Reggie

   "Mmm." Hutch moaned and stretched under the covers, poking his bed-partner in the back as he did so. "This may just be the perfect weekend, Starsk."

   One blue eye emerged from the mound of covers beside him. "Don't say that," he hissed, and quickly submerged again.

   "What? Why not? Tell me when we've ever had a better weekend. No work, hours and hours of uninterrupted sex, good food - " Hutch paused, memories of the sausage-and-peppers pizza that had been last night's meal coming to mind. "Passable food," he amended. "Who could ask for anything more?"

   This time, a hand emerged from the bundle of blankets, and clapped over Hutch's mouth. "If ya talk about it, something'll happen."

   "Mmph mmmmmph," Hutch said.

   "What?"

   "Mmph mmmmmph."

   "I can't understand ya," Starsky said, and when Hutch narrowed his eyes, removed his hand with a grin.

   "I said, that's silly."

   "You won't be sayin' that when the phone rings and it's the Cap'n, telling us some homicidal maniac has escaped from custody to terrorize the citizens of our fair city, and we're on duty again until we bring him to justice."

   Hutch opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the phone rang. Starsky threw him a triumphant glance before ducking back under the covers. Hutch deliberated between unplugging the phone, answering it, and using the cord to dispatch his entirely-too-smug-for-his-own-good partner once and for all.

   In the end, the ringing got to him, like it always did. "Hello?" He listened for a moment. "No, I'm not interested in renewing my subscription to the 'Bay City Times.'" He listened for a little while longer. "Because I don't have a subscription to the 'Bay City Times.'" Another pause, and he said, "No, I'm not interested in becoming a subscriber. Look, lady - " He listened a little while longer. "Do you talk to your mother with that mouth - no, wait. Don't cry. Stop crying! Your mother what? Well, I'm sure she loves you. Maybe you should call her and tell her how you feel. No, wait - " He was left staring at the phone receiver.

   During the conversation, Starsky had gradually emerged from his cocoon. "Who was that?"

   "Brenda."

   "Brenda who?"

   "I have no idea."

   "Ya talked to her for long enough. Ya sure you're not gettin' some on the side?"

   Shaking his head, Hutch hung the phone up. "I'm sure. I wouldn't get involved with someone like that. She's got serious issues with her mother."

   "Oh, damn! Hand me the phone, wouldja?"

   "Why?"

   "I forgot to call my mother on Friday an' - "

   "No," Hutch said. "Call her Monday."

   "But - "

   "No," Hutch said, more forcefully. He rolled over, so that he was lying on top of Starsky. "This weekend is me and you time."

   "What about the other 80 hours a week we spend together?"

   "That's also me and you time," Hutch allowed. "But this is me and you naked time. And, as much as you know I love her, adding your mother into the mix just - " He shuddered. "Don't make me go there, okay?"

   "Ah. I see your point." Starsky wiggled his hips, still trapped under his partner's not-inconsiderable bulk. "So whadda we gonna do, then?"

   "I can't think of anything," Hutch said, nuzzling Starsky's neck. His fingers wandered down underneath the blankets, finding cherished places on Starsky's body. "You?"

   A loud growl interrupted whatever filthy suggestion Starsky was going to make. Hutch just looked at him wearily, then rolled off to the side.

   "What?" Starsky said, rolling over on top of him. "Don't stop."

   "You're hungry."

   "A little," Starsky allowed.

   "You've never been a little hungry in your life," Hutch retorted, although he didn't push the other man away, or attempt to free himself from Starsky's questing mouth. "For anything."

   Starsky just grinned. Then his stomach growled again. "Maybe just a little somethin' - "

   "Go," Hutch said, in a long-suffering tone, waving him away. "Feed. I'll be here."

   "You better be." Starsky climbed out of bed and padded into the kitchen, nude. "Ya want anything?"

   "You," Hutch said, under his breath, then called out, "No, I'm fine."

   "Damn straight, partner," Starsky yelled back.

   "So to speak," Hutch added, under his breath, just before Starsky called out, with a laugh, "So to speak, I mean."

