomfortable.
He had to get back at Hutch somehow.

Even though he didn’t want to talk to his partner, he had no other choice.

“I may have to take you up on your tee shirt offer,” he said in a low voice. “Got one in your locker?”

“I think I have. But haven’t you got one?”

“Let’s have a look.” Suddenly, he had an idea.

They got up to go to the locker room. Starsky pretended to rummage through his stuff in his locker and grabbed a razor, quickly hiding it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“No tee shirt,” he declared loud and clear.

“Here, have his one,” Hutch came over, holding one of his green shirts out to Starsky.

At that moment, Starsky grabbed his arm, twisted it and wrestled the startled Hutch to the floor. He cuffed him and sat on his back to pin him to the ground.
Hutch had not expected this and did not put up much of a struggle. He was totally taken by surprise.

Starsky took the razor from his back pocket, turned Hutch’s head to the left. Hutch did not move when he saw the razor. Then Starsky started to shave the left side of his upper lip.

When he was done, he threw the razor in the trash, uncuffed Hutch and got up without a word to leave the locker room.

He knew Hutch didn’t have razor in his locker, because the blonde’s hair growth did not require frequent shaving.

He smiled to himself and felt much better, even though his chest and belly started itching. Back in the squad room he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at his desk, chair turned towards the squad room door to await the scene entrance of his partner.

Hutch came in soon after with his right hand over his mouth as if he was contemplating something.

Sitting down at his desk, Hutch firmly kept his hand below his nose, propping himself up on his right elbow.

“Want some coffee?” Starsky asked innocently and poured him a cup, knowing that Hutch could never refuse a brew.

“Sure,” said Hutch, just as Starsky had expected.

He reached out for the coffee and removed his hand to take a sip. Right at that moment, Dobey opened the door to step into the squad room, saw Hutch and started to laugh, which drew the looks of everyone else on Hutch. His half moustache was clearly visible to everyone now and he blushed.

Starsky looked at Hutch with a squint and a smile that said ‘now we’re even’.