If ever there was a perfect night for a party, Starsky thought, this would be it. Too bad we weren't invited. Although crashing it does have its benefits. We don't have to worry about insulting the host.
It was a crisp, starry night, and, although it was not yet midnight, one party that had started out with a bang had already ended in a whimper. The mansion, sitting across the large well-tended grounds from where Starsky waited, had less than an hour ago been filled with bright lights and band music. He had been there, outside, watching as some very rich and very untouchable members of society had made their grand entrances.
He had also been there, watching, as many of those same members of the elite class had been taken out in handcuffs, just before the party got into full swing.
I guess if Dobey and the chief want to lend a bunch of guys to the FBI for a day, you couldn't ask for a safer undercover assignment than this. I hope they get their fair share of brownie points for cooperation.
It might have been exciting, even thrilling, if Starsky hadn't been assigned to watch over the motor pool. His role had been limited to picking up and chauffeuring, several out-of-town bigwigs from the airport to expensive hotels in one of several limousines rented by the host for the occasion. Later, he'd picked them up again for the gala affair. He'd then been left "on call," spending the evening with the other drivers, waiting for the signal that the FBI was ready to move in for the kill.
The excitement had been short lived. More than half of the drivers had been undercover cops and known to each other. The other drivers never made a move and were quite willing to see their employers carted away, as long as it meant they were left alone.
In the main house, not a shot had been fired, which suited Starsky fine. Now, all that was left was the clean up, which meant the FBI agents were going to be spending a long night with a lot of angry rich guys who were already screaming for their lawyers.
Hutch must've had a much better view than I did, Starsky thought, with a little envy, as he watched the resulting noise and organized confusion that was bound to result from an operation this size. At least I got to drive that sweet car all day and play cards the majority of the evening. He must've had a ball running all evening, playing waiter, and marking time until the men with white hats rode in.
And speaking of men with white hats...
At home, as they had dressed in their undercover outfits, Starsky had been hard pressed to keep his eyes off Hutch. He had been assigned as a waiter and would join other undercover cops on the catering staff. He'd been given the standard outfit to wear, which consisted of black pants, a white shirt and jacket, with a black bow tie. On most people, the intent may have been to blend them into the background. But with Hutch, it seemed to bring out all his best features.
Starsky still held the image in his mind's eye. The outfit fit Hutch to perfection, emphasizing his tall, lean build. The white jacket and shirt showed off the creamy tan of Hutch's complexion and reflected the golden highlights of his fair hair.
If I'd been assigned to the waiting staff, at least I'd've gotten a chance to look at him all evening. Driving the car was a kick, but that would've been a lot more fun.
A thought came to him. It was only a flash--a glimpse of what his long-legged golden lover would look like all rumpled in the back of the expensive machine Starsky still had the keys to. He smiled to himself as a plan formed.
Maybe I can drum up some excitement tonight, for both of us.
Hutch sighed to himself, as he made his way out of the huge mansion. He had to flash his badge a dozen times to get out of the place and now had to weave through the groups that had taken over the lawn, all in the various stages of the federal arrest procedure. It had been a long, hectic evening for the catering and serving staff, and Hutch was glad he didn't have to do that for a living. The anticipation of the bust had been what kept him alert and ready all evening, but when it all came off without a hitch, the built-up adrenaline had turned quickly to fatigue and boredom.
At least everything was well planned for once. Seems kind of selfish to wish it'd been a little more exciting. I guess Starsky and I are so used to being the moving force in a case, that sitting in the back seat just isn't as fulfilling as it'd been when we were in uniform. Now all I want to do is go home and get some rest.
Hutch kept his eyes open for any sign of his partner. Somewhere, in the mass confusion of last-minute parking by official vehicles and black-and-whites, was Starsky.
Spotting a long, dark form at the back of the lot, Hutch walked toward it. He smiled, recognizing the man in the chauffeur uniform who leaned carelessly against the back passenger's door.
My, my, my! Something about a man in uniform...and Starsky always did fill one out well.
