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boundlaw

Page history last edited by PBworks 17 years, 2 months ago

Bound to the Law

 

Author: NA34

Fandom: Starsky and Hutch

Pairing(s): Starsky/Hutch

Warnings: bondage, painplay

Spoilers: none

Summary: Starsky and Hutch meet a dominatrix during a routine investigation and begin to investigate if BDSM would work in their relationship.

 

Nominated Category:

Best Established Relationship – Slash


 


Part 1

The door of the proper white shuttered house opened revealing a woman who could only be described as magnificent. Clothed entirely in leather she looked both formidable and controlling. Her face was as beautiful as a carved statue of some goddess or queen, perhaps Aphrodite or Cleopatra, but her sleek blond hair betrayed a Scandinavian heritage. Everything about her was perfect from full sensuous lips, a long straight nose and wide eyes the color of a windy sea. Her smooth platinum hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, the twisted bun caught up in an intricate cage of gold wire skewered with a wicked gold pin to secure it. The leather bustier covered her body like armor, encasing curves Helen of Troy would have begged for, but she wore tight leather trousers below, ending with red spike mules. Flat footed, she would have been about Starsky's height, but in the four-inch heels, she stood just taller than Hutch. Webster's Dictionary could have used her to define the word dominatrix.

 

Taking one step back, Hutch flashed his badge, looking her square in the eye, an unusual occurrence for him. "Elizabeth Carlysle?"

 

"Simply Carlysle," She corrected coldly, her eyes two chunks of glacier, pale blue and nearly see through.

 

"Uh." Starsky finally found his voice, the heat rising in his body in vivid contrast to her icy superiority. "We've received complaints from some of your neighbors about men coming and going at all hours."

 

"You're accusing me of prostitution?" She asked frigidly, focusing her full beauty on him. It was staggering; just her gaze aroused him, his jeans suddenly restrictive around the hips. Starsky had a fleeting fantasy of easing himself into the moist dark cave between her leather encased thighs and wondered if it would be as cold inside as her attitude suggested. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, but he was willing to experiment just for educational purposes.

 

"I am a licensed sex therapist," Carlysle said haughtily. "I counsel men-sometimes it is late at night, but that is the nature of my profession."

 

"Well, ma'am, there h-have been complaints and this neighborhood isn't zoned for business," Hutch replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, but he couldn't help swallowing audibly, his mouth dry as dust. He longed to reach over and liberate one of those perfect mounds rising like soft, ripe peaches above the edge of her bustier.

 

Sneaking a look at his partner, Starsky was amused to note that Hutch looked as uncomfortable and aroused as he did. How did such glacial calm start a fire burning in two experienced detectives?

 

With homicides at an all time city low the past few weeks, Starsky and Hutch had been assigned to vice cases. Carlysle was a new face in the area and neither had encountered her previously. Starsky had to bite down on his tongue to quell the urge to call her mistress and bow at her feet. He thought she'd no doubt approve if he did so, however.

 

"Officer, I call myself a businesswoman, not a...whore" Her emphasis on the last word indicated her utter disdain for the call girl profession. She gave him a perfect smile, her vampire red lipstick startling against snow-white teeth.

 

"Nevertheless." Hutch tried to maintain control but all the blood had fled his brain for more southern regions. He hadn't been with a woman in over a year, probably closer to two, since he'd committed himself to one man but Carlysle was seriously tempting his resolve. Her stark blondness and swollen lips made him crave her touch. He wanted to caress that translucent skin, draw her against his own smooth paleness.

 

"We'd like to take a look around your..." Starsky took a steadying breath, shifting to relieve the uncomfortable fullness in his groin. "Establishment."

 

"This is my home, I live alone and there is no one else here." She pursed her lips, turning them both to stone with her lethal gaze. "If you want to come in in an official capacity, you'll need a warrant."

 

"If there's another complaint, we'll get one," Hutch answered, trying to match her toughness, but he didn't think he quite achieved it. She made him feel dizzy and intoxicated, without a drop of alcohol in his blood. "We could still bring you in if there's evidence of a monetary exchange for sexual favors."

 

Starsky silently applauded his partner's linguistic prowess. At least one of them sounded like a competent, trained officer of the law.

 

"Detective..." She raised one blond eyebrow, obviously demanding their full attention, and expecting nothing less. "Hutchinson." She placed one red painted nail against his tan leather jacket. "I welcome all men who need help for sexual dysfunction."

 

She chucked Starsky under the chin, looking down at him from her fetish-heel enhanced height, "Starsky. I don't suppose either of you have any difficulties in that area?"

 

Starsky was mortified to have a blush rise up from his chest and spread it's warmth across both his cheeks. "No." He said firmly, his voice only squeaking slightly. Carlysle pressed her palm against his cheek, her touch soothingly cool on his heated skin. "Never." Starsky reiterated.

 

"We'll be in touch," Hutch said hastily, wrapping strong fingers around his partner's upper arm, squeezing tightly on the biceps. "We'll be going now."

 

"I've always enjoy a close working relationship with law enforcement in the past. I hope that will continue to be the case here," Carlysle purred now that they were leaving, "If I can be of any help, insert my self into the body of any ongoing investigation, don't hesitate to call. I'm in the yellow pages, right below Caress and above Domi-trex. Just one call and I'll be on top of your...problem the same day." With a deep breath that threatened to free her breasts from their confinement, she closed the colonial style front door.

 

Starsky was unaccountably overcome with giggles. As Hutch hauled him off the front porch and down the brick lined walk, he sagged drunkenly, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from his belly. "Damn. You?"

 

"Get in the car, now." Hutch could hardly contain his arousal. His full erection made it decidedly difficult to walk and he needed relief immediately.

 

"Where to?" Starsky sprawled in the seat of Hutch's beater car; his legs splayed wide to accommodate his stiff cock. Once the door was closed he loosened the zipper on his pants just a little. It wouldn't look good to be called out on a bust with his pants undone.

 

Hutch thought frantically, his heart pounding when he remembered the perfect place. "Huggy's. The bar is closed while he's in Detroit and it's closest."

 

"Then drive, babe, cause we need to have some private time, if you know what I mean." Starsky grabbed up the mike from its hook on the dashboard, logging them out for a meal break. Luckily, since it was nearly eight p.m., halfway through their eight-hour shift, it didn't look in any way unusual. They were even going over to the Pits, a bar they frequented most nights. Hopefully dispatch didn't know the place was closed.

 

Hutch had to concentrate to keep his mind on driving and forced himself to stop stealing looks at the hard-on straining the fabric of his partner's jeans. They usually didn't allow themselves take a quickie in the middle of a shift like this, but this pit stop was a necessity. Otherwise, neither would be able to do their jobs in a professional manner for the rest of the night. They'd probably have no time to actually eat, but the lust Hutch saw in Starsky's eyes, directed at him, was food for the soul.

 

Parking in the alley behind Huggy Bear's establishment, Hutch could barely get his fingers to coordinate enough to insert a key in the back door and let the two of them inside. Standing in the hall next to the kitchen, Hutch pressed Starsky up against the wall, forcing him into a lip lock before the door had even snicked shut.

 

Snaking his tongue past Hutch's lips, Starsky responded enthusiastically, exploring the warm, pliant depths of his partner's mouth. This was a far better cave to slip into than any Carlysle might possess. He molded himself to Hutch's broad chest, wanting nothing more than to be inside the other man, to be joined soul to soul with him.

 

Hutch's big hands roamed Starsky's long torso, seeking the zipper of his jeans. He'd seen Starsky open the top button and loosen the zipper, so it should be no difficulty to ease the zip the rest of the way down and free Little Davey residing inside. The problem was how close their bodies were pressed together, and the fact that he couldn't stop the kissing long enough to pay attention to other matters. He was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of arousal coming off Starsky's skin like an aphrodisiac. The need to breathe finally broke them apart for an instant, but Starsky moaned in disappointment, diving back in for a repeat performance before he'd barely gulped a lungful of air. Hutch pressed against those tempting lips, flicking his tongue along Starsky's upper lip, feeling the bristly stubs of hair where his mustache would be. He bit down on the irresistible target, Starsky's tongue darting out to tease Hutch's lower lip. Hutch continued his ravage lower, nipping and sucking the skin just below Starsky's sharp jaw line, producing a husky moan of desire from his partner.

 

"H-hutch, I'll get a hickey," Starsky managed, pulling his head away for an instant.

 

"You already got one." Hutch laughed, kissing the reddened mark he'd made. For discretion's sake he started in on Starsky's chest where he could hide any further marks by buttoning his shirt, nibbling on a now exposed nipple.

 

Starsky buried his face in Hutch's silky blond hair, luxuriating in the smell of shampoo, leather jacket and gun oil that made up Hutch. He jerked at Hutch's shirttails, freeing them from his wide leather belt and discovering the firm muscles of his partner's back. Running his fingernails up Hutch's spine he shivered from the ministrations Hutch was giving his tingling nipples.

 

Hutch caught the nipple between his front teeth, then licked the tight nub, rubbing the twin between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted just hard enough to make Starsky stiffen, feeling Starsky's fingernails rake the sensitive skin of his back. He reversed his focus, giving the left nipple a sharp bite, Starsky's erection jutting into Hutch's crotch with undeniable insistence.

 

"We need to get upstairs," Hutch panted, pushing Starsky away just enough to get at his fly.

 

"You got all the fun!" Starsky pouted, nuzzling into the nape of Hutch's neck, the blond hair tickling him, but he followed where he was being lead.

 

"There's more for you." Hutch slipped his hand under the waistband of Starsky's jeans, pulling him up the stairs without breaking contact. It was hard to walk backwards up stairs, but he couldn't take his hands off his sexy partner. He wanted to touch every inch of that hard muscled body, tweak and tickle the curly hair on his scarred chest. Stopping on the stair, one riser above the dark haired man, Hutch leaned down and gave him a much more chaste kiss, thanking Starsky for being there with him.

 

Starsky's arms reached up, encircling his lover's waist, deepening the kiss until his brain was on overload. If there had been an earthquake at that moment, it wouldn't have separated the two. Starsky was bent backwards at an uncomfortable angle, his arms around Hutch the only thing anchoring him and any forward momentum threatened to topple them both down the stairs.

 

Steadying himself on the stair railing, Hutch tightened his hold on Starsky's pants.

 

The zipper slid down further revealing the throbbing cock wanting to be set free, but Starsky was able to lean forward and finally precede Hutch up the stairs.

 

The race to the little room Huggy maintained ended in a giggling heap on the bed, Starsky rolling over onto the larger man and pinning him to the mattress.

 

"Always wanted to do that," Starsky laughed with delight. "C'mere, Stud, show me what you've got." He swiftly unbuckled Hutch's belt and attacked the pants fly with enthusiasm. Hutch was content for the moment to watch admiring the way Starsky's powerful chest rippled with every breath. Once, Hutch had shivered and moaned in pain from heroin withdrawals on this very bed, wrapped in the security of Starsky's loving arms. Now, he shivered in desire as Starsky wrapped his fingers around the steel hard red cock that he pulled from Hutch's pants.

 

Scooting backwards so he was level with Hutch's crotch, crouched between the long outstretched legs, Starsky bent down, taking his partner's penis in his mouth. He loved giving Hutch head, licking and sucking on the long thick cock. It was like a flesh Popsicle, only warm and moving inside his mouth. The tip brushed against his palate, sending sizzling waves of desire straight to Starsky's own cock and he sucked harder, savoring the salty, earthy taste. He reached down, cupping the testicles in his left hand, rolling them around like worry balls between his fingers. Hutch gave a strangled cry, the sensation sending him up like the jolting ride of a wooden roller coaster.

 

Thrusting his hips, Hutch fucked Starsky's mouth, riding the orgasm up the long exhilarating crest of the roller coaster and then plunging down into freefall, his mouth open and screaming incoherently. Starsky accepted nearly the full length of his lover's rod, gulping when the semen shot out, flooding his throat. He swallowed reflexively, releasing Hutch's balls to clutch the strong thighs that bracketed his head, feeling like he'd fall into space without something to hold onto. His own erection had hardened until just the brush of Hutch's foot against it sent Starsky spinning straight out on his own amusement park ride, the whole room whirling about like a tilt-a-whirl.

 

"Man," Hutch whispered with a dry throat. "Too bad we don't take dinner breaks like this every day."

 

"Couldn't." Starsky crawled up the big body, curling himself against Hutch's side, still trembling a little from the post-coital release, "We'd never be able to get back to work."

 

"True." Hutch splayed his fingers over Starsky's chest, toying with the dark hair that grew over his heart.

 

"Maybe we should go back over there. To Carlysle's." Starsky squirmed from the sensations the tickling fingers were creating. It Hutch wasn't careful, there'd be a repeat performance on the bed. "See what she really does in the back of her house."

 

"No, can't set ourselves up for a harassment suit." With effort, Hutch pulled himself back into police mode, and stood, assessing the rumpled damage of his clothes. Luckily, neither of them had any embarrassing wet spots, since Hutch's cum had gone down Starsky's mouth and Starsky's had landed on the faded chenille coverlet on the bed, "We can bundle up the sheets and wash 'em tomorrow." He said, rebuttoning his shirt and tucking it neatly into his pants.

 

"I used to go to the laundromat to score." Starsky grinned impishly, still sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Ask some leggy blonde which detergent to wash my shorts, whether I should use a dryer sheet to get things soft..."

 

"A leggy blonde, huh?" Hutch chuckled, tugging at the edge of the coverlet to bundle it up. "Get off. You don't need go to the laundromat to score big."

 

"No?" Starsky asked with interest, flipping the edges of the sheet into the middle of the bed so Hutch could ball it into a big pile.

 

"The grocery's the best. Lotsa chances there to squeeze ripe..." Hutch reached down as if to catch up the last corner of the sheet, but grabbed Starsky's still exposed cock, hanging limply between the flaps of his unzipped jeans. "Bananas, and cucumbers."

 

"That could get you in a lot of trouble," Starsky snarled low in his throat. "Bananas bruise easily."

 

"Sometimes they're harder than you think." Hutch kept his hold as Starsky stood so they were millimeters apart, their lips so close they were breathing each other's air. "Ready for peeling."

 

Starsky gulped, Hutch's fingers stroking the length of his manhood, creating tiny vibrations in his groin resonating throughout his skeleton. If Hutch didn't stop soon, Starsky would no longer be responsible for his actions. "We can't." He clamped his own fingers around the wrist that held him. "Got to get out on the street."

 

"Most groceries give a rain check when the produce isn't available." Hutch released him, zipping up Starsky's fly with a quick flick of his hand.

 

"Just come back anytime." Starsky's pulse was still half in his cock and he gathered up the bedding to have something to occupy his hands and hide his groin. "When we're off duty."

 

"Tomorrow then, while the sheets are in the wash?" Hutch gave him a slow, wicked smile that promised heat and action.

 

Grabbing bags of chips and soda from the pantry before locking up the door, the duo stowed the bedding in the trunk and logged back in. Hutch pulled the car out into traffic, cruising slowly around their usual beat, prowling the night for the criminals and low lifes who came out in the darkness. Vampires might not exist, but the bloodsuckers of the modern age were the drug pushers, pimps and rapists that Starsky and Hutch vowed to hunt down.

 

It was an average shift. There were domestic disputes to control, and bar fights to break up. Starsky ignored the cluster of underage prostitutes on a low lit corner, knowing if he arrested them, they'd only be out on bail by the morning. It was their pimps he hated; rough, greedy men who used the woman's bodies like cash.

 

"You think she really is a licensed sex therapist?" Starsky asked, watching the nightlife pass by the car in a never-ending parade of drunks on the sidewalks and pickpockets casing the rich folk coming out of the multiplex.

 

"Oh-Carlysle?" Hutch laughed shortly, but just her name conjured up images that made his blood run faster. "I don't know if there's such a thing, Starsk, but she was no ordinary call girl."

 

"That's for sure." Starsky rubbed the reddened welt on his neck, remembering Hutch's mouth on his skin. His nipples still ached from the bites. "I really wanted to get in there and take a look around. See what she had in the back room."

 

"Beds."

 

"No, y'know, see if there was any kinky stuff- whips, maybe...leather..."

 

"Starsky, you've watched porn before, you know what they do with that stuff."

 

"I was just wondering what...she.. .did with 'em." Starsky looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

 

"You want to go try her out," Hutch said, glancing away from the road to catch his partner's retreat. "Have you ever been with a woman like that?"

 

"No, not like her." Starsky was glad of the covering darkness, hiding the blush that heated his cheeks for the second time that night. What was is about Carlysle that did this to him? "A dominatrix. It just...yeah, I wanted to try it."

 

"Don't go to her, buddy, she'll eat you alive." Hutch chuckled again, throaty and intense.

 

"Thanks a lot. You don't think I could hold my own?"

 

"No." Hutch reached over, capturing the jean covered thigh so close beside him. "I just don't want you to go to her."

 

"I didn't mean anything, Hutch," Starsky apologized. "I'd never leave you. Just-just wanted the experience." The idea of all that leather caressing his naked skin, while he stood, hands clasped meekly behind him. She would be wearing leather gloves, a long tailed whip in one hand and her icy blue gaze would signal him to kneel... Starsky's penis stirred with the fantasies

 

"If you really want the experience, don't go to her," Hutch repeated, pulling the car in front of the precinct building. He stroked Starsky's thigh, amused at the obvious bulge growing once again in front of his pants. "I've got leather pants."

 

"I've always liked those pants." Starsky slid down as Hutch's hand continued up his thigh. "But what do you know about the other stuff?"

 

"More than you think." Hutch pinched him hard up close to the groin, catching Starsky unawares. He reared up in surprise with a yowl, rubbing the offended area.

