Reggie

   "We're here."

   The drive from the station, spent in silence, hadn't even seemed to register with Hutch, so it wasn't any surprise that he didn't make any move to exit the car now that they had finally come to a stop. Starsky put a hand on his partner's arm. "Hutch?"

   Hutch's head came up and he looked at Starsky, confusion etched on his features. "What?"

   "We're here," Starsky repeated. "You're home."

   "Oh." Hutch stared out at the facade of Venice Place, looking at it as if he'd never been there before. "Thanks," he said, suddenly, and opened the door of the Torino.

   "You want me to come up for a while?"

   Hutch stared at him for a minute, then shook his head. "No. I'll see you tomorrow." He shut the door and was inside the building before Starsky could say anything else.

   Starsky started the car again, but didn't pull away from the curb. He sat there, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting. The traffic was almost non-existent at this time of night, but he couldn't seem to make himself leave. Finally, with a sigh, he turned the engine off again and got out of the car.

   The light in the hallway flickered, and Starsky paused with his arm outstretched, about to grasp the spare key from its place on the sill. Taking a chance, he pushed against the door, and found it not only unlocked but still ajar. He didn't bother to take out his gun, though, knowing that Hutch himself was responsible for this uncharacteristic carelessness, not yet another criminal.

   The apartment itself was dark, but it didn't take Starsky long to find his partner in the gloom. He crossed over to the couch and helped the tall blond up and into the bedroom, where he deposited him without protest on the bed and turned on a light. Hutch had gone completely limp, boneless after the adrenaline rush of the evening's activities wore off. Starsky knew that the grief hadn't even caught up to him again, and that it might not hit him full-force for hours. Right now, he was just exhausted and numb, and there wasn't much that Starsky could do to alleviate any of it but make sure he was comfortable and safe.

   The buttery-soft leather jacket came off first, thrown carelessly over the side of the bed. Then he unfastened the holster and removed it, laying it on the night stand by the bed, close enough to reach. It wasn't until he was skinning up the t-shirt that Hutch came to life, lifting himself up; Starsky had straddled his hips, to bring everything into easier reach, but was unprepared for the sudden brush of heat against his groin. Hutch didn't even seem to notice, and then, caught with his shirt half-off, the material bunched in Starsky's hand under his arms, he pushed himself forward until their lips touched. Starsky's mouth opened automatically, like Hutch's kiss was an electric jolt that ran through his body and left him helpless to resist.

   Just as suddenly as the kiss began, it ended, and their positions were reversed. Starsky found himself on his back and Hutch's knees on either side of his hips, being ruthlessly and methodically divested of his clothing. Some of the buttons on his shirt were casualties of Hutch's need for him to be naked now, and they bounced across the floor and disappeared. He tried to help, but Hutch wouldn't let him; he tried to move, but was caught and held fast. Then, Hutch's mouth came down on his again, and, lost, he didn't try anything else.

********

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   Starsky cried out in frustration, hoping for some relief, but Hutch ignored him. The tease had gone well past pleasure and was quickly heading towards torture, but Hutch wouldn't - or couldn't - seem to allow him to come. Starsky shifted underneath him, but no matter how he moved, he couldn't bring himself into closer contact than Hutch would allow. He had to remind himself again and again that this wasn't about him, it was about Hutch, it was about what Hutch needed.

   His wrists ached from where they had been tied to the bed. His legs were free, but they offered him little help, with Hutch's weight holding them down against the mattress. Not that he was trying to escape, exactly; what he wanted wasn't nearly that simple to explain.

   He moaned again, and was seared by Hutch's gaze. "Uh-uh - do you want me to tape your mouth shut, Starsk?" Hutch asked, brushing his lips over that mouth.

   Starsky swallowed hard, then shook his head.

   "Good." Hutch returned to what he'd been doing before he was interrupted: mapping every inch of Starsky's body with his tongue. He was down as far as the navel, now, carding softly through the hair scattered over his torso, but he'd made no move against the thick, blood-heavy penis that pressed insistently against him, drooling an increasingly large pool of pre-come on Starsky's stomach.