In the light from a small lamp post, Starsky looked good enough to eat. Although the cap hid the curls Hutch loved, the pressed jacket accented his broad shoulders and gave him an air of authority that had nothing to do with his job. As they had dressed for the day, he had found it hard to keep his eyes to himself.
If I couldn't spend the evening watching him in that outfit, maybe I can talk him into letting me take him out of it--a thread at a time.
As he approached, Starsky pushed away from the limo, the twinkle in his eyes matching his crooked smile.
"Anything exciting?" Starsky asked casually.
"Nope," Hutch answered, working loose his bow tie. "Lots of outrage, righteous indignation, and yelling for lawyers. Mr. Cento almost had a stroke when he realized the Feds were crashing his party. Guess he won't get that cross-country drug transportation set-up finalized, not with all those other drug lords arrested and wailing for their overpaid legal help. Crying shame, isn't it?"
"Sounds like a job well done." Walking up close, hands behind his back, Starsky looked at him with wicked eyes, making sudden chills run up his spine. Starsky's voice went deep and husky. "I think this would be a good time to...celebrate. Don't you?"
The chills turned instantly to heat, as Hutch realized that Starsky had something interesting up his sleeve. There was no mistaking that look. Hutch swallowed thickly. "Uh...what do you have in mind?"
"How 'bout we go for a ride?"
Starsky's voice flowed over Hutch like a slow slip into a hot tub, making him feel warm and flushed. The images that voice drew in his mind couldn't help be hot and erotic. Hutch looked around quickly, suddenly aware of how out in the open they were. "Starsk, someone is gonna miss a whole limo."
"Agent Monroe and the rest of his team will be busy with paperwork all night. When I graciously offered to make sure the limo was returned to the rental company bright and early tomorrow morning, he never even blinked an eye when he said, 'Don't get it scratched'."
Hutch smiled. "So, you don't have to have it back--?"
"Until tomorrow morning." Starsky wiggled his eyebrows, turned, and opened the passenger's door. "Come with me, and I'll take you all the way home."
Walking up to the car, Hutch leaned over to look into the interior. The dark tinted windows prevented anyone on the outside to see the luxury inside. The dark upholstery was expensive leather and the carpeting thick and inviting. There was a small bar, a small bucket of ice with an unopened champagne bottle, what looked to be the controls on an expensive stereo system, as well as a phone. There were cabinets Hutch knew could hide anything a pampered customer would ever want.
It was certainly tempting, but there was something important missing.
"Just consider it time to...get prepared for arrival."
Feeling a bit silly, Hutch got into the back of the limousine. Starsky shut the door and left him in the lap of luxury.
Starsky hummed happily, as he hurried to the front of the car. It was going to be a bit of a drive to his house and the safety of his own driveway, and thinking of Hutch spread out in the back wasn't going to make the drive any shorter. Throwing his cap onto the passenger's seat, he looked through the glass divider that separated the driver and the passenger's compartment. Starting the car, he took a moment to adjust the rearview mirror, so he could see Hutch in the back.
Man, he's so beautiful! He looks like he belongs back there. Wish I could give him that every day for the rest of our lives.
Hutch had thrown his white jacket on a seat at the side of the limo and was sprawled in the seat at the back. His blond hair was mussed, the long strands framing his face and curling slightly where it was long enough to touch his collar. He took off his bow tie and tossed it on his jacket. He then unbuttoned his white shirt halfway down, exposing the warm, creamy brown of his chest. The snug-fitting black slacks made his legs seem to go on forever. Against the dark brown of the upholstery, Hutch was all gold and light.
The sight made Starsky's blood warm and his skin feel hungry to touch the smooth, exposed skin. With amusement in his eyes, Hutch was looking at him in the rearview mirror, letting Starsky know that the small striptease was for his benefit.
With great effort, Starsky dragged his attention back to the job at hand.
Wouldn't do to get too distracted and wreck the car. Monroe will be taking it out of my salary--with Dobey's blessings--for the rest of my life. Not to mention it'll put one hell of a crimp in the rest of the evening.