   Hutch smelled slightly burnt toast and coffee and realized his own hunger, but it still couldn't convince him to relinquish the bed, just yet. He lay there and waited for Starsky to return, drifting back into a gentle drowse.

   "Hey, babe, I gotta great idea to combine two of my favorite things - food and sex," Starsky called out, rousing Hutch from his snooze.

   "I'm afraid to ask," Hutch said, but it wasn't until he saw what Starsky was carrying into the bedroom that he really got alarmed. "I just want you to know, if you think you're getting into this bed with those, you'd better be prepared to get up early tomorrow to do my laundry."

   "Tell me something I don't know," Starsky retorted, getting into the bed with his precarious bundles. "If I didn't do your laundry, it'd never get done."

   "Once, one time you do my laundry, and I never hear the end of it," Hutch groaned, pulling the covers back up over his head.

   Starsky immediately pulled them back down. "Uh-unh, baby blue. You ain't gettin' away that easy." He held one jar and then the other up to Hutch's face, and quickly made his choice, depositing the loser down on the bedside table.

   "What is that?"

   "Butterscotch," Starsky said, with a gleam in his eye. "Chocolate sauce just don't go with your coloring, blondie." He unscrewed the jar of syrup and dipped a finger inside, bringing it up to his lips. "Mmm. If you're really so against this idea, I may just eat it straight from the jar."

   "Wait," Hutch said, "I didn't say that it was a bad idea. I said it was a messy idea." He, too, dipped his finger into the thick golden syrup, and licked it clean.

   "You're hopeless, you know that, blintz? Ya got - " Starsky said, bringing his cleaned finger to Hutch's upper lip, "butterscotch in your mustache already."

   "Yeah?" Hutch tried to lick his mustache clean. "Better?"

   "Nah - you're missin' it. Here." Starsky brought Hutch's face close to his and proceeded to lick and kiss the mustache clean. "There," he said, when the task was done. "All better." He turned his attention back to the contents of the jar.

   Hutch was nonplussed. "Hey, wait. You're not seriously going to eat that from the jar, are you?"

   "I'm still hungry."

   "You had toast."

   Starsky shrugged. "I'm a growing boy," he grinned. "Gotta keep my strength up." He took another healthy fingerful of syrup and lifted it to his mouth. "Why, you gotta better idea of how I could enjoy my sweet treat?" he asked, with a glint in his eye.

   "Nah," Hutch said, shaking his head. He leaned across Starsky's body, grabbing the jar of chocolate sauce and unscrewing the lid. He had two fingers inside and was licking them clean when he felt the trickle of something on his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, just before Starsky's lips descended on his skin.

   "I spilled some," Starsky said.

   "Spilled?"

   "Spilled, drizzled, poured," Starsky shrugged. "Same diff'rence."

   Hutch was prepared to argue the point, but his partner's tongue effectively drove all rational thought out of his mind. He settled for a ragged moan, instead.

   "Oh, yeah," Starsky said. "I knew it. You and butterscotch belong together, blintz." He laughed. "'Butterscotch blintz' - sounds like a dessert special, to me." He sank his teeth into Hutch's shoulder. "Ya taste pretty good candy-coated, blondie. You shoulda been an M&M."

   In an attempt to regain a little equilibrium - or maybe just share the wealth - Hutch dipped another finger into the jar of chocolate sauce, and then rubbed it around a rosy nipple on Starsky's chest. His mouth descended to the peaking flesh, and the taste exploded in his mouth - the salty hint of sweat combined with the sweetness of the sauce made him salivate all the more, and he continued sucking at the nipple, until it and the hair that surrounded it was clean.

   Starsky had stopped licking his shoulder, and now was writhing even more energetically underneath Hutch, his hips seeking contact with Hutch's, to no avail. "Ah, babe, no fair," he said.

   "All's fair in love and chocolate," Hutch said. He moved off Starsky's chest, but only long enough to straddle his hips. Eschewing a fingertip this time, Hutch picked up the entire jar of chocolate sauce and prepared to pour the contents over his trapped partner.

   "You - you wouldn't," Starsky said, when he saw the jar hovering over his chest.