 

"What was that for?"

 

"The unexpected." Hutch kissed his fingers and soothed the injured spot, "I never knew you had a yen for kink."

 

"I never knew you did, either." Starsky regarded him warily, uncertain how he liked this turn of events. He thought he was privy to all of Hutch's secrets, both the dark scary ones and the rainbow hued dreams, but this was new. "When?"

 

"Mostly before we met-and while I was married." Hutch cast his mind back to the chaotic days of his marriage. There had been little in the way of wedded bliss, but Vanessa had had an appetite for sexual diversion that had even given Hutch pause, and he had rarely been one to say no to experimentation. Their only real connection, therefore, had been in the bedroom, and the playroom and anyplace else they could get naked. He'd tried bondage a few times back in Minnesota, but Vanessa introduced him to a wide array of sexual toys. The first year of their marriage had proven diverting as long as they were acting out fantasies but unfortunately, Vanessa bored easily. She was the ultimate consumer, tossing out her toys after using them only once or twice. Hutch ended up just another cast off toy. When she left him, he'd put the games she'd played behind him. Most other girls he'd dated hadn't been interested in much more than a quick roll in the hay with a gorgeous blond man, and he'd welcomed the anonymity of casual sex. No strings, no commitments. There had been the occasional foray to dark, heady smelling leather bars, but they hadn't amounted to much and his taste for kink had been carefully locked up. It wouldn't look good for a police detective to get caught in a compromising position which could be construed as perverted or obscene.

 

When he and Starsky had finally connected on a sexual level, after Starsky's recovery from his nearly fatal shooting, Hutch had thought all his dreams had come true. He'd found true commitment with a person he adored, who loved him back and was open and honest about his feelings. There hadn't been any room for kink. It was enough just to be with Starsky and explore their new relationship. Even after two years, it still felt fresh and exciting. He almost was afraid to admit to the allure of the dangerous, thrilling world of kinky sex games.

 

"How was it?" Starsky asked hesitantly, feeling like a complete virgin in the woods, and afraid he sounded like one. "Do you like...?"

 

"Bondage?" Hutch said the word effortlessly, the whole B/D/S/M world thrusting into the forefront of his brain once again. He could almost feel the cold steel of chains sliding through his hand and the hard, unforgiving length of a leather strap. "It's almost indescribable to someone who hasn't experienced it."

 

"That sounds like bull, like a cop out," Starsky snorted. He got out of the car, mentally throwing cold water on his raging hard-on, so he could finish the night's arrest reports in relative comfort.

 

"Wait a minute." Hutch nearly ran around the car, grabbing him by the arm. "What do you want? You want to try it?"

 

Starsky gazed up at him steadily, not sure what he really wanted. It sounded sexy as hell, alluring in a nasty, dangerous way. "Did you like it?" He was very aware that they were standing in front of the police department and shouldn't be having this discussion at the moment, but the subject refused to die. "Just tell me and we can talk about this later."

 

"Yes. I did." Hutch spaced the words out carefully so there was no confusion about what he said. "If you want to try it, I would do it with you."

 

"Yes." Starsky was captured in his partner's sky blue eyes, unable to look away. "I want you to show me how." With supreme effort, he turned away, starting to walk into the building.

 

Hutch swung his hand, landing a hard, open palm slap on Starsky's rounded right buttock. It stung. Even through his blue jeans, Starsky could feel the reddened imprint of Hutch's hand on his skin, like a hot brand marking him. His breath catching in his throat, he turned around in shock.

 

Hutch held up one finger, "Think about that feeling for one night. We'll talk about it tomorrow. If you want this, we do it right, seriously, so nothing goes wrong."

 

Nodding, Starsky continued on into the squadroom to type his reports. He wasn't at all surprised that Hutch never followed. There had been a whole shift in their universe since they had first encountered Carlysle. She had been a catalyst to project them into a completely new chemical equation. Hutch had to adjust to his new status. Starsky knew without being told, without one word passing between them about it, that Hutch was the Master, the dominant one and he was the...he didn't even know for sure what his role was. Slave? Submissive? It was like stepping off into space, the rules of behavior had changed so completely he had to learn to walk, or more to the point, to have sex all over again.

 

The switch from women to men had been enough of a-well, challenge wasn't quite the right term, more like exploration. What was different in seducing a man as opposed to a woman, and what remained the same-apart from the obvious. And it wasn't as if he no longer wanted a woman, Carlysle had certainly proven that. But Hutch made him deliriously happy and fulfilled in life. It wasn't a relationship he could publicly proclaim in front of a justice of the peace, or even some of their friends, but it had worked for he and Hutch for going on two years now. What if he had completely mucked up everything now by introducing whips and handcuffs?

 

It bothered him more than he was willing to admit that Hutch had never owned up to this side of his life. Sure, when Vanessa was around, even though he and Hutch had hung together more often than not, Hutch had made an effort to spend time with his wife. Now, Starsky knew what they had been doing and he was both unnerved and intrigued by it.

 

His fantasy of icy blond Carlysle standing over him, dressed in black leather, securing him with restraints altered slightly to his blond lover, chest bared above skin tight leather pants. Hutch was holding the butt of a whip under Starsky's chin, forcing it up so he couldn't move while a finger dipped down into his...

 

"Finishing up, Sergeant?" The night duty officer asked, his voice loud in the quiet of the deserted squadroom. "I can file anything, if you need to get out of here."

 

"Thanks." Starsky stacked the last of the reports on the desk; surprised he'd been able to work at all with his mind completely elsewhere for a whole hour. He stood, sure he could still feel the phantom impression of Hutch's hand on his buttocks. It no longer hurt, but it had left its mark on his psyche.

 

++++++++++++++

 

Hutch loaded Huggy's sheets into the washer at the Laundromat around the corner from Venice Place. He'd had sweaty, amorous, erotic dreams starring Starsky the entire night long. He wasn't even positive he would be able to say hello when Starsky finally arrived, since all he wanted to do was jump his bones. But they needed to talk, and ignore their physical urges until things were hashed out. Could Starsky really want this? Was he really aware of what he was getting himself into?

 

Bondage. It wasn't something to be started blindly. It required discussion and planning to make the experience safe and satisfying for both the top and the bottom. Hutch wasn't all that sure he could totally dominate his beloved. What if he proved to be a wimpy master? Starsky would be disgusted with the whole affair and want out, maybe permanently.

 

All of a sudden his heart was thumping wildly in his chest and he broke out in a sweat. What if this destroyed the relationship they had built up? Could he survive Starsky leaving him? Leaning against the agitated washer, Hutch felt like his whole body was trembling in tandem with the appliance.

 

"Hey!" Starsky called out, swinging in through the open door, holding up a bakery bag. "You started without me. I brought breakfast-well, more like brunch I guess, since it's after ten a.m., but I was sleepin'...Had some strange dreams."

 

"Kinky?" Hutch laughed, his fears evaporating at the sight of his irrepressible friend. Just the sight of Starsky's springy curls and gleeful face made Hutch happier. The whole day improved whenever they were together. He wanted to go over and pull Starsky into a clinch right then and there. There was no one else in the Laundromat on a Tuesday morning. All the old ladies and college kids who used the place off living their lives, leaving two off duty cops to have the space to themselves.

 

"More than just a little." Starsky ducked his head over the bag, "I brought you a plain bagel, since you never want the danish."

 

"Not good for you." Hutch patted Starsky's rock hard abs, astonished as always that Starsky could eat like he did and still maintain such an incredible body. He let his hand linger, tracing the shape of his partner's musculature, never quite dipping down as far as either of them wanted to go, since they were in a public building with huge plate glass windows. "Make you fat."

 

"Not so far." Starsky bit into his sweet roll, "But if you keep feeling me up, that's not the part of my anatomy that'll get fat."

 

"Maybe I could make room for a little more fat in my diet." Hutch grinned, closing his fingers around the bagel instead, devouring in a few bites. He hadn't realized he was starving until he started to eat.

 

"Hungry, are you?" Starsky asked with an arched eyebrow, amused.

 

"For more than just bagels." Hutch swallowed the last of it, filching the cup of coffee Starsky had placed on an empty dryer.

 

"Hey, get your own."

 

"What's yours is mine, babe." Hutch drank half the cup, then handed the rest to his partner. That's how they usually shared everything. Fifty-fifty. How would they work it out in the unequal world of BDSM? As the dominant, Hutch would have complete control, and he wasn't sure Starsky was ready to relinquish his rights. Starsky was a very head strong, stubborn guy who never backed down from a fight. Could he really behave himself and submit, meekly accepting whatever Hutch decided to dole out? That was the scariest part, was he ready to dole out what was necessary to sexually dominate his best friend? They had to establish guidelines and conducts. Maybe a visit to Carlysle wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. She presumably knew what she was doing, after all.

 

"Where'd you go?" Starsky inquired, pulling the heavy, wet sheets out of the washer to lug them over to the dryer. "Looks like you're a million miles away."

 

"Almost."

 

"Planet of the Bondage Babes in Chains?" Starsky quipped, "I watched that once on the late, late show-this red headed chick had bazookas that must have stuck out..." He gestured with his hands, miming enormous breasts, "Would have hit me in the eye."

 

"This has a real serious side, Starsk. It's not all fun and games." He shrugged with a slight smirk, "Well, it can be, but we have to talk about it, lay out ground rules."

 

"Can't just pull out the ol'handcuffs and chain me to the bed?" Starsky laughed with a trace of nervousness, glad Hutch had brought the subject out in the open again. At least he knew what he was doing.

 

"That's another thing. If we really go through with this, I'll have to go shopping."

 

"Need the right equipment?" Starsky brushed a teasing hand against the front of Hutch's butter soft cords, "Looks like both of us came with all the right parts, no assembly required."

 

"That's the next thing." Hutch caught Starsky's wrist in his fist, applying just enough pressure for the other man to feel a slight twinge of pain. "You have respect me-obey me totally, at least when we're playing the roles, or it won't work. I could punish you for touching me like that."

 

To say Starsky was aroused was an understatement. He would have done anything for Hutch at that moment, just to have him continue holding him as he was. His cock had swelled to uncomfortable proportions just with the tightening of Hutch's hand around his wrist. He wanted those fingers fisting his manhood with an uncontrollable desire. "I won't do it again, Hutch, just can we go to your place now, maybe continue this a little later?"

 

"You don’t get to plan the action, I do." Hutch said with authority, amazed at his own bravado. He released Starsky's wrist, momentarily mortified that he'd left a faint red mark on the lightly tanned skin, but toughened his own resolve. This dominance wasn't as hard as he'd feared "When the dryer is done, we go upstairs, and later we have to hash this out."

 

"Much later." Starsky risked more imaginary punishment by licking his lips with a languid tongue and then leaning forward to plant a brazen kiss on the blond man's bemused mouth.

 

Once inside Hutch's cluttered little abode, the lovers resumed their seduction, leaving the cleaned sheets just inside the door and moving immediately to the bedroom. Clothes were left where they were dropped and both were nude by the time they climbed onto the bed.

 

Starsky had a goal, he wanted to be inside Hutch's ass just as soon as humanly possible. With that in mind he reached out for the turgid organ standing up between Hutch's thighs. Both were sitting on their heels, facing one another. It hadn't been planned, both had just taken this position, admiring the other's physique. Placing his hand around Hutch's cock, Starsky ran a slow finger up the underside, eliciting a moan of pleasure from his partner. Hutch's breathing quickened, but he didn't move, letting Starsky make the first move, just enjoying the sensations as the fingers tightened, stroking the steel hard length with loving tenderness. He let his head fall back, not even watching the maestro playing his chosen instrument like a virtuoso. Those fingers tapped out a staccato scale down his penis, alternating with a steady, rhythmic motion that matched his heartbeat. Hutch's body tuned into the resonance of the lovemaking, tendons and ligaments vibrating to the inner music that only he and Starsky could hear.

 

Adding just a hint of fingernail pressure to the mix, Starsky grinned joyfully as Hutch stiffened, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Bending down, Starsky kissed the now throbbing cock, flicking his tongue out to tickle the head as cum spurted forth. It splattered down the side of Starsky's thighs, warm and sticky. Laughing, he planted another kiss on his lover, but this one higher up, at the base of the penis, on the sensitive skin of the groin. He could feel Hutch's lifeforce pulsing under his lips, celebrating their union.

 

"You can do that to me anytime." Hutch smiled when he could form words again, "But your little buddy looks like he's being neglected."

 

"Not really." Starsky pushed gently against Hutch's hip, "Over on your side, I've got more in store for you."

 

"You doin' all the work this morning?" Hutch looked up into the face that gazed at him with such adoration.

 

"It ain't work, Schweetheart," Starsky joked. "It's all a pleasure, now turn over on your side, you big lug." Jumping off the bed just long enough to retrieve a tube of KY jelly from the bedside table drawer, Starsky squirted some of the smooth lubricant into his palm, warming it with his body heat before lightly stroking the puckered opening in Hutch's backside.

 

Hutch lay on his side facing away from Starsky, with his lower leg straight and the upper leg bent, knee against the bed for support. It was a comfortable position for anal penetration, for both partners, although it prevented them from looking at each other, a distinct disadvantage.

 

Chuckling with pleasure, Hutch welcomed touch of Starsky's hand on his butt cheeks, the warmed lubricant soft and sensual as he felt the pressure of Starsky's fingers on his sphincter. Aiding their entrance by rocking his pelvis, he forced the fingers deeper inside. A third finger joined the other two, widening the opening.

 

"Now, Starsk, now..." Hutch breathed, reaching back to touch his partner's flat belly. His whole body was nothing more than a receptacle for his lover and he needed to be joined together, to sense the oneness of their beings.

 

When Starsky had deemed his partner relaxed and ready for the finale, he lightly greased his now painfully stiff cock, positioning himself behind Hutch. The minute Starsky pushed into that tight tunnel, rockets started going off in his head, their explosions echoing in his ears as he thrust deeper and deeper. His own heartbeat was pounding, his penis throbbing with desire as the head rammed Hutch's prostrate gland, giving Hutch a jolt stronger than caffeine. Grabbing Hutch's hipbones. Starsky shoved in, fast and hard for the last few centimeters, howling as Hutch's muscles contracted around his member, squeezing him until all he could see, feel, hear were the booms of fireworks sparking around him. Starsky shuddered, his breath coming in panting gasps, his soul shooting up into the middle of the amazing display of multicolored lights, dancing with Hutch's in a celestial celebration of love.

 

It took a few long minutes before either could move, disconnecting themselves from the other's body. Hutch rolled over to face Starsky, curving his hand up to cup his lover's face in his palm. "That was worth the wait."

 

"I kinda lost control at the end there, did I hurt you?" Starsky asked anxiously. He was surprised when Hutch laughed, leaning forward to kiss him hard on the lips. "Did I say something funny?"

 

"Sort of. You're worrying about hurting me and you want me to...what was it you said? Pull out the ol' handcuffs and chain you to the bed?"

 

"That's different."

 

"It's all different, Starsk. Yah, there's always that twinge of pain with anal penetration. It's always there, but it's so insignificant in the whole gestalt of the arousal and the..."

 

"Sex, Dr. Freud?"

 

"Make that Dr. Jung. The collective unconscious and archetypal myths."

 

"Huh?" Starsky raised up on one elbow to stare at his best friend in confusion.

 

"Nevermind, as Emily Lytella would say." Hutch smiled, tracing his finger down Starsky's hickey marked throat to the tiny bite marks all around his nipples. "I hurt you yesterday, you still have the marks."

 

"That wasn't hurting, those were love bites."

 

"But admit it, it hurt."

 

"Yah." Starsky leaned forward to claim a kiss of his own, sucking on Hutch's lip before letting go, "You're talkin' about that pleasure and pain thing."

 

"That's essentially what bondage and all the stuff that goes with it is all about. The fine line between pleasure and pain. Sex makes it almost indistinguishable."

 

"You can say that again." Starsky stiffened as Hutch's fingers tweaked his nipple, still slightly bruised from the treatment it had gotten yesterday. Hutch rubbed the hard nubbin between his fingers, pulling and twisting enough to wrench a gasp from his partner. Starsky didn't dare move with that much tension on his chest, hardly daring to breathe. It was undeniably arousing though, sending thrills of desire through his body as Hutch's grip on his wrist had done earlier.

 

Watching his partner's face, the slightly open mouth, the hooded eyes signaling sexual need, Hutch put out his tongue to lick the painfully stimulated nipple, then released his hold. He kissed the tortured area all around, lapping his warm tongue up to Starsky's collar bone, soothing the little red love mark on his neck. Starsky relaxed bonelessly onto the bed, the TLC just what he wanted after the display of pain.

 

"See?" Hutch rested his head on the dark haired man's shoulder, "You liked that, even though it hurt, a little."

 

"You made your point," Starsky agreed, threading his fingers through his partner's blond locks. The top of Hutch's head was against his cheek, so he couldn't see the other's expression, but he knew he'd read love there. "There's that feeling of danger that revs up the adrenaline. It makes everything..."

 

"Brighter, clearer." Hutch finished his sentence. He'd never craved danger like Starsky did. Starsky liked the fast, the unknown, the thrill of the adventure, while Hutch wanted more order, more structure, to be in control, but he still understood Starsky's addiction to the natural speed of life. It also explained why they both had easily slipped into the roles of dominant and submissive. He controlled, Starsky anticipated the dangerous unknown. But would Starsky be able to simply submit without fighting back? That was the question.

 

"What if...?" Starsky started, rubbing his cheek on the silky fair hair.

 

Hutch smiled, trust Starsky to start with the 'what if's?' "Go on."