   Just when Starsky thought he'd spontaneously combust unless Hutch touched him now, Hutch dragged the very tip of his tongue over his cock, making it jump against the so desperately-desired contact. As soon as it came, it was gone, though, and Hutch's head bowed down lower, loving his thighs. Starsky had to press his lips tightly together to prevent the strangled cry of longing from escaping. The last thing he needed was to be bound completely - first his mouth taped, then his legs bound, and then what? Hutch might not let him go at all. He desperately wished he could even pretend to consider that a threat. He'd always been a slave to Hutch's love - what had Gillian said about it? That it would be wonderful to be Hutch, to be loved the way he was. Starsky knew exactly what she meant, how frightening and wonderful it was to love and be loved by the man.

   He was starting to believe that he'd come without being touched, when Hutch suddenly pushed his thighs into the mattress, to keep him from moving, and opened his mouth.

   Starsky watched, incredulous, as he was devoured, until tears sprang into his eyes and he couldn't watch any longer. He at last gave up fighting any of it - stopped struggling against the bonds that held him, against Hutch, against the fact that he wanted and needed this as much as his partner did. He stopped feeling anything except the mouth that drew him in, gave him so much pleasure that he didn't think he'd be able to survive it, and still continued on. When he came, it was without a sound, without a movement - he was boneless, limp, and incoherent, deafened by the sound of his own heart beating, utterly destroyed by the man who loved him.

********

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   The blood was still a pounding roar in Starsky's ears when he realized that Hutch was lifting his hips, settling them against his thighs. A momentary sense of panic washed over him, and then he reminded himself of who he was with; no matter how much he hurt, or how much he needed to re-assert his control in a world that was increasingly uncontrollable, Hutch would never, ever hurt him.

   That belief was what he clung to, it was the essence of their partnership, and that singular thought made Starsky relax. He concentrated on keeping himself relaxed when a thick, blunt, slick finger pressed inside him. It slipped in easily, probing him. 'Testing boundaries,' Starsky thought, 'only there ain't any, and we both know it.' There never had been any, but neither of them had ever thought to articulate that secret knowledge before tonight. Neither of them had needed it before, not like Hutch needed it now.

   He couldn't help himself when Hutch removed his finger and pressed a kiss there, instead - he had to moan. This time, Hutch looked pleased, as if he'd been seeking such an affirmation. He tested with two fingers, and then raised himself up on his knees, Starsky's legs caught around his waist.

   To muffle any protest - or any shout of joy - Hutch pushed his tongue into Starsky's mouth at the exact moment that his cock pushed into his body. His hands, planted on the bed on either side of Starsky's chest, held himself up, and his kisses grew deeper and longer as they continued.

   When he was finally allowed to breathe, Starsky drew in a deep lungful of air, fighting off the mounting dizziness. Hutch had settled back on his knees and was concentrated on fucking him; Starsky watched him, wishing his hands were free, wishing he could speak, say something, but too caught up in the perimeters that Hutch had imposed on this game to do anything against his partner's wishes. The fear was there, too - not that Hutch might go too far, because they both knew there was no such thing between the two of them alone - but that he might stop before this was brought to its logical conclusion. He desperately wanted to please Hutch - not just make him happy, because that might not be possible, but to give him pleasure. That was more important than anything.

   And that was also his biggest fear - that he would give himself to Hutch and Hutch would find him lacking, like everyone else he'd loved had been. No-one had ever been enough for him before - good enough, strong enough, brave enough, or just plain enough, enough to capture and keep him, body and soul. Starsky had no thoughts of time beyond this one moment, but that this one moment be everything seemed essential to his existence.

   Testing another non-existent boundary, Starsky squeezed his muscles, almost giving himself away with a triumphant laugh when he heard Hutch's startled gasp, and felt him freeze for just a second. Fingers dug into his thighs, and Hutch growled, deep in his throat. Starsky grinned innocently, and Hutch had to kiss him again to make him stop.