   Hutch stopped and pretended to consider it. "I think I would," he said, finally, and tipped the jar, making an ersatz Jackson Pollack of the chocolate sauce, with Starsky's chest as the canvas. "Oh, look," Hutch said, with mock concern. "You're all sticky."

   "Hutch," Starsky complained, as sticky chocolate dribbled down his skin. "S' cold."

   "Gonna have to warm you up, aren't I?" Hutch asked. He thought for a moment, said, "Oh, what the hell," then lay down flat on Starsky's chest and captured his mouth in a wet, sweet kiss.

   Chocolate sauce oozed in between them, sticky and slick and rapidly warming as their combined body temperature spiked. "You did that on purpose," Starsky accused, then laughed when Hutch raised his face up from where he'd been nuzzling Starsky's neck.

   "What's so funny?"

   "You've got chocolate all over your face. You look like a four-year-old with an ice-cream."

   "Never had an ice-cream that tasted like you," Hutch said. "Wouldn't've minded, though." He slid his hand through the sticky mess of chocolate on Starsky's chest and trailed it down, capturing his cock in a messy chocolate-covered fist. "Look, I found the banana for my split."

   Starsky laughed harder. "You're crazy."

   "You're the one who brought the sundae toppings. And where's the whipped cream?"

   "Couldn't find any. No cherries, either."

   "You took my cherry a long time ago, partner," Hutch said. "I bet I know where there's some nuts, though - "

   "Don't you dare," Starsky warned, as sticky fingers threatened to leave his cock for nether regions. "Finish what you started, blintz."

   "I don't know if I can take that much chocolate," Hutch admitted, looking down at Starsky's cock, now smeared all over with a thick coating of the sauce. "But it will be fun to try," he added, before ducking his head down and taking the hard, sweet mass in his mouth.

   Starsky lost all control then, as Hutch really did start to treat him like an ice-cream cone, licking and slurping the length of his hard cock. He wondered briefly what the taste of chocolate sauce and pre-come would be like, then decided it must be good, if Hutch's enthusiasm was any indication. Hutch didn't often give in to his sweet tooth, but it was there - baby, was it there. His mouth had taken on all of the better qualities of a Hoover - like he had any idea about things like that.

   "Babe - " Starsky gasped, trying to achieve the impossible and get more of his cock into Hutch's mouth, despite the fact that all of it was in there, already. He settled instead for grabbing Hutch's head, to make sure that it stayed there, and fucked his mouth, back and forth, until he came so hard he swore he saw stars.

   Hutch, finally released from Starsky's grasp, collapsed on his back, gasping and coughing, until he could breathe anything other than chocolate and come again.

   "S-sorry," Starsky managed, but Hutch just waved at him.

   "Don't be," Hutch gasped. "I couldn't have stopped myself, either. Damn you taste good." He licked his lips. "The chocolate wasn't bad, either."

   "We're a mess," Starsky said, stretching himself out languidly on the bed. The sheets and blankets were covered in smears of chocolate, as were the two of them.

   "We're gonna get messier," Hutch promised, pressing himself against his supine lover, poking him in the thigh with the tangible evidence of that statement.

   "Ah, yes," Starsky agreed, stroking him softly. "Time for my banana split?"

   "There's no chocolate syrup left."

   "I told ya already, golden boy, you and butterscotch were made for each other." To prove his point, Starsky reached for the jar of butterscotch sauce and drizzled it over Hutch's cock, then used his hands to rub the sticky confection all over the hardness. "I wonder if - " he mused, then hooked a knee around Hutch's waist. "Think this'd pass for lube, in a pinch?"

   "Don't tease, Detective Sergeant Starsky," Hutch warned him. "I'm in just the right mood to take you up on that."

   "'M not teasin'," Starsky insisted. "'M tempting. There's a difference." He wrapped his other leg around Hutch, pulling him close. "How long d'you think you can hold out?"

   "Against you and a jar of butterscotch syrup? You may just have found the combination that pushes me too far."

   "Pushin' - that's the kind of talk I like to hear." Starsky dipped his fingers into the jar, and smeared even more of the golden sauce over Hutch's cock, thumbing the over-sensitive head until Hutch keened a low growl. He passed the jar over and stuck his fingers in his mouth, to clean them. "Your turn," he mumbled.