He managed to pull out of the long driveway and get halfway down the mountain road before the limo's intercom buzzed. Glancing into the mirror, Starsky smiled at the way Hutch was looking at him from the other end of the line. Even with the distance between them, Starsky recognized the playfulness in Hutch's eyes.
"Yes, sir?" Starsky said huskily into the handset. "You have a request?"
Hutch chuckled throatily into the receiver. "Yes. Your body, naked, back here with me."
Starsky had to swallow hard in order to pull his eyes away. Hutch was lounging back in the seat, long fingers caressing his skin through the open button at the top of his shirt, his eyes wicked. He knew what that did to Starsky. Before Starsky could say anything, Hutch smiled wickedly and dropped the handset back into its holder.
Taking a deep breath, his body screaming at him to hurry, Starsky resisted the impulse to stand on the accelerator.
"You better have one hell of a tip waiting for me, buster," Starsky muttered to himself. "A man shouldn't have to drive in my condition."
Hutch took the rest of the time to look through the amenities. The mini-bar was full, but he was more interested in the small champagne bottle that had been left chilling in the bucket. He gathered two flute glasses from the set and placed them within arm's reach.
There was the stereo to play with as well. Hutch found a station he liked and sighed, as the high quality speakers filled the back of the limo with soft, slow strains of quality jazz music.
The ride across town seemed to take forever, and when they finally arrived at Starsky's house, it was well after midnight. The neighborhood streets were deserted, and the few neighbors who could see into Starsky's property were probably not awake to notice the long, elegant car pull into the driveway. Even if they did see the car arrive, the one-way tinted windows would keep them from seeing anything inside.
As soon as the engine went off, Hutch popped the cork on the champagne bottle and filled the glasses half full of the bubbly liquid. He watched as Starsky walked to the back door.
When the door opened and Starsky slid in, Hutch had his glass ready for him.
Starsky took it with a smile, sliding over the expensive leather until their arms and thighs touched. Starsky shifted on the seat, eyes looking deeply into Hutch's as he raised his glass.
"To us and the future."
"To us," Hutch repeated softly, enjoying the sharp clink of the glasses as they touched at the end of the toast.
He sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving Starsky's. He never tired of studying the strong, clean lines on Starsky's face, the way his eyes seemed to change color with his moods, the way his smile grew a little crooked, giving him a mischievous air. The air seemed charged and heavy around them, as if time were standing still just for them.
In the soft glow Hutch had set for the interior light, Starsky's hair was dark and thick, with just the faint outline of the cap that had come with the suit. Leaning back, knowing Starsky was studying him as well, Hutch put his arm on the back of the leather seat and started to comb his fingers through the thick strands. He smiled to himself, always enjoying the feel of it in his fingers, and worked gently to remove the last trace of the cap that had dared to hide all that dark glory.
Starsky's smile grew deeper, his eyes heavy with desire, as he leaned into Hutch's touch. The desire, longing, and happiness Hutch saw in those eyes never failed to warm all those empty places he sometimes felt he carried.
Sometimes, I could just look at him all night. Just be with him and know that things will be all right. If I could just stay here in this moment forever.
Starsky drained the last of his champagne, placed the glass aside, and turned to take Hutch's busy hand in his. Hutch sighed, as Starsky turned his hand and his soft lips touched Hutch's palm, sending warm waves of pleasure up his arm.
His own drink almost forgotten, Hutch set it aside quickly, reaching out with his other hand to touch Starsky's neck lightly and slide his fingers to Starsky's nape. As Starsky nibbled and kissed one hand, Hutch could feel the heat and pulse of Starsky's heart under the palm of the other.
It made his heart jump, his skin heat, and his breath come fast, as if the living energy of the man between his hands was the source of all power around him. All it took was seeing that look in Starsky's eyes, the heat of his touch, to make Hutch long to live forever in the moment.