   "You think you're good, don't you?" Hutch asked, breathing hard, daring him to answer. "Well, you are, damn you." He traced his fingers around Starsky's vulnerable neck, before dropping his mouth to take their place. "Too good," he mumbled against the warm skin.

   Lost in the pleasure of it all, Starsky closed his eyes, baring more of his throat to his lover's hungry mouth. As far as he was concerned, he was prepared for this to go on all night - or forever, if necessary.

********

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   The insistently ringing phone brought him to half-consciousness, and he answered it without opening his eyes. "'lo?"

   "Starsky?"

   "Uh-huh. Who's'is?"

   "It's Captain Dobey. How's Hutch?"

   It was only then that Starsky realized that he'd been untied at some point during the night. Not only that, but the room was now filled with bright sunshine, and the other side of the bed was empty. He felt a sudden sickening kick of panic until he heard the shower running, and spotted Hutch's gun still on the night stand. "He's fine, Cap," Starsky said, hoping it was true. "I don't think he'll be coming in this morning, though, under the circumstances."

   "Yeah, I didn't think he would. When I tried your place and there was no answer, I assumed you'd be there."

   "How late am I, exactly?" Starsky asked.

   "It's nine. I expect you in here by noon to get this paperwork done. Tell Hutchinson that he's got three days."

   "Will do, Cap," Starsky said, breathing easier. It wouldn't be hard to explain his lateness, but the torn clothing that lay scattered on the floor around the bed might be more problematic. "I'll see you at noon," he added, and then hung up the phone.

   "You're not going anywhere." Hutch's voice was a little muffled under the towel he used to dry his hair; his damp body was completely bare. He dropped the towel to the floor and opened the closet, rummaging through it for clean clothes.

   "No," Starsky said, pulling the sheet up around his nude body. "You've got a couple of days off - compassionate leave - but I've gotta go in. The paperwork - "

   "I'll do it," Hutch said. He was half-dressed already.

   "Hutch - "

   "If you don't believe me, go look at yourself in the mirror."

   Frowning, Starsky got up out of the bed, forgetting his earlier shyness until he caught a peripheral glance of Hutch staring openly at his retreating form. He went into the bathroom and wiped the steam away from the mirror, then gasped at his reflection. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he whispered.

   "You just answered your own question, didn't you?" Hutch said, his stealthy approach making Starsky jump. He wrapped his arms around the naked man and sank his teeth into Starsky's right earlobe. "Looks like I did a good job of it, too."

   Starsky's body was mottled all over with bruises - his lips were red and swollen, hickeys ringed his neck, love-bites scattered through the hair on his chest, the ties that Hutch had used to bind his hands had left red chafe marks around his wrists, and there were darkening fingerprints on his hips from where Hutch had held him down. Added to that, the bruise on his jaw spoke of the devastated punch Hutch had thrown earlier the previous evening. Hutch had thoroughly marked him - as if re-asserting his ownership over something, even if it was only his partner's body.

   "Personally, I like it," Hutch added, "but it might be a little hard to explain down at the station." He soothed the newest bite-mark with his tongue. "Stay here. I'll go in to work and finish the paperwork, and then drop by your place and pick you up some clean clothes." He smiled, almost fiercely. "Something that will cover most of the evidence."

   "The Cap - " Starsky started.

   "I'll tell him you're under the weather, and needed to stay in bed today." He pulled Starsky out of the bathroom and pushed him back into bed. "It's true. You do need to stay in bed, until I get back."

   "And then?"

   "And then you'll need to stay in bed even longer." The tone of his voice made that pronouncement half threat, half promise.

   Starsky swallowed. "Oh, yeah?"

   "Yeah."

   "Until when?"

   Hutch's eyes narrowed. "Until I'm done with you, of course." He smiled, then, and kissed Starsky on the mouth. "Get some sleep," he added, as he took his holster off the bedside table. "You'll need it." He retrieved the keys to the Torino from Starsky's jacket and then left the apartment. A few moments later, Starsky heard the car start and drive away.

   At a loss, Starsky crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over his head. If Hutch told him he was going to need the sleep, he was absolutely prepared to believe him.

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THE END