 

"What if, after you've done all the shopping and all the prep work, I don't want to do it again?" Starsky closed his eyes, unaccountably frightened of this idea. His groin contracted with the thought, afraid that Hutch might not want him any longer if he turned away at that point.

 

"Then, at least, you'd have experienced it correctly instead of some fantasy rape scenario where the girl wants you to tie her to the bed."

 

"I've done that. It was really awkward. I couldn't get into it-she was fakey screaming and then forgot who I was or somethin' and yelled out 'Jerry!', twistin' around like I was hitting her and I couldn't even get...."

 

"This will be both more real, and more what both of us need, together." Hutch promised, slipping one hand under Starsky's ribcage to bring him even closer. "But I need to know what you want, exactly."

 

"I'm not sure I do." Starsky laughed abruptly, the sharp intakes of his breath setting up a wavy sea on his chest muscles, bouncing Hutch's head in time to the laughter. "Aren’t you s'pposed to be in charge of that?"

 

"Yah, but let's see...I think without even discussing it that infantile play would be a turn-off."

 

"Right on the money. Do people do that? "

 

"Some people masturbate over women's shoes."

 

"Not happening."

 

"I knew that one." Hutch laughed himself, petting Starsky's chest hair. "You want handcuffs."

 

"Yah, I guess." Starsky had that freefall sensation of space walking again, nothing was safe anymore, nothing was certain. He trusted Hutch implicitly, using his love and experience as the net when he cast off the line holding him safely to the normalcy and gave up control of his destiny. "Whips are usually involved?"

 

His throat tightening, Hutch looked up at Starsky. They'd never turned on the lamp when they'd come in from the laundromat, it had been barely 11am, but the sky was overcast and now only an hour later, it was dark and shadowy in the little bedroom. He could just make out the expression on his face. Starsky looked scared and exciting at the same time. Like he did when they were on a particularly tense bust. "That one, I don't know if I could."

 

"You already smacked me on the butt and it wouldn't be the first time you've thrown a punch at me," Starsky said reasonably.

 

"If we go on past the first time, maybe there might be pain play, but that's for later," Hutch resolved, wanting the whips to be far in the future, "Now it's the basics, and I want you to know what's going down, the outline anyway, in advance."

 

"No surprises?" Starsky pouted.

 

"Oh, there'll be surprises, I'm not telling you everything. I want you to trust me to make the evening perfect."

 

"That one is a given." Starsky captured his mouth again, lengthening the kiss until both had used up their stores of oxygen and had to come up for air.

 

While rain pattered on the roof, the rest of the afternoon was spent in questions and answers, both men revealing their fantasies, wants and desires in the kinkier realm of sexual play.

 

Saturday was to be the day, but Starsky still had to get through three more days of waiting. He cajoled Hutch on more than one occasion as to the specifics of what would unfold, but Hutch remained firm, his demeanor, when they were off duty, becoming more and more domineering every day. Instead of going with Starsky to Huggy's on Wednesday afternoon before their late shift, Hutch left on his mystery shopping expedition. Starsky was told in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to ask about the items purchased or to attempt to look for them. All would be revealed on Saturday and not until then.

 

Starsky alternated between a giddy anticipation of the day in question and a dread that kept him awake at night. What if this were all a big mistake? Had he gone too far, telling Hutch all the things he'd kept so long inside, those dark, slightly scary dreams that blossomed in the night when his bed was empty. Hutch hadn't been revolted, far from it. In fact some of his fantasies had matched Starsky's, startling both of them with their similarities.

 

The job he did every day, the crimes and deaths he faced should have been enough to turn Starsky away from wanting bondage and deliberate pain. It frightened him, but he also could see that using those same things that he had to fight against as a cop could empower him. They wouldn't hold such negativity for him. Was that a good or a bad thing? Starsky couldn't even fathom an answer. But he'd been captured for real and tied up on more than one occasion by criminals intent on using him as a hostage and even planning to kill him. The terror of those times was still a palpable thing in his nightmares. So what made this...bondage play different? Why did this arouse him as nothing had in a long time? Being tied up had never been sexually stimulating before. Was it because of Hutch? Why would he have such a strong desire to be physically dominated by a man he loved more than life itself? Why did he lie awake in the long hours before dawn imagining Hutch restraining him, holding his hands behind him?

 

Sex with Hutch had been perfect up until now. They did their share of experimentation, since neither had a great deal of experience with other men, although Hutch had a bit more than Starsky did. So why throw handcuffs into the mix? There was no answer to a question he barely understood, but Starsky knew this was what he wanted, deeply, strongly inside.

 

The long discussion of that rainy afternoon had laid a general groundwork of what was allowed and what wasn't. Both had agreed that even if the session were a rousing success, and they wanted to continue, it would never be every day. This would be a special time, to be cherished, if that were the right word, and anticipated. Perhaps once a month, maybe less, maybe more. Obviously, they had to keep that time secret, but since few people knew of their relationship beyond that of detective partners, secrecy wasn't a major problem.

 

Hutch was having a case of nerves about his ability to control Starsky. He was so afraid of going too far, hurting him accidentally. And the whole pain play thing. He had deliberately not purchased anything to strike his partner with. Except that in the right hands spanking was a very erotic form of foreplay. It didn't necessarily hurt that much, and Starsky seemed somewhat surprised he didn't want to include whips. Remembering his experiences with Vanessa, he'd never liked the part much, although she had. She'd used a whip liberally once, drawing blood, not his favorite memory.

 

Being in control, that was what Hutch liked. He could shape the encounter to his specifications, keep the play safely in strict boundaries which would still be mind-blowingly arousing. His groin ached every time he imagined Starsky kneeling naked in front of him, waiting for his command. Starsky would obey him, looking up with such love and trust in those indigo eyes, and then open his mouth as Hutch slid his dick down his throat.

 

Both Starsky and Hutch just had to wade through the usual crime sprees, murder and mayhem that boiled every day on the city streets, biding their time until Saturday.

 

Friday morning, Hutch spent his time setting up the scene to his exact specifications. Rather than using either of their familiar and comfortable apartments, he had chosen the country cottage of an old friend who conveniently worked as a flight attendant and had offered the house to Hutch for a weekend retreat when ever he was on a flight. It was perfect for Starsky's first time: out of their usual melieu, giving it a somewhat foreign appeal and secluded, giving the appearance that they were alone in their own world. He set up all his supplies and some food for the weekend, then carefully wrote out a set of instructions to be given to his supplicant.

 

As often was the case, Friday night was a free for all, with high school kids roaming the streets drunk, drug dealers openly selling their wares on the corners and micro-mini skirted girls wearing too much makeup and the world weary expressions of women twice their ages while displaying their bodies to anyone who would care to shell out the money. Starsky and Hutch were called in to break up a bar fight that extended onto the street and ultimately involved several street walkers, two rival pimps and a drug dealer who got shoved while making a sale, spilling his nickel bags of cocaine all into the gutter. Several of the combatants scrambled wildly after the drugs, prompting the dealer to draw the semi automatic pistol he kept under his coat. He fired into the crowd, wounding two high school seniors who'd just downed an entire six pack each, and lacked any sort of ability to get out of the way of the bullets. With ammunition flying through the air, Starsky dropped, grabbing Hutch by the tail of his tan leather jacket and they hid behind the red Torino, watching for an opportunity to defuse the now overly volatile situation.

 

"You with the gun!" Hutch hollered, "Put down your weapon, this is the police!"

 

This proclamation was met with a volley of shots, "They be stealin' my stuff." The dealer, a slight, mocha skinned boy with swirls of black tattoos decorating both arms yelled indignantly. "I just be protecting my own stuff!" He aimed the pistol at one of the prostitutes who was keening shrilly, her voice rising and falling like some ancient religious chant. "Shut the fuck up, Pussy!"

 

"Well, this is getting us no where fast," Starsky commented out of the corner of his mouth.

 

"What do you suggest?" Hutch glanced away from the scene for long enough to catch Starsky's fearless expression. It sent waves of terror through him.

 

"A little of the element of surprise." Starsky grinned fecklessly. He gestured with his forefinger, indicating he was going around the end of the Torino and along the line of parked cars, which would put him at the far end of the motley group of street brawlers, most of whom were now spread eagled on the sidewalk. The drug dealer squeezed off another clip, catching the keening girl in the chest. Her singsong chant stopped in mid syllable replaced by anguished cries of pain. The sound of an approaching siren only added to the cacophony, increasing the crowd's stress level tenfold. The second prostitute began inching towards her fallen sister, weeping.

 

"Starsky!" Hutch hissed, wishing he had any sort of dominance over his partner right that moment. The dark haired man ran in a semi crouch around the cars, crossing the street in a flash when the drug dealer's attention was diverted by the oncoming patrol cars. Hutch would have given anything to grab his partner back from the fray and turn him over his knee for such a dangerous stunt. Despite his rising anger, he admired Starsky's take charge attitude. Something had to be done before the poor girl bled to death, not to mention the two boys who hadn't moved in the last few minutes.

 

Hutch gave a sigh of relief as Starsky dove for shelter on the opposite side, no longer out in the open. There were trashcans, mailboxes and the remains of an old refrigerator to use for cover. The dealer had caught Starsky's movement out of the corner of his eye and directed a flurry of bullets into the discarded fridge. Nobody cowering on the sidewalk moved, and luckily no one was hit.

 

Sighting his Magnum up over the hood of the Torino, Hutch called out. "Put down your weapon!" he fired one shot over the heads of the wary crowd just as back up finally arrived.

 

Starsky skulked down the sidewalk littered with prostrate bodies, until he was only yards away from the gun-wielding dealer. The boy was barely seventeen if he was a day, but he had the hardened face of a career criminal, a knife scar above his eyebrow giving him a rakish, mean look. He wore an expensive pair of basketball shoes and his jacket bore the colors of that year's Superbowl winners. He held his arm out straight, a deadly weapon clutched in his fingers, pointing the gun at the Torino. Starsky sprang from his hiding place behind the fridge, sweeping his gun in a tight arc that caught the boy on the back of his shaved skull. He dropped instantly, the blow knocking him out before he even hit the pavement.

 

His was heart trip-hammering so fast Hutch had the kind of buzz that usually meant he'd drunk too much coffee but he dashed around the car, signaling to the blue uniforms to take over the scene while he and Starsky arrested the dealer.

 

It wasn't difficult, the guy was still out cold and they had to wait for the paramedics to check out his head wound before they could cuff him. Hutch took the opportunity to push Starsky up against the alley wall, a furious expression on his face.

 

"What the hell did you think you were doing out there? T-trying to get yourself shot again? That guy had a semi-automatic, look what it did to that poor girl!" Hutch's words tumbled out in a rush, speeded up by his still racing heart.

 

"I was tryin' to save her!" Starsky growled savagely, adrenaline speeding out of control through his veins. He always hated when it finally dissipated, leaving him spent and weary, but he was like Superman until then. "And I did it without firing my piece, so even IA'll be happy. What the hell's the matter with you?"

 

"Starsky, at this moment I'd just like to knock some sense into..."

 

"Save it for tomorrow," Starsky hissed, but as he turned away his eyes flashed in such a seductive manner Hutch could feel his cock jump in response.

 

"That an be arranged," Hutch muttered to himself, then went to help mop up the crime scene.

 

+++++++++++++++

 

The small white envelope lay on the coffee table where Starsky had left it the night before, unopened, It drew him like a siren song, but Hutch had told him not to open it up until noon. It was nearly that now, since he'd slept most of the morning. Neither detective had gotten away from the squadroom until nearly four a.m., with all the statements and reports the brawl and shooter had generated.

 

Just as the Torino had pulled up in front of Venice Place, Hutch had handed Starsky the envelope with the instructions not to open it until twelve noon. He'd then left without another word.

 

Watching the hands of his clock inch upwards until they met at twelve, Starsky nervously attempted to tidy his house, circling the coffee table each time he walked by with a load of dirty clothes or a pile of week old newspaper for the recycle bin. How did fifteen minutes stretch out like taffy to what seemed like fifteen hours?

 

Just as the last second ticked off, Starsky grabbed up the innocuous looking envelope to rip the flap off. Thinking better of that action, he rummaged around on his desk until he found the letter opener his mother had given him for his high school graduation, and carefully slit the top of the envelope. Inside were two folded pieces of paper, just like any average letter. Except, Starsky knew this was no average message. It was one which could possibly change the entire course of his life and how he lived it.

 

His hands were trembling as he pulled out the papers, smoothing them to read Hutch's neat handwriting. The note gave explicit instructions on exactly how to prepare himself for the evening's encounter, down to when to shower, what to wear and not to wear and what to eat for lunch. Starsky bristled slightly at the menu, what right did Hutch have to order him to eat a nutritious meal consisting mostly of vegetables? Then he shivered, realizing he'd given Hutch every right to do just that. He'd given Hutch the right to order him to do what ever the hell Hutch damn well pleased, on this particular Saturday. Until Sunday morning, he had no responsibilities except to please his master, and no rights at all. Hutch could have sex with him, beat him or order him to eat broccoli, and Starsky had to obey. He was rebellious enough to wonder how Hutch would know whether he had eaten broccoli or not, since it wasn't something he usually bought at the grocery store.

 

With a sudden jolt to his stomach, he ran into the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator door. Hutch would know because he had laid out the ingredients for the meal on the top shelf himself. Starsky pulled out what he was supposed to eat, laughing. Hutch was probably the only dominant who used his power to get someone to eat more healthily.

 

After crunching his way though lunch and washing it down with lemonade, Starsky showered and changed, selecting the clothes described in the letter. Red pullover shirt with the tiny white square on the front, blue jeans so faded and soft they were like wearing pajamas, except for the fact that they were skin tight and threadbare over knees, ass and crotch. Red socks and his blue Adidas finished the ensemble. No underwear had been underlined twice in red.

 

Standing in front of the mirror, Starsky shaved carefully to avoid any nicks or cuts and inspected his appearance. He looked normal, but his whole body was buzzing with anticipation. What would happen tonight? Would it change him forever? What was Hutch doing right now? Was he dressing, too? Would he look the same, but be somehow changed?

 

At two o'clock, the letter instructed, Starsky was to consult the map to the rendezvous house, and start his drive. It would take nearly an hour. Once he arrived at the designated address, he was to knock twice at the door and wait, his hands clasped behind him. When the door was opened, Starsky was not allowed to speak unless spoken to, and was expected to obey all commands. Disobedience would not be tolerated.

 

Just reading those words sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. What would happen if he didn't obey? His groin had been tingling every since he'd begun dressing, but now there was a constant aching need that begged to be relieved. Each command in the letter added to the throbbing in his manhood until it was uncomfortable just standing still. Starsky reached down to rub the back of his hand over the thin fabric covering his cock, then froze. Hutch would undoubtedly notice any wet stains on his jeans if he jacked off, and that certainly wouldn't be construed as following directions. He dug his fingernails into his palms, stilling the urge to grab himself.

 

The last instruction on the letter said to use the drive over to think of a safeword. A word that could stop whatever action was going on at the time and end the session. In B/D/S/M, the word 'no' meant nothing. The Bottom could yell 'no', 'stop' or scream 'don't' until he was blue, but it wouldn't stop whatever the Top was doing, no matter what it was. Only two things could stop a session, the master ending it or a safeword. It was the only power the submissive had, but it was absolute. The safeword had to be agreed on ahead of time and only used as a very last resort. Starsky felt elated and chilled at the thought.

 

The safeword was the only possession he was to arrive with, that and the trust that Hutch would care for him, even under highly unusual and slightly scary circumstances.

 

Turning on the ignition, and driving down his street, Starsky wondered if it was the last time he'd feel completely in control for the next twenty-four hours. It took no thought at all to decide his safeword after that.

 

The rain from the day before had lingered for a drizzly, dreary morning, but launched into a full-blown storm soon after Starsky had started on his drive. It gave the afternoon the proper gothic atmosphere and he let loose a bubble of giggles, imaging himself stopping in front of some turreted monstrosity of a house, standing dripping on the front step to be let in by a hugely tall man in seedy butler's duds. Hutch would make an entrance, wearing torn fishnet stockings and a black corset like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror Picture Show.

 

Singing "Let's do the time warp again!" he followed the directions on the hand drawn map across the valley to a quiet, old fashioned area that gave him the impression he'd gone back in time a few decades. There were no dark, forbidding mansions filled with weird bondage aficionados here. It was more like the neighborhoods Norman Rockwell painted, pretty houses set back on well tended green lawns. He found the correct road and turned right, driving slowly enough to peer out the rain streaked windshield to see the house numbers painted on the road side mailboxes. The houses were getting further and further apart until there was a nearly half a mile without another one. He was beginning to think he'd missed his destination when he finally caught a glimpse of a jaunty red painted mailbox with the number 69 on the side.

 

"This be the place!" Starsky announced to the empty car, more to calm his own jangling nerves than anything else. The drive was gravel, bumping the Torino more than Starsky liked, and he was glad to pull up in front of a cozy little cottage with the red shutters. His heart in his mouth, he got out of the car, approaching the house with a mixed bag of trepidation and nervous excitement. He dashed up onto the covered porch, ran his fingers through his wet, unruly curls and knocked the required two raps on the red door. Then, clasping his hands behind him, he waited for Hutch to let him in.

 

When the storm had really hit full force, Hutch had begun to worry that it might cause a problem with Starsky's drive over. He was very relieved when he heard the familiar whine of the Torino's engine drive in and then the double knock on the door, precisely on time.

 

He was filled with misgivings. He'd never actually been the one to oversee an entire session. More often he'd been one of a group of people, all paired off to act out their own bondage fantasies. He wanted Starsky to understand this world, to enjoy it and possibly, come back for more.