Hutch heard himself moan deeply, as Starsky turned his attention to Hutch's fingers, nipping at the tips. He took a deep breath, feeling his blood sing in his veins. His cock, half-hard with anticipation during the trip, was now straining at his clothing.
A combination of many things broke him. A nibble too wonderfully sharp, the sly leer under curling dark lashes, and the thunderous beat of Starsky's heart under his hand drove him to move, to touch, and to give up the moment he had wanted to live in for the rest of his life.
Forever, Hutch thought as he moved toward the beautiful man between his hands. Not even forever could be enough with him.
It had taken all of Starsky's will power to drive as carefully and as conscientiously as he had. Now, safe in his own driveway, with that lean, golden body before him, he felt the wait was worth every second. All the luxury in the world couldn't compete with the warm, handsome man in front of him.
Hutch was glowing. His face, neck, and chest were tinged red with the flush of desire. His blue eyes were smoky, framed by the white glint of blond lashes turned white in the dim lighting. The blond mane of hair flowed softly around his face, making him look wild and on the edge of something dangerous.
The champagne was cool and tingling, but that wasn't what Starsky wanted in his mouth. When Hutch moved his arm along the back of the seat and started touching his hair, Starsky took a moment to enjoy the caress, then began on Hutch's hands.
Hutch had such large, loving hands, and Starsky enjoyed handling them. As he did so, placing a kiss on the broad palm and caressing the fingers, memories of those hands came to mind. Remembering the way Hutch's hands had touched and held him during sex was a thrill Starsky didn't think would ever fade. But there were other times that came to mind as well.
In our early days, when I was scared and not willing to admit it, your hand would find my shoulder for a quick squeeze. During the good times, you'd reach out to touch an arm, or nudge a rib, as we both found ourselves sharing a smile or a laugh. After gun or fist fights, I'll always remember the way one of your hands would find my middle, giving me a quick pat when I knew you meant it to be a hug. And when I was sick...
As he nibbled on those fingers--long and strong--he could only remember the incredible tenderness and love they'd always expressed for him.
He heard a deep moan, then Hutch's other hand was at Starsky's neck. For a second, there was the coolness left over from the champagne glass, then it was only heat and strong fingers at the nape of his neck. He knew Hutch could feel the beat of his heart. As he glanced at Hutch, he saw the flicker in his eyes just before Hutch moved toward him.
Starsky gave up Hutch's hand in exchange for his mouth.
Between one heartbeat and the next, they were kissing as if they would suffocate without the other. Lips pressed then moved together, tongues demanded flavors and textures from each other, as Starsky felt himself happily drowning in the basic essences of his lover.
Hutch's hands were all over him, rubbing and pulling at clothing that didn't seem to come off fast enough. Starsky's hands were on the white shirt, rubbing at Hutch's chest and abdomen, then down to his hard crotch. Hutch was hot and hard everywhere, and the feel of the him under his hands, the taste and smell of him, made Starsky's body respond in kind.
When Hutch's hand gripped his cock through his slacks, Starsky groaned with pleasure. He pushed into the delicious pressure, loving the way Hutch pulled and rubbed him hard in all directions at once.
They writhed together, hands and mouths everywhere, and, although Starsky had no real memory of how it happened, they were suddenly both nude. He pressed against Hutch wherever he could, tasted flesh where he found it under his lips, and still needed more contact. Some part of him strove to meld into Hutch, to connect nerve to nerve and thoughts to thoughts.
He could never get enough of him. Not even if he tried forever.
Hutch's heart was pounding, his breathing ragged. Starsky seemed to be everywhere around him, and yet there was one place Hutch had yet to savor. Pushing Starsky down against the soft leather of the long, wide seat, Hutch backed away for a moment. As Starsky lay on the seat, stretching out and pushing up on his elbows, Hutch took a precious moment to drink in the sight.
Starsky's chest was heaving, the bronze nipples hard and wet from Hutch's attentions. His muscular, tanned body was artistically dusted with dark curls that accentuated and outlined his strength, yet allowed a hint of the faint scars he would always carry. His hair was tousled and damp at the edges, giving the thick curls a chance to catch and frame his face. And his eyes...Starsky's eyes were a wild blue--deep and intense.
