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Things Best Unsaid

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They had off duty nights down to a fine art now. Home. Bed - to work off the tension and adrenaline in urgent, demanding sex. There was a time for slow and gentle- the hours after a brutal twelve hours on the streets wasn’t it. A twenty minute nap, then Hutch showered while Starsky stripped and remade the bed with clean linens and the pile of pillows he had insisted on when they furnished the bedroom. “Those pillows cost more than our mortgage- why do we need eight of them?” “Trust me, babe, we need them all.” Then Starsky’s turn in the shower while Hutch fixed a tray-tonight lox and blinis, strawberries and champagne. He brought it back to bed, and sank into the pile of of pillows with a a sigh of relief. They were somehow soft and supportive at the same time, and he closed his eyes as his back purred.

The bed dipped beside him, and warm lips touched his.

“Don’t need eight pillows, huh?”

“You were right. I was wrong.”

“Can I have that in writing? And a blini.”

Hutch popped a blini into his lover’s mouth, and took a strawberry. Starsky snuggled up against him like a languid, contented cat, then trailed his hand down his lover’s smooth golden body, letting his finger circle the navel before gently cupping his genitals, stroking experimentally.

“It you’re hoping for any action down there, buddy, you’re out of luck til tomorrow.”

Starsky tried another gentle squeeze, then grinned smugly.
“Too much for you, am I?”

“I’m not denying it! That feels nice, though.”

“I love him when he’s soft-he feels so smooth and silky. Love him when he’s hard too.”

“I would never have guessed!” Hutch sipped his champagne, then held out the glass to his lover, who, accidentally on purpose, fumbled so that the icy liquid spilt. Hutch gasped at the cold, then gasped again as Starsky’s tongue lapped at his chest. He arched his back in pleasure.

“You really were a cat in a past life!”

Starsky rubbed his face against the golden skin.

“How come you’re so smooth here, when you’ve got so much hair here?”

Fingers tangled in the abundance around Hutch’s cock.

“And how come…” Starsky studied the entangling curls “this is so brown when this” his other hand went up to Hutch’s head “is so gloriously gold?”

“One of the great unsolved mysteries of our time.”

“The little hairs here” he stroked down Hutch’s leg “are gold, but under here” his nose was suddenly buried in an armpit still damp from the shower and smelling of herbal soap “it’s brown again.”

“Will you quit climbing all over me? That tickles!”

“You giggle like a girl!”

“I do not!”

Starsky scrambled over to nose the other armpit to prove his point, laughing at the ridiculous squeaks emerging from his partner.

“Starsky! Quit!”

With a final nuzzle, Starsky tucked himself back into Hutch’s side, and sighed contentedly, taking a big sip from his glass and reaching out for another blini.

“I love you so much it hurts.”

“I love you more-but will you leave my hair alone!”

“I especially love your hair. I love the way that if there’s any light in the room it kinda glows. I’ve never seen a man as blond as you. And I….what’s wrong?”

For Hutch had suddenly rolled over to face him, eyes troubled.

“Starsk-what if…..My dad lost his hair when he was 50.”

“Then I’d have to think up a new name for you. Cue-ball, maybe. I think your head would feel nice all smooth.”

“You wouldn’t love me less?”

“Course not, you moron. How shallow do you think I am?”

“What if I was to tell you….”

Starsky kissed his lover tenderly and put his finger to the full lips.

“Shh. Don’t. No need. Like you told Sugar, it’s not bleached, it’s natural. Let’s just leave it at that.”