 

With a straightening of his spine, Hutch opened the door.

 

Starsky looked startled, his blue eyes bright in the gray afternoon. He was dressed as instructed and Hutch could see without even unzipping his fly that he wore nothing under his jeans. He looked good enough to eat. Hutch wanted nothing more than to pull him into a bear hug, assure him that everything would be great-this was supposed to be fun! But instead he assumed his sternest face, stepping aside to let Starsky in.

 

Remembering the rules, Starsky didn't say a word, walking across the threshold with his heart hammering so loudly, he was surprised Hutch didn't comment on the sound.

 

The room was dim, candles flickering everywhere, placed on tables and tucked into every available nook and niche. It gave the whole place a transient atmosphere, as if nothing were quite solid and real.

 

Hutch wore a loose silk shirt of shimmering pale blue that Starsky had never seen before. The softness of the silk draped his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong chest. The shirt was tucked into smooth brown leather pants, so form fitting as to be a second skin, the bulge in the front sending a siren call straight to Starsky's groin.

 

"Drop your eyes. " Hutch commanded, seeing what Starsky was looking at. "Undress quickly and lay your clothes on that chair."

 

Starsky took a shaky breath, walking forward as if treading on uncertain ground. He was surprised to find himself so scared. The excitement of anticipation had made him giddy in the car, but now his mouth was dry, his whole body jittery with nerves. What if he wanted to stop right now? When was Hutch going to ask for the safeword?

 

"Were you listening to me?" Hutch asked sharply, his voice low and forceful, "I said take off your clothes. I want to see you naked, on your knees, in front of me."

 

Risking a glance at his lover's face, Starsky almost didn't recognize the stern expression he saw there. Hutch was backlit with candles, his hair haloed in glowing fire, his blue eyes deep in shadow. Starsky couldn't know how hard it was for Hutch to maintain his distance. He wanted to peel those damp clothes off the other man's body himself, stripping him bare so he could feel the ripple of skin over hard muscle when he ran his palms over Starsky's chest.

 

Kicking off his Adidas, Starsky fumbled with his belt, but opened his fly without difficulty. When he stepped out of his jeans, his erect cock bounced out against his leg as he bent to remove his socks. Hutch bit back a sigh of pleasure watching Starsky's muscles bunch and move as he slipped off the footwear. He piled everything on a ladderbacked chair with great care. His shirt came off last, almost reluctantly because he felt suddenly self-conscious to be naked in front of his clothed partner. Belatedly he remembered the rest of his orders and dropped to his knees, the edge of the carpet abrasive against his skin.

 

"Took you long enough," Hutch said quietly.

 

Gulping against the flutter in his throat, Starsky tipped his head up, wanting to catch his partner's eyes, to read assurance in them on what exactly was the correct thing to do in this situation. He was exposed on the floor, completely out of the comfortable and familiar. Although it was comfortably warm in the room with a crackling fire burning merrily in the fireplace, Starsky had goosebumps down both arms. It was as if he'd never met the blond man in front of him, the best friend he'd ever had. The man he'd known for fifteen years appearing suddenly strange and alluring bathed in golden light.

 

"I didn't say you could look at me." Hutch's voice broke the silence.

 

Guilty, Starsky dropped his eyes down, seeing his penis popped up between his spread thighs like some weird little puppet in a show. It just needed a script to perform. He waited, anxious to know his part, needing to please Hutch, to do what he desired him to do. Then, Starsky knew the other powerful tool he held: the key to Hutch's pleasure. The submissive did whatever it took to give his master pleasure and to make the session go where the Top expected it to go. Starsky had only to follow and learn and he would give Hutch the gift of his absolute trust and love.

 

"You know there are some rules. We've already discussed some of them, and you obviously read the instructions I left," Hutch said, carefully stealing himself from bending down to comfort the man kneeling in front of him. He understood now that being the dominant was more than just control, it was how to shape the scene to give the submissive the most pleasure. In doing so, he himself gained immense pleasure as well.

 

Starsky's body betrayed his nervousness, he knelt rigidly, his hands clenched tightly on his thighs. "Are you scared, Starsk?" Hutch asked gently.

 

"A little," Starsky admitted.

 

"Do you want to quit?"

 

"We haven't even started yet." Starsky grinned shyly, knowing more than ever that he wanted to go on, to explore this new world with Hutch. "I just feel really weird here...like this."

 

"You look fantastic." Hutch smiled, admiring Starsky's bared chest. The hickeys and bite marks still showed through the dark thatch of hair curled across his chest, the old bullet and surgical scars visible, but no longer jarring, now just part of the story that made up David Starsky. He was incredibly alluring and provocative, open and vulnerable there on the floor with the uneven flames playing games of light and shadow over his skin. Hutch couldn't wait to explore every inch as if he'd never touched that beloved body before, but he had to conduct the session correctly. "Did you pick a safeword?"

 

"Yes." Starsky shifted his weight onto his heels, unaccustomed to kneeling for any length of time. "Torino,"

 

"When you say Torino," Hutch intoned, amused in spite of himself by the choice. "It will stop the action immediately. Think very carefully before you use it. Even if something is very overwhelming, or if things are getting too much for you, think first. Do you really want to stop? That word stops whatever we're doing and we cannot continue. Do you understand?" He knew the words to say, had both read about and experienced various aspects of bondage firsthand, but it was like entering into an unknown situation as a detective. He was always worried about protecting his partner. How much would he be protecting Starsky if he were the one restraining him? Possibly even causing a small amount of pain? It was terrifying.

 

Except that Starsky had asked for this and Hutch had a hard time refusing Starsky anything. And Hutch had always enjoyed these kind of sex games in the past. The chance to play them with his favorite bed partner was the stuff fantasies were made of.

 

"I understand," Starsky agreed.

 

"Then close your eyes," Hutch commanded. He leaned down, his right arm encircling his lover's chest and pulling him to a stand. Reverently he placed his lips on Starsky's skin in that fragile dip where the neck meets the shoulder. Such a vulnerable spot in so many ways. Life could be cut short by a single blow to the carotid, or celebrated with a caress along the sensitive skin of the jaw. His eyes shut, Starsky shivered at the touch, his whole body craving Hutch's with an intensity that left him light headed and trembling.

 

Moving his lips over Starsky's warm skin, Hutch could feel the humming bird flutter of pulse against his cheek and he planted a line of kisses just above the clavicle to the tip of the shoulder. Leaving one hand encircling Starsky's neck, Hutch reached behind him to where he'd hidden an object on a bookshelf.

 

Starsky held himself still, barely able to initiate any independent movement on his own. Hutch's hand around his neck seemed the only thing holding him up, the thumb and forefingers gently massaging the tight muscles of his back with sensuous strokes.

 

Holding up a leather collar, Hutch slide the broad band around Starsky's throat, the long fingers of his hand now moving around in front to pull the collar up over the sensitive skin over the Adam's apple. Those fingers lingered for agonizing seconds before they moved around again, lifting up the curly hair on the back of Starsky's neck to buckle the collar firmly in place.

 

Starsky gasped, his hands reaching up to touch the thick leather collar that captured his throat, turning him into a slave. He wore Hutch's mark. A symbol of Hutch's ownership. Of his own submission.

 

"While we are together here." Hutch slipped his finger into the ring located on the front of the collar, tugging Starsky to walk forward, leading him into the living room. "This is the only clothing you get to wear. Remember to keep your eyes closed." He admonished when he saw a hint of blue peeking out between the impossibly long lashes. "Put your hands behind you." When Starsky had complied, Hutch snapped matching leather cuffs around each wrist and secured them together with a clip.

 

"Now, I think you know that you've already disobeyed the rules several times in the short time you've been here," Hutch breathed into Starsky's ear, his tongue tracing the curve of the helix down to the soft lobe, pausing there to suck gently, tasting the salty, spicy taste that was pure Starsky.

 

Moaning deep in his throat, Starsky swayed, weightless and unsubstantial. He was poised on a precipice, waiting for Hutch's next words to push him over the edge. What was he planning to do now?

 

The collar was so snug against his skin, just the slight vocalization of his moan reminded him of his submission. Every breath and sigh brought the feeling of the leather around his neck back to him. He couldn't get used to standing there, naked and cuffed, in Hutch's arms. Giving a little jerk, Starsky tested his bounds, but his restraints kept any movement to a minimum, Hutch's body against his back doing the rest.

 

"Not to mention what you did last night."

 

"Last night?" Starsky echoed, every part of him just a reaction to Hutch's actions. He had no will of his own, he was Hutch's to command in every way.

 

"You never consulted me, you never thought past that moment to what could have happened." Hutch rubbed the smooth skin of Starsky's rear, cupping his butt cheeks in both hands before releasing them with a quick pinch. "I told you I wanted to knock some sense into you." He had positioned Starsky near a high wingback chair. "Lean forward over the back of the chair."

 

This was it. Starsky leaned over, his chest hitting the back of the chair which meant he had to hang his head down, face first into the cushions. It was an awkward position with his hands still cuffed behind him but he had such a giddy thrill of excitement it canceled out any feeling of fear or foreboding.

 

Hutch picked up a ruler, the old fashioned kind made of wood. "Did your teachers ever smack you?" He asked in a conversational tone, the pale, rounded buttocks such a tempting target he could barely hold himself back from beginning too soon. Hot, heady waves of need were coursing through him, making it hard to concentrate. A good spanking would heat Starsky's backside to a glowing red, putting them in the mood for further exploration of those nether regions.

 

"Yeah." Starsky dipped into his childhood memories, conjuring up the pinch faced teacher in the third grade who'd yielded a ruler with a punishing hand, smacking the length of wood over his knuckles with a force that had left him bruised and in tears.

 

"This will be entirely different." Hutch flicked his wrist, the ruler just flexible enough to make a little whistling sound as it cut the air. "Don't move and you'll only get five strokes."

 

"Yes, sir." Starsky took a steadying breath. Would this hurt like Miss Monahan's smacks had?

 

He jumped when the ruler hit his skin, a zip of pain tingling across the synapses of his butt with breathtaking speed, almost too fast to comprehend. The second stroke added heat to the lightening, but it was still that quick, a spark and then it was gone, leaving no lasting impression. He anticipated the third, his cock jutting hard against the back of the chair, already leaking cum. When the ruler smacked down again, Starsky could see sparks from the building fire on his skin dart across his closed eyelids, his whole being charged with electricity.

 

Swinging his hand down to give another blow, Hutch couldn't believe how aroused he was by this. He was hitting his best friend hard enough to hurt, but Starsky wasn't complaining. In fact he was barely moving, his bottom sticking out, ready for each swat. Starsky let out a little explosive breath each time the wood landed on his buttocks, but otherwise accepted the blows with bravery and resilience.

 

Delivering the last stroke with jarring force, Hutch let out the breath he'd been holding. It was done. He almost wanted to go on, to do more, now that he'd discovered that both of them could handle it. How was Starsky doing? He'd never made a sound, never moved, just let himself be beaten without a fight.

 

Still holding the ruler, Hutch smoothed a gentle hand over his partner's buttocks, the skin reddened and hot to the touch, but otherwise unmarked. "Did that hurt?" Hutch asked, trying to keep the hesitancy and uncertainty out of his voice. He pulled Starsky upright, holding him when he swayed from the sudden head rush.

 

"Just a little." Starsky squirmed from the touch, which actually both soothed and irritated his supersensitive skin. Hutch's finger probed the tight anal opening, pushing gently inward. "I want..." Starsky remembered he wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, but the need was building so strongly inside him. He'd almost come with the last smack of the ruler-had there been just one more, perhaps two, he could have climaxed, something that totally amazed and frightened him at the same time. That a beating at the hands of his lover could arouse him nearly to orgasm. Now that need was pounding inside him, unrelieved and relentless.

 

"What?" Hutch had no lubrication on his finger, but the urge to continue pushing inside Starsky's body was intoxicating. "What do you want?" He asked, so close behind the other man that his lips touched Starsky's neck. He planted a kiss under his ear, just above the hard edge of the leather collar.

 

"You. I want you." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent sentences with every passing moment.

 

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Hutch whispered into his ear. "Beg."

 

"I want you...to fuck me." Starsky sagged back against the taller man, "Please. Fuck me."

 

"On the bed," Hutch ordered, propelling him around. "On your knees."

 

Since nothing had been said about keeping his eyes open or shut, Starsky parted his eyelids enough to see where he was going. The flickering candles sparkled like starlight to his unaccustomed eyes, but he saw a large bed with an ornate metal frame in the next room, covered with a velvet bedspread and surrounded by more candles. He climbed up on the bed with shaky legs, taking the position eagerly. Once again, he was head down because of his still bound hands, and most of his weight was supported on his chest. It was uncomfortable as hell, but he literally couldn't wait another minute. Spreading his knees for a more stability, Starsky waited impatient, but unmoving.

 

First unzipping his fly to free his demanding erection, Hutch then liberally spread his hand with KY jelly, watching Starsky with aching desire. He was so incredibly gorgeous, all muscle and dark curls. Half the time he was Shakespeare's Puck, all impish spirit and childish glee and the other half he was a dark force, dangerous and deadly on the street, seeking out those who perpetrated evil. Which of these halves knelt on the bed? Was there another side to him, proud and gloriously unafraid to be dominated by the man he loved more than words could express?

 

"Please, Hutch, come up my ass." Starsky turned his head, his blue eyes guileless and beseeching. Kneeling bottom up on the bed shoved his cuffed hands up into the middle of his back and pressed his cheek down hard against the velvet spread. He was open and ready to be reamed.

 

"That was the plan." Hutch finished coating his length with lubricant, standing behind the bed so that he was directly in line with his target. He gave no warning, parting Starsky's butt cheeks, pinning him down so he couldn't move away. Hutch pushed the head of his cock in, slowly, but with a certain amount of force. Just inside the tight ring of muscle, he paused, the tight seal just on the edge of painful around his member. It was like shooting sex straight into his veins, all of his receptors fired at once from the squeezing, urging him to push in further.

 

Arching with the intrusion, Starsky tried not to resist. He wanted this so strongly, but the sensations were coming at him so fast, rolling over him in waves and he could hardly keep up. Hutch gave a strong thrust, half of his length entering in one motion. A spreading burn swept down the rectal canal, catching Starsky unawares and he moaned, deep and low, clenching his teeth from the unexpected flare of pain. It subsided when Hutch slipped partway out, reentering at a slightly different angle that hit the prostate dead center. Then the pain dropped away, replaced by lightening bolts of pure pleasure arching through his whole body with sharp, muscle crunching contractions.

 

Starsky's orgasm gripped Hutch with a ferocious hold, pulling him completely inside with each pulsating wave. His balls slapping Starsky's butt cheeks, Hutch thrust feverishly, matching his lover's motions exactly, fitted together perfectly like a key in a lock.

 

The double climax dissipated slowly, leaving both lethargic and spent. Curving his arms around his Bottom, Hutch lowered them both onto their sides on the bed. After pulling himself free of Starsky's ass, he scooted up closely, spooning against the other man's body.

 

His bound hands caught between their bodies, Starsky discovered that Hutch had never completely undressed. The leather pants slid with sensual grace against his bare legs, as Hutch scissored his legs around the smaller man, trapping him between his thighs. Hutch's fly was open and his flaccid penis lay on Starsky's palm, warm and sticky with semen. Starsky tried to close his hand around the rod so conveniently placed, but his dexterity was nil after being cuffed for over half an hour and he couldn't control his movements. Somehow, that had ceased to matter and he reveled in the way Hutch surrounded him totally, the silk shirt whispery soft, slithering over his exposed back. Every tactile sensation was exaggerated. He could feel the tiniest hairs on the back of his neck stirring with Hutch's breath on him. The aching, burn in his anus only reminded him of Hutch's love, his awesome lovemaking, and the slight irritation on his buttocks was easily dismissed next to the kisses that now peppered his shoulders and arm.

 

"How do you feel?" Hutch asked, teeth just resting on his lover's bicep. He wanted to take a big bite, taste Starsky's essence and hold a piece of him inside for always.

 

"Special," Starsky said truthfully, "Amazing. I never knew it could be so...powerful."

 

"There's nothing like it." Hutch forced himself to leave off his banquet of kisses, to pay attention to his Bottom's needs. He moved enough to get some space between their bodies, releasing the clip that held Starsky's wrists together. He left the cuffs on, but gently rubbed his forearms and hands to restore circulation.

 

"Tingles." Starsky wiggled his fingers, finally capturing the oh-so-inviting penis between his thumb and forefinger briefly before Hutch pulled it out of reach.

 

"Not your turn, buddyboy." Hutch flicked him playfully by the ear like a stinging mosquito. "You can get up, use the bathroom, drink some water, whatever you need. When you're done, there's a tray of canapés and some sparkling fruit juice in the kitchen. Bring it in here."

 

"No wine? Beer?" Starsky asked impertinently, getting up slowly, all his muscles protesting the unusual positions he'd had to assume.

 

"Watch yourself, the ruler's still in the living room." Hutch came around in front of him, welcoming the face of his best friend as if he hadn't seen it in years. He privately groused that the one problem with being the Top is he spent an inordinate amount of time behind his subject when he really wanted to look into those astonishingly dark blue eyes, and feast on that soft sensuous mouth. He'd have to work on better positioning from now on. "Neither one of us can afford to get drunk, it leads to mistakes."

 

"Ain't been any mistakes, so far, Hutch." Starsky grinned triumphantly, knowing he was skirting punishment again, but he didn't care. Everything and anything Hutch did to him was like a poem to love. He wanted to pinch himself to prove that he was here and experiencing such mind-blowing sex, but stopped himself before inflicting any bodily injury. His skin and all that it held inside was Hutch's to command, and he couldn't even pinch himself without permission.