If anyone else had seen Starsky's face at that moment, they would have thought he was a crazy man. There was no other way to describe the look of need, desire, and determination that accompanied the slight smile. If there was a look that could portray "possessed" and "possessor" at the same time, Starsky's look was it.
Down the broad body, down the long waist, and nestled between Starsky's thick, muscular legs was his cock. Thick and rosy with need, it beat like a second heart.
Hutch needed that taste, wanted to savor it and sooth the hard need of it.
As he leaned toward it, Starsky reached out and grabbed Hutch, pulling him around so Hutch was soon kneeling on the seat. Hutch leaned forward on his hands and knees, bringing them both face to cock. In a moment, he was devouring Starsky and almost lost himself when Starsky took his own cock in the bargain.
It was almost torture--the second-by-second pull on his mind and his senses. The sounds and movements from Starsky, who was humming and writhing under him, enforced Hutch's need to bring the cock he was loving to eruption. Yet, at the same time, the hot, tight mouth and probing tongue that claimed his own pleasure demanded more and more of his mind.
Over time, Starsky grew more and more animated, then suddenly seemed to convulse. His hips strained to thrust past the point Hutch's hands would allow. When he came, Starsky groaned deeply, and Hutch felt the flair and pulse of the cock in his mouth only seconds before the unique taste of Starsky's come hit his tongue and the back of his throat.
He only had a moment to savor it before his own body took over, encouraged by Starsky's attentions. As his brain and body exploded, it was all he could do to let go of Starsky, as gently as he could, and bury his face into the warm, soft nook between Starsky's balls and the crook of his thigh. The hot, musky smell of Starsky's sex surrounded him, as his insides pulsed and hummed with ejaculation.
Fuzzy with pleasure, humming with the aftermath, he sighed and settled next to Starsky, needing to share the quiet moments as well.
He wasn't sure how long he drifted, but at some point Starsky knew he was going to have to get up. As much as he loved being near Hutch--who had squeezed between him and the back of the leather seat--Starsky knew he was only seconds away from gravity dumping him on the floor of the limo. The seat was wide, but not that wide.
There was also the fact that both they--and the limo--were due back on duty, bright and early in the morning. Starsky wanted at least a few hours in his own bed, stretched out next to Hutch.
And then there's cleaning up the car...
He could only laugh at the sight of the clothes scattered all over the limo.
"Think we can find everything?" Hutch asked, sitting up and snagging a pair of dark slacks that could have been either his or Starsky's.
"We'd better, or the limo company is going to have some interesting gossip tomorrow."
"I doubt we could do anything that would surprise them."
Starsky nodded, then leaned toward Hutch so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. He listened to the jazz music from the expensive stereo, eyed the fine crystal glasses they had somehow managed not to knock over, and remembered the taste of the cold champagne.
"This sure is some machine, don't you think?" Starsky asked, with more than a touch of wistfulness. "She handles like a dream, Hutch, and comes with all kinds of neat accessories. Can't you imagine us owning a limo just like this? We could be business executives. Both of us spending our days in a high-rise office, dressed in expensive business suits, sporting top-of-the-line jewelry, bulging wallets, and fifty-dollar haircuts."
"With both of us unhappy being stuck inside every day, you mean. We'd soon be full to the brim with the boredom of business meetings and corporate deals we really couldn't care less about, and working on the first ulcer of many." Hutch snorted, grabbed another piece of clothing, and looked as if he was trying to make heads or tails out of it. "I'd rather be in the real world, where we can wear comfortable clothes, be too smart to wear expensive jewelry, and live on just enough money to pay the bills. And, hopefully, with a bit left over to indulge my lover once in a while, by humping in other people's expensive cars."
Starsky laughed. "So I can't start picking out limos, huh?"
Hutch leaned toward him and winked. "Hell, you're lucky I let you keep the Torino."
When Hutch's lips touched his, Starsky was still chuckling.
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