   "I hope this works," Hutch said, easing his coated fingers inside Starsky, who gave way to the invasion and was soon thrusting forward for more. The stimulation provided by his fingers and the syrup soon proved not to be enough, and Hutch replaced them with his sticky, butterscotch-covered cock, carefully easing inside.

   Impatient with his unwavering gentleness, Starsky took control of the situation by pushing a startled Hutch over on his back and sinking down on him.

   "Greedy," Hutch playfully accused him, and gratefully watched as Starsky fucked himself on his cock, his chocolate-smeared body moving in a steadily increasing rhythm over Hutch's butterscotch-coated one.

   "Always greedy for more of you, blondie," Starsky agreed. Then, to increase the sensations, he leaned down and thrust his tongue inside Hutch's mouth, fucking him with the same rhythm that he was fucked.

   It was too much for Hutch to endure. He came almost immediately, his sticky hands gripping Starsky's waist almost hard enough to leave bruises - if he could have gotten a good grip on him, that is. The sweat and come and syrup and sauce was too much, and his skin slipped out of Hutch's grasp. Starsky fell on his side, on the bed, and then fell out of the bed. When he heard him fall on the floor, Hutch started to laugh, convulsively.

   Indignant blue eyes regarded him over the edge of the bed. Seeing him like that - wild hair tousled and smeared with chocolate sauce, torso likewise covered with drying whorls of the messy confection - drove Hutch into deeper fits of laughter.

   "What's so funny?" Starsky had the audacity to ask.

   "Y-y-you are," Hutch snorted, panting. "Oh, man. You're a sight."

   "You don't look so fine yourself, Mr. Hutchinson." Starsky's eyes narrowed, and Hutch feared he was actually on his way to a full-on sulk. Considering it was only ten a.m. and they had the rest of the day off to be naked together, Hutch began to be seriously alarmed at the notion of being cut off so early in the day. He composed himself as best as he could, and reached for a retreating Starsky. "Uh-unh," Starsky said, slipping out of his grasp. "Laugh at me, willya?"

   "Come on, Starsky," Hutch said, and planted a foot on the floor, prepared to follow him out of the room. Before he could right himself, however, the butterscotch syrup on the bottom of his foot slipped against the uncarpeted floor, and he fell, landing unceremoniously on his ass.

   Starsky turned around, startled, and promptly burst into his own fit of laughter. Hutch waited him out, until he could make himself heard over the raucous snorts coming from his partner. "Okay, okay, help me up, will you?"

   "Sure thing, butterballs," Starsky said, and grabbed his hand.

   It was Hutch's turn to be indignant. "Who are you calling - "

   "Butter scotch balls, then," Starsky amended. He tried to pull Hutch up, but he wasn't any steadier on his feet, and Hutch had an easy time pulling him down on the floor beside him. "Ouch!"

   "Sorry," Hutch grinned. "Did that hurt?"

   "Only if ya had any thoughts of ever being able to use that part of my anatomy again," Starsky said, pointedly rubbing his sore ass.

   "Oops," Hutch said, actually contrite, and flipped him over. Once faced with this 'side' of his partner, he couldn't help himself, though; he slapped Starsky on one sticky cheek, making him yelp, and then kissed it better.

   "You are so dead, blondie," Starsky threatened.

   Hutch, sensing imminent danger to his person, lunged at him, pushing him flat down onto the floor.

   Although the maneuver might have saved him from retribution, it didn't improve Starsky's mood any. "Get offa me!"

   "I don't think that's a very good idea," Hutch said. "Not until you cool down."

   "'M not gonna cool down, not in this position."

   "No?" Hutch asked. He started to rub his sticky body against Starsky's. "Maybe I should concentrate on warming you up, then, eh?"

   "Hutch," Starsky growled. He couldn't keep up the menace, though, as Hutch continued to rub against him, sparking him once again to arousal. "Huuuutch," he near-whined. "Get offa me, okay?"

   "Give me one good reason."

   Starsky thought. "Well," he said, finally, "I think I saw some honey in the cupboard - "

THE END