 

After relieving his bladder, Starsky realized how thirsty he was. He'd been breathing though his mouth through most of the beating in particular, and his tongue felt furry. He drained the glass of water the blond had provided while padding barefoot into the well appointed kitchen. The tile was smooth and cold under his feet and he hurried to find the tray of food and drink to get back to the warmth of the bedroom. Reaching out his left hand to pick up the oversized plate of canapés, Starsky stared at the thick leather cuff encircling his wrist for the first time. He hadn't really seen it before, since he'd had his eyes closed when it was put on. Both his arms looked alien and strange, as if they were from somebody else's body. The cuffs fit perfectly, not a bit of sliding around on his wrist, and were buckled on the palm side of the hand with a heavy brass buckle. A small ring was anchored on the far side of the cuffs to bind them to each other or anything that would restrict his movements. The possibility that he could be chained to a post or ring mounted in the ceiling sent jolts of excitement and dread to his cock and clenched his balls. The sleek brown leather accented his skin in a way that was both fearsome and beautiful. They were tight, but didn't cut into his skin like metal handcuffs did. These were lined with something soft like suede or chamois, to reduce abrasions. There would probably still be a reddened mark when they were removed, and he wanted to postpone that moment for as long as possible.

 

He hadn't had a chance to see what he looked like with the collar around his neck, since Hutch had covered the bathroom mirror with a towel, but now he raised one cuffed hand up to the collar, touching it cautiously. It also was buckled in the back but he didn't dare put a finger on the fastenings. They seemed off limits, only for Hutch's hand. As frightening as it was to be bound, owned, subjugated in such a base manner, Starsky also felt freed. Having the tight bonds pressing in on his skin reminded him of who he was and also took him completely away from that Detective David Starsky who policed the streets in search of crime. He almost wanted a new name to go with his new persona.

 

"What's taking you so long?" Hutch called from the bedroom, having refreshed himself as well. He pulled back the velvet spread, airing out the shining blue satin sheets.

 

"I'm coming...sir," Starsky added belatedly.

 

"You'd better not be," Hutch teased. "Unless I say you can."

 

"I'm yours to command." Starsky giggled, toting the large plate carefully, with the bottle of sparkling apple juice under his arm. He stopped short when he came into the bedroom, Hutch had removed his silk shirt, but closed his fly. He looked incredibly sexy with his broad, muscled chest bare above the skin tight pants.

 

"God," Hutch breathed, taking in the magnificent sight before him. "Put the tray down and let me look at you." Starsky did so, feeling self-conscious. Hutch looked reverently at the naked man with his throat and wrists bound in leather, and his cock responded with such strong interest, it made him laugh. Starsky was a Greek, well, make that Polish-Russian-American god, his torso perfectly framed by the brown leather. Hutch just wished he'd bought every piece of leather the store had displayed-cuffs for the ankles, tight straps to bind the chest and scrotum, and even gags. Actually, Hutch hadn't ever considered a gag, as much as Starsky's chatter sometimes drove him nuts. He needed to be able to hear Starsky's comments, his utterances when they were in the middle of sex, to assure him that everything was going well. "You look magnificent. You shouldn't ever take those off."

 

"I was thinking the same thing." Starsky ducked his head, but the edge of the collar hit his chin, reminding him again that every thing he did was Hutch's to control.

 

"Give me a cheesepuff." Hutch pointed to the tray, "And pour two glasses of juice. Got to keep your strength up for the rest of the day."

 

Discovering they were both famished, the food was devoured in short order, Starsky sitting cross legged on the end of the bed and Hutch against the head board with a pillow behind his back to protect him from the twisted, decorative wrought iron.

 

"Talk to me, Starsk." Hutch dusted the crumbs off his hands, "You were so quiet earlier. Did you really mean you never want to take the collar off?"

 

"Hutch, I'll feel this in my dreams." Starsky stroked a finger over the restraining leather, feeling the hint of metal that was embedded in the center of the collar to keep its shape. "All this is so incredible, I can barely describe it."

 

"You want to continue."

 

"More than ever," Starsky vowed. "Forever."

 

His heart leaping with gladness, Hutch grabbed Starsky by the arm, pulling him into him. "You don't know how happy that makes me, baby, cause there's a lot more to come." He kissed his brunette firmly on the lips, laughing to himself that Starsky was once again on his knees in front of him, and then decided what he wanted the next move to be. "On the floor, between my legs." Hutch commanded, his lips brushing Starsky's mouth and cheek when he spoke.

 

Scrambling to obey without delay, Starsky knelt, waiting for Hutch to turn around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs bracketing the dark haired man.

 

"Hands behind you again," Hutch directed, the love in his chest almost overwhelming when Starsky complied so instantly. How did he deserve such respect and adoration? It was a scary thing that could easily be corrupted by the power he held, and he admonished himself to always remember to give his chosen one equal respect.

 

With a quick snap of the linking clip, Hutch locked Starsky's cuffs together again. "Unzip me without using your hands."

 

Well, that was obvious, Starsky snarked, but silently. No sense annoying his master so soon. He opened his lips, using just the front teeth, he very carefully rooted out the zipper pull from Hutch's pants, tugging it downward. It took a lot longer than he'd expected. The tiny pull was too small for him to get a good grip on and it kept sliding out of his mouth. By the end, he was drenched in sweat and dry mouthed, but triumphant. Hutch's very happy and willing cock leapt out, ready to play, smacking him in the mouth because he was so close.

 

"Oops," Hutch laughed wrapping his hand around his dick to keep it in line, "Now, deep throat me."

 

Starsky nervously echoed the laugh, swallowing once to increase the saliva in his mouth. As much as he liked going down on his best buddy, he had never been quite able to take the full length inside until it slipped down the back of his throat. Hutch knew it too, which was exactly why he was he telling him to do so.

 

Starting slowly, Starsky began to lick and suck his way up the engorged penis, enjoying the way it pulsed against his lips and tongue, alive in his mouth. He felt slightly unsteady without the use of his hands, so he took his time, moistening each section of the cock with special attention. This was his favorite part, lavishing all his love on the one who loved him best. Hutch couldn't get enough of it, watching with a glad heart as his supplicant applied himself to the task.

 

One more inch, then another, until only a few centimeters remained outside his mouth, straining to come in. Forcibly disengaging his gag reflex, Starsky took a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring with the effort and widening his jaw, took the full length into his mouth, feeling Hutch's balls smack his bottom lip.

 

There is was, that terrifying moment when the cock dropped down his throat, blocking the trachea. No airway, no oxygen, no way to breathe. His heart pounding with frantic rhythm against his ribs, he gulped as Hutch thrust hard, cum beginning to spurt from the tip of his cock. Starsky gulped, his tongue trapped flat from the immense rod claiming his mouth, swallowing desperately as the semen pumped down his gullet.

 

Logically he knew that Hutch would never let him suffocate, but his lungs were beginning to protest, striving to draw in a molecule of life giving oxygen. Black dots began to float along the periphery of his sight, dimming his view of Hutch's face, contorted in euphoric bliss. An involuntary tear slid down Starsky's cheek as he valiantly held on, hands clenched together behind him, his knees and thighs screaming from the prolonged kneeling.

 

Hutch felt like the top was blowing off his head. The repeated swallowing was creating a steady suction on his cock, pulling all of his consciousness down into that one organ. He hadn't let himself relax earlier in the session, being nervous about Starsky's responses. Memories were piling onto him, sending him down the rabbit hole to the last time he'd been deep throated, only it had been Vanessa mouthing him and it had been a true test of the pleasure/pain principle. His arms had been suspended above his head from the doorframe while an unseen hand beat him savagely on the back with a leather strap. Pleasure in front, pain from behind, all without his control. This was so totally different, it was a gift bestowed from his beloved, without recrimination or humiliation. Banishing Vanessa from his thoughts, he let down his guard, leaning back on his hands to increase the drag on his manhood, reveling in the amazing feel of being sucked down the back of Starsky's throat.

 

"Yes! Yes!" He shouted, "Keep going, baby!" Rearing forward, he grabbed Starsky's head to prevent him from pulling away, weaving his fingers through the tangled curls. Thrusting madly, he almost missed seeing the wetness on Starsky's cheeks, but a tear still pooling in one indigo eye reflected the gutting candle flame, refocusing his attention.

 

" Starsk!" Hutch popped out his cock in one fell swoop, his hands still supporting his lover's head. "I'm...sorry." He mentally chastised himself for letting things get out of control, rubbing a calming hand on the dark haired man's cheek while Starsky coughed, gulping in huge breaths of sweet air.

 

"It was good." Starsky protested weakly when he'd gotten enough oxygen to support speech, "Intense. I knew you wouldn't let anything happen. I trusted you."

 

Those words pierced Hutch like arrows, "But I wasn't paying attention. I wasn't looking out for your needs."

 

"Hutch, don't stop now, please." Starsky laid his cheek against Hutch's thigh, the blond hairs growing near his groin like peach fuzz. "I couldn't bear it. I promise, it won't happen again."

 

"No, it won't." Hutch agreed, wondering how they could continue oral sex and still manage to have him be able to signal his safeword at the same time. A hand symbol, perhaps. "Come on up here, you need a rest and some water, I'll bet."

 

"Got something in my throat." Starsky smirked, his humor rising to the surface.

 

"I'll bet you do." Hutch helped him back onto the bed and held up a glass of water to allow him to drink . Using a cool cloth from the bathroom, he sponged off the worst of the sweat and tears, using kisses to sooth Starsky's lingering tremors. "How are you doing, otherwise?"

 

"Startin' to ache," Starsky admitted honestly, his arms especially from being constantly bound at the small of his back. He stared into those sky blue eyes of his best friend wanting to say everything and unable to articulate even the smallest syllable of what he was thinking, "But not enough to stop. Is there more?"

 

"You're incorrigible." Hutch grinned, he would never have predicted how wonderfully this day had turned out. That Starsky had taken so eagerly to submission stunned him. Now, if he could only do justice as the Dominant. "I've got lots of ideas, but we need to go slowly, ease into this. Can't walk before you crawl."

 

"I did," Starsky replied cheekily, his face split with a grin of his own. He wanted it all now, every bondage scenario and sex game he'd ever heard or read about. It was like opening up a pirate's chest full of illicit treasure and finding out that everything inside suited you to a T when you'd never even considered them to your taste before.

 

"You do everything ass-backwards." Hutch unlatched his cuffed hands, giving him a moment to shake out the numbness. "Which can be a good thing, sometimes."

 

"You always did like my ass."

 

"Watch yourself." Hutch assumed his stern demeanor once more. The joking was too easy to fall into, too easy to let them just be Starsky and Hutch fooling around. He had to maintain the control as Top, or the games wouldn't work. "I'm counting demerits for the next session."

 

Starsky stiffened, both excited and nervous that he'd already earned demerits. Would Hutch use the ruler again, or something more unpleasant? "What will you do to me?"

 

"That depends on a lot of things." Hutch handed him the glass of water again. Keeping the Bottom well hydrated was an important job. "Drink up, I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve."

 

Knowing that was all the answer he was going to get, Starsky sipped the cool, refreshing liquid, watching Hutch over the rim of the glass. His chest was so smooth, the muscle definition similar to the classic statue of David, but softer, more human. Starsky found the one thing he didn't like about being submissive was having to police his every move. On any other day of lovemaking, he would reach out, stroke that lightly tanned flesh, maybe kiss the faint bullet scar in the shoulder with a loving caress. Now he had to wait for commands, keeping still when his whole being wanted to move. Patience had never been his strong suit, perhaps that's why he needed to submit, to become more aware of his own limitations.

 

Hutch had gathered a few more of the supplies he'd purchased earlier in the week and placed them close to the bed for easy access. When Starsky had drained his glass, he took that and the left over canapé tray into the kitchen, removing all extraneous objects off the mattress. Then, without a word, he captured Starsky's left hand in his, swiftly attaching the cuff to the metal bedframe with a clip he'd discovered in a sports store meant for securing ropes during mountain climbing. Once he'd had his head back in the bondage mindset, he'd discovered unusual uses for a number of mundane pieces of equipment.

 

Starsky was momentarily startled with the speed that Hutch secured him to the bed. His hands were attached up high to the posts at each corner, putting uncomfortable strain on his shoulders and back.

 

Again reminding himself to go back and get the matching leather ankle cuffs, Hutch made do with some soft silk rope that usually graced curtains. It was slippery enough not to scrape the skin, but it took a lot of length to tie Starsky's ankles to each lower corner of the bed. His legs were spread-eagled as widely as it was possible to go, exposing his genitals and buttocks lewdly.

 

"This will be about how much you can take." Hutch said softly, coming up close to sit on the side of the bed, his forefinger tracing a delicate line from the ring on the collar around Starsky's neck to his belly button. Starsky shivered at the touch, a rush of adrenaline slamming into his bloodstream, revving his nervous system. The splendid, intoxicating delight of bondage was the not knowing, the waiting to find out what would be next.

 

"Do you remember your safeword?" Hutch continued his journey downward, not quite reaching the groin before dipping upwards again, following the hollow created by the jut of the hip bone.

 

"Torino," Starsky whispered, his tone matching Hutch's.

 

"Good." The blond man reached over the side of the bed, rummaging around in the box he'd placed on the floor, his left hand still drawing arcane symbols on Starsky's flat belly. "I'm going to put these on your nipples-you have to wear them for ten minutes." He produced a gold chain with a small clip on each end. " You can tell me if they hurt, but you still have to wear them the whole time. I have a few things to distract you during that time, but the only thing that will make me take them off before ten minutes is the safeword. Do you understand? No and stop doesn't mean anything to me tonight. But I want to hear how you feel. This is for you..."

 

"A test of endurance." Starsky couldn't take his eyes off the wicked looking little clamps. Once he and Hutch had gone to a strip joint to question a group of dancers about the murder of another stripper. One of the girls had worn tiny spring-loaded clamps with dangling bells attached to each nipple. Every movement she made had been accompanied by a sweet tinkling, like the fairy bells announcing Tinker Bell in the musical Peter Pan. Fascinated, Starsky had remarked to Hutch that they must hurt like hell but the girl never complained or removed them. Thinking back, he realized she'd also worn a gold chain fastened tightly around her neck. She must have been someone's slave, dancing on the stage for their amusement.

 

"Talking without permission." Hutch pinched Starsky's right nipple, the clamp biting down with a ferocious grip. Starsky arched against the pain, panting in surprise. Even though he was prepared for the second one, it still set his teeth on edge. "Although, it's allowable." Hutch minutely adjusted the position of each clamp, his stomach twisting in sympathy with Starsky's effort to resist the urge to cry out. He knew how nipple clamps seemed to increase their pain as time passed, instead of becoming background sensation the way most things did. The pain was insistent, pushing aside all attempts to dull it down. "Because you're right." Winding the delicate chain that linked the two clamps around one long finger, he gave a minute tug.

 

"Oh, shit," Starsky whimpered, closing his eyes to decrease the external stimuli. His pain threshold was pretty high, but this was outrageous. All his pain receptors seemed to have settled in two points on his chest, sending out distress calls that he couldn't answer. "Take 'em off."

 

Then, a totally different sensation assaulted him, something soft and feathery fluttered over his toes and swept down his right instep. Having deprived himself of sight his sense of touch had increased, his skin overly sensitive. The feather tickled and in spite of the throbbing pain from his chest, he giggled.

 

"I knew you'd like that," Hutch said fondly, applying the feather lightly to the other foot. Starsky wiggled his toes, trying to escape the teasing torture, but he was tied too tightly. His breath was coming in heaving gulps, caught between the laughter and the pain.

 

As the feather whispered slowly over his body, Starsky felt himself transported into a realm of pure physical sensation. Everything was heightened to the nth degree, a swirl of conflicting and confusing emotions-pleasure and pain, anticipation and trepidation, even love and fear all squashed together in a glorious soup of pure energy. They were all one, impossible to untangle. Just as in real life there was no one correct way to react. This world, this B/D/S/M relationship was both scary and stupendous. His heart beat faster, his breath quickened, a flush warming his body with each new onslaught. Were these symptoms of excitement and erotic arousal or terror? There was no difference and there was every difference. He feared the pain that could be inflicted on himself, but his whole body felt alive and revitalized, giving up his soul to pure hedonism.

 

Hutch drew the feather one last time across the prostrate body, watching Starsky twitch to try and evade the tickling, then laid it on the nightstand. He hadn't quite decided what exquisite torture to bedevil his partner with next when his gaze fell on one of the dripping candles. Scooping a tiny dribble of the melting wax onto the end of his finger, he nodded in satisfaction.

 

Starsky's eyes flew open when the flame of a candle dipped too close to the smooth underside of his elbow. He wasn't burned, but a drop of hot wax splattered onto his skin, giving off a tiny heat. It wasn't even really too hot to bear, certainly not enough to injure or scar, cooling quickly once it solidified on his skin, but it was an irritant. Added to the ache from his swollen, pinched nipples it was almost too much to bear.

 

Focusing on the yellow bright flame of the candle left wavering after images on his retinas, so Starsky closed his eyes again, tensely waiting for each tiny heat bomb to bombard his already overloaded nervous system. How much more could he take? Twisting away from the frightening heat of the flame reignighted the bone deep pain of the clamps on his nipples and he cried out, unable to keep silent any longer.

 

"That's it," Hutch encouraged. "Talk to me, tell me what you're feeling."

 

"No more. Please," Starsky begged, his fingers clenching reflexively, the cuffs so tight he couldn't even turn his wrists to grab onto the bedframe. He felt suspended in space without a safety harness, even though his body was anchored firmly to the bed. "It hurts, it's too much..." His safeword surged forward, ready to leap out of his mouth but at the last moment he couldn't, wouldn't submit...

 

Using a fingernail to pick the cooled wax off his lover's collarbone, Hutch kissed the leftover red mark with sweet lips. Then pausing a moment, he slicked his hands with sweet smelling almond oil to facilitate the removal of the wax chips. When he moved his fingers over Starsky's skin they left a slippery, erotic snail trail of oil. Every place he'd dribbled wax he now dappled with kisses, replacing the tiny hurts with love. The gentleness and care of his ministrations swept through Starsky's veins like a balm. Everything still hurt, but he wanted those kisses so, wanted Hutch's touch on his bruised and gently tormented body.

 

"I'm going to take the clamps off, one by one." Hutch used the ball of his thumb to stroke Starsky's cheek, smiling when he opened his eyes again. "You were fantastic, you did it, lover. Ten minutes on the first time. I'm really proud of you. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

 

Wondering why there was such an implicit warning in Hutch's words, Starsky obliged him, drawing in a shaky breath that jostled the clamps alarmingly. That was nothing, though, to the excruciating pain that hit when Hutch released the first clamp, all the blood flooding back into the nipple in a rush. Starsky yelled. The jolt was as strong as a defibrillator shock only his cock was the organ that responded, coming semi-erect in a single moment. How could such pain arouse him so thoroughly? Being shot had never had that effect on him. Maybe it had something to do with the warm, moist mouth that now lapped and sucked on his abused breast, soothing the hurt with tenderness.

 

Starsky panted with exertion, wanting the second one off fast, to get the pain over with quick like when he pulled a Band-Aid off his hairy arm. Still, even knowing it was coming, he howled, tears in his eyes. Hutch was peppering his body with kisses and comforting strokes, centering more and more down in the groin area.

 

"We're almost done," Hutch whispered, running his finger down Starsky's hard penis, amused at how his touch made it jump. "You can come when I say so and not before."

 

He was so primed that Starsky had to grit his teeth not to orgasm just from the butterfly touch of Hutch's lips on his nuts. "W-when?" he groaned, the pain draining away from his chest like it had never been, leaving behind mostly muscle strain from the stretched position he'd maintained for nearly half an hour now. At least he thought it was that long, it felt like a lifetime. Now all his attention was focused on his gonads, throbbing like a sore tooth demanding to be pulled.

 

"When I'm ready." Hutch was unwinding the rope from around each ankle, spending long minutes rubbing the circulation into each foot and massaging Starsky's calves and feet. He used not only his strong, flexible fingers, but his lips and tongue, reducing Starsky to a puddle of vibrating nerves.

 

"I'M ready." Starsky insisted, which earned him a smack on the bottom of his foot, but Hutch knew he couldn't tease him much longer.

 

"When I count to five..." Hutch lightly grasped the skin covered steel rod, reading on Starsky's face how much he needed the release, "No, when I count to three, you can come." He closed his fist, pumping three times as he counted.

 

With his legs free, Starsky braced his feet against Hutch's leather encased thigh, lifting his buttocks off the bed when the climax hit with the force of a freight train. His whole body spasmed repeatedly, semen squirting upwards like a fountain. Finally exhausted, Starsky collapsed onto the bed, hanging limply from his bound hands.

 

"Do you know how much I love you?" Hutch unclipped the restraints holding Starsky in place, catching his arms as they dropped. He pushed the damp curls off Starsky's forehead, kissing his eyelids. " You were so brave. The way you handled yourself today..." Gathering his fatigued partner onto his lap, he cuddled him like a small child, massaging his stiff shoulders and back. "How you doing, you big lug?"

 

"I'm whipped," Starsky confessed then giggled as his inadvertent pun, allowing himself to be coddled because he was too tired to get off Hutch's lap.

 

"I'll bet." Hutch nuzzled his nose into the warm, redolent curve of Starsky's neck. He smelled of sex, and sweat mixed with the heady aroma of leather from the collar. Hutch couldn’t get enough of looking at him collared and cuffed. Owned. He looked so desirable, a living, breathing sex toy that also happened to be his best friend. What more could a man want?

 

"I can't believe you did all this for me." Starsky gestured expansively at the beautiful room bedecked with candles and the left over silken rope still looped around the bedposts. The feather lay on the floor next to the box of sex toys, some still in their original packages. There were more for another day.

 

"Well, the house is borrowed, the candles were 99 cents for a pack of six and the rope's off the curtains from my old place," Hutch smirked. "Getting the rest of the stuff was pure pleasure because I was thinking of you the whole time."

 

"But you didn't get anything for yourself." Starsky leaned his head on the blond man's shoulder, his bare ass resting on Hutch's smooth leather clad lap bringing back a version of his original fantasy. Hutch dressed in leather caressing his nude body. Sometimes fantasies do come true, and Carlysle didn't even enter into it.

 

Laughing, Hutch wrapped his arms around that which brought him the most joy, "Starsky, you dunce, I got everything...you gave me more than I could ever have imagined."

 

"I still think you did all the work, I was just lyin' around."

 

"That was the hard part." Hutch regarded him fondly, glad Starsky was finally talking. Bondage wasn't the slam-bam, thank you man kind of relationship. It required open discussion, and planning to ensure that both parties got out of it what they desired. Hurt feelings and miscommunication were the worst possible combination when someone was tied up and bearing the lash of a whip.

 

"Maybe, but you overestimated me. I wasn't sure I could take what you were dishing out..."

 

"On the contrary, I underestimated your strengths on every front. You're a natural..."

 

"Slave?" Starsky voiced the word for the first time, his voice unsteady, hunching his shoulders defensively.

 

"Yeah, babe. A slave." Hutch rubbed his palms over the goosebumps suddenly pebbling Starsky's naked flesh, "That scares you, doesn't it?"

 

"It's just too damned strange to think of myself as someone who'd...let you...anybody... do that kind of thing to me." He stared down at his cuffed wrists, symbols of his enslavement. Every time he turned his head, swallowed, spoke or just breathed, the band around his neck tightened, instantly reminding him of what he was and what he'd agreed to. "If we were called out to a house on a domestic dispute and some woman told me her husband tied her up and beat her, I woulda thought she was whacked..."

 

"Talk about your Freudian slips," Hutch observed wryly.

 

"We'd have her shipped off t'some shelter, talkin' to social workers an' therapists inside of an hour and her husband taken away in handcuffs." Starsky wasn't even sure of his point, only that he was confused about what he should be feeling. Was it wrong to like bondage?

 

"Instead, you're the one in cuffs tonight." Hutch hugged him, understanding all too well the dilemma.

 

"And I'm the one who got whacked. What makes this acceptable and that so wrong?"

 

"Me and thee, just like always," Hutch answered simply. "It's all a matter of degree, Starsky and personal choice. You asked me to do this. We discussed this ahead of time. You may not have totally understood what was would to happen going in, but you had an idea and you agreed to let me...control you and physically restrain you. That abused wife never had a say in the matter."

 

"It's scary as hell."

 

"It is, for me, too." Hutch rested his chin on Starsky's shoulder, "Do you feel abused?"

 

"No, never. More like loved."

 

"Thank you." Hutch kissed the edge of his jaw because it was literally inches from his lips, "Your trust means more to me than gold, babe. I get scared I could go too far, hurt you for real when I don't mean to. It's so easy to slip up and damage something very precious."

 

"I'm not made of china, and you wouldn't be able to." Starsky twisted around so he could gaze into those beautiful eyes. "You didn't hurt me tonight, just aches and pains that'll fade. Love takes care of the little stuff."

 

"Are you having any second thoughts?" Hutch asked worriedly, afraid, despite Starsky's words, that he wanted to back out.

 

"Oh, man, third, fifth, ninety-ninth...but they're always the same. I'm where I belong." Starsky was still holding himself with rigid tension but he let out a lungful of air, relaxing infinitesimally. "It's like I've changed so much everyone should be able to see."

 

"There are no visible marks." Hutch cupped both of Starsky's wrists, massaging his palms. "Nobody will know but me and nobody else's opinion really matters. I like doing this with you, but it's not the end of the world if we stop. I won't be hurt."

 

"No, but I will. That would hurt more than those damned little alligator teeth things." Starsky curled his lip with a mock snarl, "You're sure nobody will be able to tell?"

 

"Well, Huggy can be pretty perceptive." Hutch shrugged with a slight smile.

 

"You know I can't go into the Pits ever again." Starsky grimaced with only half faked embarrassment. He settled back when Hutch shifted his legs, situating Starsky between his thighs instead of on top of them.

 

"You're getting' heavy, Starsk." Hutch reached around, unbuckling the left wrist cuff. Starsky started to protest that he wanted to keep them on, but didn't have enough energy to speak up. Instead, he watched lethargically when Hutch bared the second wrist. Both were reddened where the leather had been but relatively free of any other marks, just as Hutch had assured him. He flexed his joints, wincing at the chorus of twinges that produced. His whole body felt like he'd run a full marathon and then engaged in a strenuous workout directly afterwards.

 

"Are you up for the hot tub?" Hutch untangled his long legs, standing.

 

"Is that a rhetorical question or just a pun?" Starsky secretly lusted at his lover standing there with the light of the candles dancing in his hair and his butt so tightly packed into those sexy pants, surprised to find he was even still thinking about sex. "Cause I don't think I'll be up for anything for a long time."

 

"C'mon, c'mon." Hutch pushed him to his feet, snugging an arm around him. "The Jacuzzi awaits us."

 

"Isn't it still raining?" Starsky inquired, staring out the window, realizing night had fallen when he wasn't paying attention. There were droplets of water on the glass, the darkness reflecting his nakedness like a distorted mirror. Hutch led him through the house, blowing out candles as they passed. He flipped on over head tract lighting when they arrived in a room off the kitchen, decorated for comfortable eating and relaxation. A small table was set intimately for two and a pile of strangely familiar looking videos was set next to the VCR, promising a night of movies and good food later on.

 

"You could be the weather man-don't even need to wear rubbers." Hutch joked, swinging open the French doors leading to a redwood deck and a sunken hot tub, steaming in the cooling evening. Rain fell steadily, pockmarking the surface of the water.

 

Shucking his leather pants, Hutch walked out into the rain and ducked into the bubbles. He sighed languidly, relaxing back against the blue tiles that lined the tub. Rain glistened in his hair, dripping down his face. "C'mon, in Starsk, the water's fine."

 

"Don't have the good sense t'come in out of the rain?" Starsky dawdled, less than enthused at sitting in a downpour.

 

"Watch yourself." He shook what Starsky had always termed the Hutchinson finger, "I'm still in charge around here."

 

"How could I forget? You keep reminding me." Starsky snarked, belatedly adding, "Master." He was courting more demerits but didn't care. He liked living on the edge. Following the blond man's lead, somewhat more slowly, he dipped a foot into the one hundred and three degree water, puffing out his cheeks as his skin adjusted to the temperature. Deciding it wasn't too hot, he slid the rest of his body down, sitting on the narrow ledge just beside a Jacuzzi jet. Frothy bubbles burbled around him like tiny sea creatures, caressing his strained muscles. "Feels good."

 

"Nothing better." Hutch agreed, focusing on his partner, particularly on his neck with the beautiful brown leather band. "I forgot to take the collar off."

 

"Leave it on." Starsky molded his hand around the hard, unforgiving leather, not willing to part with it yet.

 

"Until tomorrow morning?" Hutch asked, touched beyond his wildest dreams.

 

"Until I die." Starsky whispered, "But I guess until we go back to work."

 

"No problem." Hutch leisurely watched the raindrops plop into the bubbling water.

 

Sitting beside Starsky, he thanked the gods, whoever they may be, that sanctioned situations like these, that he had such a man in his life. Neither spoke, just reveling in the revitalizing powers of the hot tub, each caught up in his own thoughts. Hutch found he couldn't completely zone out, his mind already conjuring up future sessions, sexy ideas percolating to the surface like the broiling bubbles that surrounded him. Tipping his head back to catch the raindrops on his face, he realized the downpour had ended, a gentle breeze blowing the inky clouds across the night sky. The waxing crescent moon was just peeking out, a secret smile on its lunar face.

 

"Hutch?" Starsky broke the silence, and the no talking without permission rule, but Hutch didn't call him on it.

 

"Yah?"

 

"Yesterday you said no pain play on the first time." Starsky wiggled a little, the hard tile bench unrelentingly on his sore behind. "But I was barely inside the door before you were smacking my ass."

 

"I changed my mind. Circumstances dictated I take a stance."

 

"You just wanted to-um-knock some sense into me." Starsky laughed and got a stern look for his teasing. Laying his head on the tiled rim of the tub, he gazed up at the stars twinkling above. Their little haven was far enough away from the city lights to provide a panorama of stars across the heavens, even on a rainy evening. In fact, Starsky thought he'd never seen anything lovelier than Hutch swathed in gossamer steam, crowned by the Milky Way. His hair gleamed silvery in the night, like an earthbound star.

 

"Doesn't seem to have worked either, or you'd be a little more respectful." Hutch glared but there was no malice behind it. He'd always known Starsky would be a defiant submissive, constantly flaunting the rules. That was pure David Starsky in a nutshell.

 

"What do you have up your sleeve for the next time."

 

"Wouldn't you like to know." Hutch scooted closer, winding his long legs around Starsky's. "I have too many ideas, it's hard narrowing it down."

 

"Give me a hint?" Starsky coaxed.

 

"Jut a taste." Hutch captured Starsky's left ear in with his teeth, sucking briefly on the little fat lobe before nipping with his sharp canines.

 

"Ow!" Starsky complained, rubbing. With the pad of his finger he could feel a tiny indentation in his tender flesh.

 

"One word," Hutch tempted him. "Pierce."

 


Part 2: Pierced By Circumstance

Taking the stairs two at a time to make up for missing his usual morning jog, Hutch drew in deep appreciative lungfuls of the chilly 6:30am air. It promised to be a gorgeous, if probably cold, day. The sun was just beginning to gild the eastern sky, and he was ready to get to work. The first objective was hauling his recalcitrant partner out of bed.

 

"Starsk!" Hutch let himself in with his spare key, flipping on lights to brighten the dark house. As he'd expected, there was still a blanket covered lump in the bed, but one indigo eye regarded him indignantly from the edge of the quilt.

 

"What'r you doin' here?" asked a voice muffled by the blankets.

 

"We'll be late even if you don't shower and shave." Hutch had already resigned himself to a confrontation with Dobey over their tardiness, but after ten straight days without a break, who could blame Starsky for wanting to sleep in. "The sooner we get through the shift, the sooner our long weekend begins."

 

"Oh, in that case..." Starsky's tousled curls emerged from the tangle of bedsheets, followed by the rest of him. He was, in the British slang Hutch had recently heard and added to his lexicon, starkers.

 

"You jump out of bed looking like that..." Hutch admired the rounded rump and thick cock dangling freely between his partner's muscled thighs, "I can't be held responsible for my actions."

 

"I gotta pee." Starsky skipped nimbly out of Hutch's reach, gaining the sanctity of the bathroom. The sounds of toilet and shower signaled he was performing his morning ablutions, so Hutch decided to hurry things along even more by finding some decent clothes for him to wear. That alone was a Herculean task, but Hutch didn't mind having to rummage through his friend's drawers. Each shirt represented a different memory of their times together, both good and bad. He selected a shirt to suit the weather, then went off to raid the kitchen for anything remotely edible for breakfast. Otherwise they'd need to stop for coffee and toast at some diner near the precinct.

 

Starsky emerged remarkably soon, hair sparkling with water droplets, wearing a dark blue T-shirt under the checked shirt Hutch had picked out and his usual tight jeans. He hopped on one foot, trying to put on his shoes and socks while he walked.

 

"Fast enough for you?" Starsky boasted finally succeeding in shoeing both feet.

 

"Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive." Hutch pulled his favorite partner into a clinch, kissing him possessively on the lips. "Able to leap tall..."

 

"Don't finish, I'm not leapin' OVER anything." Starsky snuggled into the embrace with a grin, "ONTO you would be an entirely different thing." He thrust his tongue into Hutch's willing mouth with a hunger that had nothing to do with his belly. By that evening, Hutch would no longer allow him to be so forceful or demanding, so he had to seize the opportunity while he had the chance. Liplocking Hutch, Starsky ground his pelvis against his partner's, his cock swelling with need. Oh, to have a few more minutes in the morning! He hooked an Adidas around Hutch's ankle to keep him from pulling away, licking the warm, moist interior of Hutch's mouth with tiny flicks of his tongue. It was so good, a wakeup call better than any alarm clock.

 

"You think I'm Superman?" Starsky breathed, his lips still touching his lover's.

 

"You can be Superman, but I'm Zorro." Hutch gave him a last kiss, moving away to pour two glasses of orange juice

 

"Why Zorro? He didn't have any really good powers." Starsky gulped the glass of OJ he was handed.

 

"Ah, but he wore a black leather mask, had a sword," Hutch emphasized his words with a thrust of his evident erection in Starsky's direction. "And a whip."

 

"Oh." Starsky saw where that was going. "Aren't we late?"

 

"We were just a little late, now we'll be a lot late." Hutch fished a small box out of his leather jacket pocket, "I have something for you." He was suddenly uncertain of his gift. It had seemed so perfect when he'd purchased it but now...what would Starsky think? Would he be willing to wear it in public?

 

"Lemme see." Starsky reached for the box as eagerly as any six year old receiving a birthday present. He opened the lid, staring awestruck at what lay inside.

 

"Starsky?" Hutch asked with his heart in his throat.

 

"Is this what I think it is?" Starsky whispered, his own heart rate having gone instantly into triple digits at the sight of the coiled chain.

 

"You were so upset when I took the...collar off," Hutch began hesitantly. His collar, the one he had placed on Starsky as a symbol of his domination. He wanted that collar back in place as much as Starsky.

 

Starsky had, in fact, felt rent in two when Hutch had unbuckled the heavy leather slave collar from around his neck, like a just discovered vital organ had been ripped from his body. It was such an indelible link to Hutch and even clothed, he'd felt naked ever since without it. In the two weeks since their first bondage encounter, he'd dreamed of the band snug against his skin. He'd even once asked to have it placed around his neck when they'd been in the midst of passionate lovemaking, but Hutch had refused. That collar was only for their special bondage sessions, which he did not take lightly. They required planning and preparation. He would never just begin a session on the spur of the moment, or just because Starsky wanted to.

 

"You could wear this...instead, as a substitute, when you can't wear the other." Hutch tried to read the emotions on Starsky's face. Was he appalled or enthralled?

 

"Put it on me?" Starsky held out the box with trembling hands, the happiness pressing in on his chest making it hard to breathe.

 

It was heavy, made of thick links of silvery steel, larger than any necklace a girl would wear, but hardly distinguishable from something the tougher male element sported. Starsky had seen bikers or punks wearing the same sort of chain. He'd blend easily with the rough crowd he and Hutch usually associated with in their undercover detective roles.

 

Lifting the chain out of the box, Hutch could feel the weight of it on his hand, letting the smooth metal slide between his fingers. He looped it around Starsky's neck, inserting a long straight piece on one end through the circular link on the other and locking both together with a real lock that could only be opened or shut with a tiny key.

 

"I keep this." Hutch held up the key.

 

"Yes," Starsky agreed, slightly dazed. It was as if some element in the universe had been righted and he could breathe once again. Trotting back into the bathroom, he wiped the still fogged mirror, gazing at himself collared for the first time. Hutch had never let him see the brown leather one on his neck. That one was sacred, part of a ritual, but this one was for everyday, more a necklace than a collar, but Starsky knew it's real meaning.

 

He didn't look any different. He'd worn necklaces on and off all of his life. Most recently a Chinese coin on a rawhide thong which had broken in two after years of normal wear and tear. Steel was unbreakable, or nearly so. The metal had felt cold at first lying on top of his collarbone, but now the warmth of his skin was taking the chill off. It looked right on him.

 

"Looks good." Hutch complimented, "I like it."

 

"I do, too." Starsky smiled, reaching up to run a finger under the edge of it. It fit perfectly, not restrictive or tight, just as Hutch did.

 

"If you don't want to wear it..." Hutch let the sentence trail off, mesmerized by the sight of his beloved. He opened his fist to reveal the key.

 

"No, you can keep that." Starsky shook his head, taking one last look at the gleaming links around his neck. "Dobey'll have our hides for bein' this late."

 

Walking with a disgruntled sigh around the beater Ford parked behind his own bright red Gran Torino, Starsky yanked on the finicky passenger door. "Do we have to ride in this dump?"

 

"I had to sit in the striped Tomato for a solid week on a stake-out," Hutch groused. "God knows why the perps didn't notice a parade float parked outside their warehouse..."

 

"Hey, she's listening." Starsky pointed out, glancing over at the long sleek red car as Hutch pulled the Ford onto the street. "And we caught 'em, didn't we?"

 

"Yes. That's beside the point. We've always shared equal time in each car, so you'll be riding in this baby for another five days."

 

"After our three days off?" Starsky clarified.

 

"Then and after." Hutch grinned triumphantly, since starting tonight at six PM he controlled Starsky's every breathing moment for twenty-four hours. Not that he'd planned on it, but they could even make out in the back seat of the LTD, if he so chose and Starsky had to live with it.

 

He found being the dominant person in their BDSM relationship both exhilarating and challenging. While in their everyday partnership, both as detectives and lovers, he and Starsky had nearly equal roles, with the necessary give and take that entailed. When he was in charge, he was constantly second guessing and restructuring his plans. What would Starsky enjoy? What did he want out of the session? Hutch had been planning their second time together ever since the first successful evening.

 

This one would be different than the last time partially because they'd both agreed to start the clock only a few hours after they got off their dayshift. The last time they'd just come off of an exhaustive stretch of late night shifts which had necessitated giving both the morning to prepare for the bondage time. But because of their stake out assignment, they now were on the other end of the spectrum, starting early and getting off by mid afternoon most days. When he'd suggested that they start the session by early evening, Starsky had been most enthusiastic. Actually, he had a feeling that Starsky would have agreed to just about anything he'd come up with at that point. Starsky was well and truly hooked into the BDSM mindset and eager to participate again.

 

As suspected, Dobey lit into them about their late arrival, but other than that one blip on the screen, the rest of the morning went smoothly. With the stake-out case all finished, they had no outstanding cases that demanded their time and spent most of the morning cruising their beat, trading hellos with their regular informants and the few daytime prostitutes who lounged sleepily in front of an hourly rate hotel.

 

Just past eleven, Hutch maneuvered the LTD into the alley behind The Pits and logged them out for lunch.

 

"Hey, hey, hey, my cop brothers." Huggy Bear, the flamboyant proprietor of the bar greeted his friends with a wave of his long slender hand all the while pouring a draught beer for a waiting customer. "Long time no see."

 

"How was Detroit, Hug?" Starsky asked.

 

"A cornucopia of relatives and good food, I haven't eaten so much since I stayed with my Granny Beulah when I was a child." Huggy rubbed his flat belly with satisfaction, "Thanks for keepin' an eye on the place while I was gone."

 

"Our pleasure," Hutch smirked, since they'd used the upstairs bedroom as a bordello one night.

 

"What'll it be? The Huggy Bear special?"

 

"Is that still a regular hamburger?" Starsky settled on a barstool.

 

"Nothin' regular about my hamburgers, Starsky." Huggy defended his fare huffily.

 

"I'll say," Hutch agreed under his breath. "I'll have whatever soup the cook has today."

 

"Gumbo."

 

"Okay, make that a turkey sandwich," Hutch sighed. Why couldn't he ever get just plain, tasty food that wasn't overly spicy or full of beans and fat? Unfortunately, that was exactly what Starsky did like.

 

"The Huggy Bear special," Starsky ordered. "With chili on it."

 

"Starsk, then it's not the special," Huggy argued. "That's the Deluxe."

 

"Grr." Starsky dramatically clutched at his neck as if he were being strangled, pushing his fingers up under the heavy chain he wore, "The Deluxe, then."

 

"Like the new jewelry, Starsky," Huggy complimented after he'd informed the cook of their orders. "Suits you better than that old coin on a thong you used to wear."

 

Starsky exchanged a swift, startled glance with Hutch, "Thanks, Hug, it was something I'd wanted for a while."

 

"Whoops, customers, gotta go act like I own the place." Huggy swooped off to greet a couple just entering the front door.

 

"He suspects something," Starsky hissed, following Hutch to a back table.

 

"He does not."

 

"You're the one who said Huggy could be very perceptive." Starsky pointed out.

 

"Starsky, are you afraid he will find out about our latest activities or that he won't?" Hutch laid a feather light hand on his friend's arm, just enough to secure their bond without looking the least unprofessional in public.

 

"I...don't know." The dark haired man sat down with a frown, surprised at how his stomach was suddenly knotted up. "I'm not embarrassed, exactly, but..."

 

"It's just between the two of us." Hutch finished for him, "Not for public discussion."

 

"Yeah." Starsky agreed, relieved. He'd found himself touching the necklace all morning, very aware of it. "But do you think he knows something?"

 

"Starsky!" The blond threw up his hands in exasperation. "Here comes your hamburger."

 

Huggy whisked the sandwich plates onto the table, but didn't have time to linger, because the lunch crowd had arrived with a bang, filling the place with hungry people. Starsky and Hutch applied themselves to their meals, both lost in thought about the coming evening.

 

What could happen if any of their friends or acquaintances found out? This was more than just the fact that they, two male police officers, were sleeping together. Bondage and all the associated kinks were looked down upon by probably ninety percent of society. Certainly, if their superiors at the department found out about it, they could be endangering their careers. So, what made it so special that they both wanted to continue such risky sex play? As with most things that truly satisfied the inner being, the reasoning was a mystery. It just suited the two of them, at this time, and unless anything changed, both Starsky and Hutch planned to continue their current pleasures.

 

Not long after they'd logged back in after lunch, they were called out on a 2-11 at a car wash. An armed man was holding an unknown number of people there on the corner of 65th and Trainer, motive not known.

 

Approaching with caution, Hutch parked the LTD so that it blocked the exit driveway from the carwash, alerting the black and white that had responded initially to block the entrance as well.

Sudsy Car Wash had the typical design for the sort of service it provided. A long shed like building stretched horizontally to Trainer street, with an opening at each end. Large roller brushes and hoses could be seen inside the shed, all still churning water and soap on a single car stalled inside. The business portion of the building was a long narrow series of rooms that housed a waiting area for customers, the cashier desk and a closed office behind the counter. A man of approximately mid twenties with thick dark hair and glasses, a permanent scowl on his face, was holding a small group of people at gunpoint in the glass walled waiting area. There was no way for the police to approach without being seen.

 

Striding over to a short, blue uniformed patrol officer with flaming red hair, Hutch asked, "You called this in?"

 

"Yessir, Danny Sullivan, sir." The boy responded, making Hutch feel way older than his 38 years. "The manager flagged us down. He was out on a lunch run when the gunman broke in-not broke in exactly, forced his way in."

 

"Where's the manager?" Starsky followed behind his partner, partially so he could admire the way Hutch's butt moved in his khakis.

 

"My partner, Reynolds, is talking to him." Sullivan pointed over to where an older officer was deep in conversation with a hugely fat man with a radish red face. When Sullivan gave a sharp whistle, Reynolds escorted the manager over, looking glum.

 

"This is Vic Stillman, manager of Sudsy Car Wash." Reynolds introduced. "He says he knows the gunman."

 

"That's Manny Romano." Stillman stabbed a fleshy finger at the gunman inside the building. The five hostages were sitting in molded plastic chairs, their hands tucked under their legs. Romano stalked back and forth in front of them, waving his pistol menacingly.

 

"Have any idea why he'd want to hold up a car wash?" Starsky asked, "How much money do you take in in one morning?"

 

"He WAS the manager of the Sudsy on Hawthorne," Stillman explained with a grimace, "He doesn't want money, he wants my job. The owner tossed him out on his ear because Manny was skimming the till."

 

"Great-so we have a disgruntled ex-employee holdin' five people hostage." Starsky grunted, tucking his hands into his leather bombardier jacket pockets. The temperature had been dropping all morning, signaling bad weather from up north-probably Alaska.

 

"How many of those are customers and which work for you?" Hutch squinted over at the five people. Four men and one woman, all in serious danger if Romano pulled the trigger of the pistol he was waving so cavalierly.

 

"Those two." Stillman indicated a black man and a small, thick shouldered man with blond hair. "They work the carwash and dry the windows, stuff like that...Steven has Down's syndrome. He's my nephew."

 

"Terrific." Starsky groaned.

 

"The woman is Mrs. Peterson, she comes in like clockwork every week to have her car washed. One of our best customers. That's her car inside, now." Pointing to the Buick being repeatedly washed and rinsed. "The other two guys I don't know, must have come in to wait for a wash after I went to get my sandwich."

 

"Awfully good luck you're being out when Romano arrived." Starsky commented, ducking his head to look over the top of his sunglasses at Stillman.

 

The fat man bristled, his face going past red to a nasty shade of purple, "What are you implying?"

 

"He wasn't implying anything." Hutch soothed shooting his partner a 'can it' glance, "You know Romano, can you think of anything that would calm him down so we can get those people out of there?"

 

"Short of giving him my job, no." Stillman glared at the gunman, who was now watching them with deadly intent. Hutch wasn't happy with the situation in the least. This could drag on all afternoon, ruining all the plans he'd made for Starsky.

 

"He's getting real antsy." Reynolds observed, watching Romano pace like a caged beast, "If we're going to do something, it had better be soon."

 

"More officers on the way." Sullivan reported, having been on the police band radio with dispatch.

 

"Is there anyway to get into the building without him seeing me?" Starsky piped up, after examining the carwash for a few moments.

 

"There's a cut off switch just inside the other end of the unit." Stillman explained, "And a door that leads into my office just past the washing brushes."

 

"So I could get into your office and come out behind him?" Starsky asked with a grin.

 

"In theory." Stillman agreed, "You'd be all wet."

 

"That can't be helped." Starsky shrugged.

 

"Starsky, no way..." Hutch had a knot in his belly the size of a small state. He was not going to allow Starsky to walk unprotected into a building with a crazed gunman loose.

 

"Can you get him on the phone?" Starsky asked, ignoring the blond man. "Distract him while I go in?"

 

"Use the pay telephone here." Reynolds picked up the handset on the corner public phone, "What's the number?" He asked, dialing when Stillman recited the seven digits.

 

"Starsky, can I talk to you?" Hutch asked sharply, knowing exactly how this would turn out. He never had any control over Starsky's actions in the field, which was exactly why he needed to be the one in control on their bondage nights. It gave him a measure of power back. Starsky was fearless to the point that he rarely thought of himself being in danger. It had nearly gotten him killed, and Hutch wouldn't let that happen again. "This is insane and you know it. You can't go inside there!"

 

"You got any better ideas, Hutch?" Starsky grinned in that lopsided, endearing way that caught Hutch in the heart every time. "He can see us through that plate glass like we're his own private cop show." Starsky inclined his head at the gunman. "All I need is some distraction so's he doesn't notice me walking back to the car wash." He noticed that Reynolds and Stillman had obviously gotten Romero on the phone and were gesturing for them to come over. "You're better at hostage negotiations than I am, you're needed right now!"

 

Torn between continuing the argument and doing all that was in his power as a police officer to protect the hostages, Hutch raised a finger and said, "You be careful."

 

"Hey, I'm Superman, remember?" Starsky waited until Hutch had gone over to pick up the phone. When he could see that Romano was talking on the phone with his handsome blond partner, Starsky began to casually move off the sidewalk. He circled his car as if planning to get in on the driver's side and then crouched down, gauging the distance he had to cover. There was one car parked to the side of the washing shed that would provide cover but there was also more than one hundred feet he had to cross before he'd be inside the building.

 

No time like the present to do it. He'd either get there without incident or get shot for his troubles. It was all a gamble, like anything else in life. With a deep breath, Starsky made it to relative security in one burst of speed. He shivered as the spray of cold water hit him. The weather was way too wintry for going swimming but he had no choice in the matter. Taking the plunge, he dove past the jet sprays still valiantly trying to clean Mrs. Peterson's Buick. He was completely soaked through with icy water, but his adrenaline surge helped to combat the cold. The large scrubbing brushes swung back in forth in a menacing manner so Starsky had to wait until they were at the furthest point in their arcs before he slipped past them. Praying that Stillman hadn't locked the connecting door, he turned the knob, elated when it opened silently.

 

Starsky stood dripping in a tiny office, getting his breathing under control before he made his assault. He could hear Romano swearing, but it was fairly obvious that he was no longer talking to Hutch on the phone.

 

"He hung up." Hutch said flatly, keeping his emotions packed down very tightly. Romano hadn't exactly been in a negotiating mood, either, ranting about being fired without cause and wanting revenge. He hadn't threatened to shoot any of the hostages, which was a positive sign.

 

"Try again!" Stillman urged, this was not going to look good to the owner.

 

"We don't want him to think we're badgering him." Hutch stared across the sidewalk at Romano who chose that moment to raise an obscene finger in his direction.

 

"Sullivan, did you find the owner?"

 

"Dispatch couldn't reach him at any of the phone numbers Mr. Stillman provided, sir!" Danny reported. This was his first hostage case since his graduation from the academy only two months before and he wanted to prove his worth in every way.

 

Hutch almost wanted to pat the boy on the head and send him off for ice cream. Had he ever been that young or gung ho? Maybe not, but Starsky had been, and all his anxiety and concern were focused on his curly haired lover. Please God, don�t let this turn out badly. Hutch hadn't seen Starsky slip inside the car wash while he'd been on the phone, so he could only wait until Starsky made his reappearance inside the building.

 

Opening the door to the main cashier area just a crack, Starsky could see a portion of Romano's back as he paced back and forth with agitation. He also realized he had caught the eye of one of the two unidentified men sitting in the chairs. The guy raised his eyebrows, then turned his head.

 

"You can't hold us here any longer!" The man announced belligerently, "This is...against the Geneva Convention."

 

Good! Starsky silently applauded this unexpected help. It took Romano's attention, however briefly, away from the police outside and gave him precious seconds to get into position to take Romano down.

 

"Shut your trap." Romano growled, "I gotta gun."

 

"What'da want this job for anyways?" The man continued, "I run a mechanic shop down the street, we need hard workers."

 

Starsky burst through the back door, vaulting the dividing counter like an Olympic gold metal winner, and jamming his gun into Manny Romano's back. "You're under arrest, Turkey, place the gun down nice and slowly and put your hands on your head."

 

It didn't take Hutch a minute to get inside the building to assist his partner, his whole being surged with joy that it had all turned out all right.

 

Romano was quickly Mirandized and arrested, the hostages all eager to give their statements and get on with the rest of their day. Giving the job of interviewing all five people to the patrol officers, Hutch pulled Starsky aside, caught between wanting to throttle him or hug him.

 

"You're freezing." Hutch longed to push back the lank, dripping hair plastered to partner's forehead and kiss away the cold.

 

"That I am," Starsky agreed shivering. He had goosebumps on his goosebumps. It would be so easy to melt into Hutch's embrace and ignore the rest of the world but that would have to wait til later. "What say we go back to the precinct and I take a hot shower before we question that turkey?"

 

After ensuring that Romano was booked, Hutch followed the still dripping Starsky back into the locker room. It was midway between any shift change, so there was no one else around and he took the opportunity to help his lover off with his wet clothes, just to be able to momentarily touch his skin.

 

"Getting' frisky." Starsky said, shivering a little from the warmth of Hutch's big hand on his still icy skin. Hutch's fingers softly caressed the side of his waist before pulling down his soaked jeans.

 

"That's all I'm getting." Hutch rolled his eyes. They had to be so careful while inside police headquarters.

 

"I dunno," Starsky bent to retrieve a towel from the bench, noticing an erection tenting the front of the blond's Khakis. "Looks like you're getting a boner." He brushed a brazen hand over the hardening bulge with a grin. Looking up at Hutch, he caught the desire in those sky blue eyes and his grin widened. Never breaking eye contact, Starsky eased the zipper of Hutch's fly all the way down, slipping his fingers inside. The eager, swelling cock practically leaped into his hand. In contrast to Hutch's thick, red member, Starsky's was shriveled and shrunken from the cold. Closing his fist around the throbbing cock, Starsky could feel his own start to stir. "It wants to come out and play."

 

"Starsky." Hutch's voice was hoarse with need. Starsky's clasp was cold on his warm flesh, but it felt so good. "Not here." It was so amazingly risky, but he no longer cared.

 

"Won't take any time at all." Starsky teased his cobalt eyes glowing. Luckily they were sheltered between two rows of lockers, on the far side of the room. If anyone should come in, they'd hear footsteps before anyone saw them in the act.

 

"Shh," Hutch laughed, "Quick, then." He bit down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning with the incredible feel of Starsky pumping his cock. Leaning his hands back on the narrow bench he was straddling, he thrust in rhythm to the throbbing beat Starsky had started. The little death caught him in its thrall, spiraling up from his groin to the rest of his body, leaving him breathless, spurting against Starsky's naked leg.

 

Exuberant with guilty, stolen pleasure, Starsky leaned close to his beautiful, blond partner, capturing a kiss while he was still panting in the coital aftermath.

 

"You're freezing. Go take a shower, Popsicle boy," Hutch whispered, lip to lip with Starsky,

 

"I love Popsicles." Starsky teased, licking Hutch's lip. He jumped up, scooping up a towel from the pile on the bench to tie around his waist, his cock no longer a victim of the cold, but vibrant and alive.

 

Rolling up another towel, Hutch flicked him lightly on back of the leg. "Go shower! I'll get Romano into an interrogation room so we can get out of here pronto."

 

"Can't wait." Starsky turned on the shower full blast, waiting for the water to heat up completely before ducking under. He was glad he kept a set of clothes in his locker for such emergencies. The thought of putting those sodden jeans back on was enough to droop his half erection. Time to get back to work, anyway, so they could play later.

 

Interrogation of the prisoner went swiftly, since he was still ranting about his lost job and was more than ready to tell his whole story to anyone who would listen. He claimed he'd never stolen from Sudsy car wash, had been an upstanding employee and a fine manager, that the owner just didn't like him. Luckily, for the police, but not for Manny Romano, the owner had reported the theft, and there was a rap sheet with priors on file for one Emmanuel Jesus Romano. This made leaving him in jail over night a no brainer, since he'd violated his parole by having a gun, much less all his other crimes. Both Starsky and Hutch knew that they'd be required to come back, probably for a court appearance, in the next few days, spoiling their plans for a long weekend. But with any luck, they'd at least be able to squeeze one twenty-four hour stretch off, and decided to make the most of it. Hutch told Dobey that he'd rented a small house on the beach in Malibu, if they had to be reached and left the phone number. With any more luck, the courts would be full until Monday morning, and they wouldn't need to be called back until then. One could only hope.

 

On his way back to the squadroom to locate his partner, Hutch found he was still having irrational flashes of temper over Starsky's risky behavior at the car wash. Letting his imagination run wild, he pictured Starsky clad only in thin bands of leather, kneeling at his feet, head bowed in penitence for his behavior. He waited for the lash of a whip, knowing he deserved the stripes for disobeying...No, Hutch shook his head, that would be a blatant abuse of his power, such as it was, which he wanted to avoid at all cost.

 

Starsky had only been doing his appointed job, serving the public. He'd done so courageously and swiftly, delivering the hostages from their captor without a single injury. What else could Hutch expect of him?

 

That it frightened him half to death to see Starsky pull such outrageous stunts was beside the point. Just because Hutch didn't want him to put himself in danger wasn't a valid reason to punish Starsky. It wasn't fair to bring old baggage, such as Hutch's ongoing nightmares from Starsky's shooting two years ago, into the bondage arena. That was a charmed circle, and only what went on inside of it mattered. The rest of the world and its problems fell by the wayside for that twenty-four hours, and that was how Hutch wanted it to stay.

 

"Ready to go?" He asked, waiting until Starsky had flipped the last page of his report out of the typewriter and folded it inside of a file folder.

 

"Am now." Starsky smiled his stomach suddenly in knots. They were really going to do it again. He was going to change from an independent, free thinking police detective into a slave, ready to fulfill his dominant's every whim. It was one of the most terrifying and yet exhilarating experiences he'd ever had, and the thought of doing it again gave him tremors. Added to that, the first order of the evening was having Starsky's ear pierced, on Hutch's orders. He felt lightheaded and wobbly kneed with excitement.

 

Having anticipated some resistance about the earring, Hutch had actually done a bit of below the radar investigation into whether pierced ears were even allowed on male detectives. It was, after all, an increasingly popular accessory on the male population at large and no longer connotated that the wearer was gay, only fashionably up to date. In fact, while no other detective under Dobey's command was so adorned, he'd discovered a number of fellow officers at other stations who were.

 

"Is it safe?" Starsky had queried earlier in the week, bringing the subject up at the most unlikely times to get his erstwhile master to divulge any clues to what was going to happen at their next bondage session.

 

It was such an absurd question, especially in respect to what he'd done to Starsky before and planned to again, that Hutch just had to laugh. "Starsk, some girls just ice the front of their ears, put a potato behind and poke a needle through the lobe."

 

Starsky's horrified expression had just made him laugh harder. "That's a barbaric! How do you know?" Starsky had demanded.

 

"My sister had a piercing slumber party when she was thirteen." Hutch explained, wiping tears from his eyes. "But I'm taking you to an experienced professional, so don't get all in a panic before next Friday."

 

"I don't panic."

 

As it was, he'd seen Starsky studying anyone and everyone they met with pierced ears. When they'd had to interview a Spanish speaking woman balancing an earring wearing infant on her hip, Hutch thought Starsky's eyes were going to bulge out of his head.

 

Hutch had ruminated long and hard on the pros and cons of taking Starsky straight to the piercing place versus having him drive himself. He'd finally decided that Starsky should go by himself, eliminating any hint of force or coercion. If, at the last minute, Starsky had reservations, he didn't have to show up. Hutch didn't want Starsky to feel like he was maneuvered into anything he hadn't agreed on, however tacitly. Ironically, kind of like how he'd felt at the car wash. With a rueful laugh, Hutch pulled open the driver's side door of his battered car.

 

"What?" Starsky paused in the midst of the same action.

 

"Starsky, sometimes you scare the life out of me." Hutch sighed, waiting until he was seated before backing the car out of the parking place.

 

"It's never planned, honest."

 

"I realize that, I just wish...we could come to some sort of agreement ahead of time."

 

"We discussed my going in there!" Starsky protested, turning to face Hutch as much as he could in a car.

 

"We didn't discuss anything. You said you were going and gave me no choice in the matter." Hutch's anger rose to the surface too quickly and he knew he'd said the last too emotionally for a rational conversation. He took a calming breath, "How do you think that makes me feel?"

 

There was a long silence in the car punctuated only by the rattles and clunks of the LTD's engine before Starsky spoke. "I wouldn't like it if you went in there without backup." Starsky conceded.

 

"Exactly." Hutch nodded glancing over at the dark haired man, "Especially when every part of me wants to put you over my knee and spank the cockiness out of you."

 

"Oh." Starsky gulped, half-aroused and half-fearful because he knew Hutch could and would do it.

 

"But I've made a conscious decision that what goes on in the streets should not have any bearing on what we do behind closed doors." Hutch braked at a stoplight, trying to organize his thoughts so he used the correct words to explain himself. "I can't let anger color my actions as a Top...and, I shouldn't have done it last time." He'd used a ruler on Starsky's bare butt, taking out his frustration after Starsky had pulled another fearless stunt to bring down a gunman.

 

"Thank you." Starsky said meekly, twisting the steel linked chain on his neck around his finger.

 

"That could lead to dangerous situations that I want to avoid. These sessions have to be safe and carefully planned or I won't continue." Hutch felt his dominant persona filling him up, taking control. It was a subtle shift, but a powerful one.

 

"I know."

 

"So saying, you still earned three demerits from the last time."

 

"What's the..." Starsky wasn't sure of the proper term to use in this context. Was it punishment? His heart beat faster, his skin suddenly tingly and flushed as if Hutch had already smacked him.

 

"You'll find out." Hutch smiled smoothly, parking the car behind Starsky's Torino for the second time that day. "Go upstairs, and put on something nice, we're going out after the piercing."

 

"A real restaurant? Not some burger joint?" Starsky blurted in astonishment.

 

"I want a decent meal before my dessert." Hutch gave him a leer, indicating just exactly what he wanted for dessert.

 

"Lobster and steak?" Starsky suggested, harking back to a bet he'd won but never collected on. Because he'd been shot, but that was a memory for another time.

 

"I'll do the ordering but you'll like what's on the menu."

 

"I always do." Starsky matched his leer.

 

"Stop that." Hutch ordered, a hint of the master coming through. Starsky folded his hands in his lap, becoming more submissive with every breath.

 

"What am I s'posed to wear?" He asked carefully.

 

"Something appropriate."

 

"You're actually gonna let me choose?"

 

"My choice would be nothing, but the restaurant requires a suit jacket and tie." Hutch answered, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

 

"I'll remember that." Starsky said cheekily getting out the car.

 

"Meet me at this address by seven thirty sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated tonight." Hutch handed him the paper just before he drove away.

 

++++++++++++++++++++

 

No, it wasn't the sort of place any self respecting high school girl looking to get her ears pierced would be caught dead in, Hutch mused, waiting just inside the door which corresponded to the address he's given Starsky. The store, darkly named Leather Jungle, provided everything the initiate or experienced practitioner of BDSM needed to set up a scene. It was the first place Hutch had gone when he'd first started looking for comfortable cuffs to bind Starsky with and he'd returned again and again. The shelves were loaded with leather goods of every sort: from mundane leashes that could have been used on a pampered dog, to tiny straps for binding cock and balls tightly. There was no nice use for those; they were expressly for the exquisite torture that typified bondage practices. Long tailed whips and short, thick, multicolored rubber dildoes had been arranged into an artistic presentation around a mannequin bedecked with enough fetish wear for two. In the back there were rooms for trying on the larger items like rubber suits and heavily boned leather corsets, along side a room for piercing any part of the body and another for tattooing. It was one stop shopping for the bondage crowd.

 

Driving through early evening traffic, every nerve cell in Starsky's entire body was on high alert. This was it; he was on, if only he could make it to the place on time. Hutch was having him pierce his ear.

 

It wasn't so much that the idea totally freaked him, despite all the hoopla he'd raised all week waiting for the actual operation. It was that this seemed such a permanent, visible sign of their relationship. Sure, no one but the two of them would know its significance. Just that he would be physically changed.

 

This second go round was scarier than the first time, in a way, because now he knew exactly what Hutch might do to him. It had hurt, but it had also transported him to an incredible other dimension, where he'd been pure physical sensation without a corporal body, for a few moments. He'd been on a trip no hallucinogen could have ever have created. It made regular sex seem as ordinary as old white socks.

 

Drumming his fingers ceaselessly on the steering wheel, Starsky decided to funnel his nervous energy into some music and switched on the radio. He broke into gales of laughter that threatened his ability to drive when the first song he tuned in was particularly apropos.

 

"Gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure, cruel to be kind, it's a very fine line..." Starsky sang along with gusto, going for his appointment with destiny.

 

Hutch caught sight of the flashy red Torino turning into the parking lot and went out to intercept his sub. A thrill swept through him every time he thought about the sacrifice Starsky was making to do this for him and he loved the curly haired man all the more.

 

Starsky was wearing an unstructured dove gray silk jacket over a pinstriped shirt and pleated gray wool pants. A purple tie streaked with gray completed the ensemble. Hutch thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life and itched to peel those clothes off to reveal the perfect package underneath. That would certainly be his after dinner treat. But first things first.

 

"Where'd you get the suit, lover?" Hutch asked, trying to hide his desire.

 

"R'member when Nicky came out in September?" Starsky couldn't take his eyes off Hutch, either. The blond was handsomely attired in a conservatively cut black suit with a dark blue tie. The dark colors only dramatized his very blond hair and sky blue eyes. "He tol' me I was stuck in the '70's and took me shopping for some more stylish duds."

 

"Remind me to thank your brother." Hutch said faintly, suddenly feeling overly warm in his wool jacket. "Your appointment is in a few minutes. C'mon."

 

Following Hutch into Leather Jungle, Starsky was struck dumb, unable to take the whole place in in one glance. So many things to cuff, restrain and cause pain. So many things that could be used on him. He didn't know whether to examine each item or let the whole place wash over him in a sensual sadistic tsunami.

 

"C'mon, Starsky." Hutch said with more authority. "We're waiting."

 

Taking a deep breath, Starsky crossed the length of the shop into a small area adorned with large color pictures of pierced body parts. Never in his life had he seen so much flesh adorned with so much metal. There were hoops through ears, noses, nipples and... his own manhood recoiling in terror and tucking up close to his balls, Starsky averted his eyes from the last photo. No way would he ever allow anyone to stab a sharpened metal shaft there, ever.

 

"Siddown, let's get this goin'." A gruff hand pushed Starsky into a small chair, the hand's owner, Rex, eyeing him critically. "Ever had this done before?"

 

"No." Hutch answered when he saw that Starsky was beyond replying.

 

"Which ear y'want?" The giant demanded.

 

"Left." Hutch responded, resting a hand on Starsky's shoulder. Whether it to restrain or comfort, he wasn't sure. Probably a little of each.

 

At Six four or five, Rex must have weighed in excess of three hundred pounds; most of it straining outward like a pregnant woman's belly. He sported piercings in both ears and the nose, and his arms and chest were covered with tattoos of naked women. Starsky had a good view of one enormous breasted vixen when the man leaned in close to swab his ear with cold, acrid smelling alcohol. Rex was wearing the bare minimum of clothes acceptable in respectable or even raunchy society, a leather vest and slacks. No shirt, no socks or shoes.

 

"Close your eyes." Hutch said softly, his breath warm on Starsky's right ear. Obediently, Starsky did so, a perception of fluttering wings in his stomach. Rex's thick fingers grasped his ear lobe, then there was a sharp, sudden flash of pain like when he'd had his fingers poked for blood tests. Something cool and hard threaded through his flesh, and it was over.

 

"I love you." Hutch whispered, "You're mine." Thrills of liquid silver shivered down Starsky's spine. When he opened his eyes, he was staring directly into clear light blue ones.

 

"I love you, too."

 

"Ya wanna look at it?" Rex asked gruffly, handing over a mirror.

 

Starsky stared at his altered self, pleased at the result. He'd been wearing his hair slightly shorter on the top recently, letting the back grow longer, so tendrils of curls fell past the collar of his jacket. His dark hair curled around his left ear, framing the diamond embedded there. It caught the overhead light, refracting rainbow sparkles.

 

"Oh my god, Hutch, is that real?"

 

" No cubic Zirconium for my sla...Starsky," Hutch amended his words in from of Rex, who shrugged, going out to find his next customer. "You like it?"

 

"It blows me away." Starsky looked up, seeing the diamond reflected in Hutch's eyes like an entire galaxy.

 

Starsky had to fight the urge to sulk on the way to the restaurant because Hutch took over driving the Torino, leaving his own car behind Leather Jungle. Knowing Starsky would never leave his beloved car parked for two days in an unfamiliar area, Hutch still insisted on keeping the upper hand, which meant he got to drive.

 

Having made reservations, they were seated almost immediately in an elegantly appointed room redolent in dark wood, burgundy brocade chairs and white linen tablecloths. Candles flickered at each table, their flames magnified by glass globes. Waiters brought over glasses of water and baskets of crusty French bread within seconds of their sitting down, and Hutch ordered one glass of red wine for each of them from the sommelier. That would be the first and last glass of alcohol for the evening. He didn't want to enter into any bondage sessions with less than a clear head.

 

"Look who's here." Starsky dipped his chin, indicating a stunningly beautiful blond woman dressed in a black velvet dress that so perfectly hugged her curves it must have been sewn directly onto her sharply body. She had the kind of hourglass figure that indicated a heavily boned corset underneath, and arch killing spike healed shoes on her feet. Without saying a word, her presence commanded attention, every man in the room turning to watch her walk by. She was followed by a prosperous looking barrel chested gentlemen who called to mind the profession of banker or lawyer. He pulled out the woman's chair for her even before the Maitre d' could do it and then hesitated before sitting as if waiting for permission.

 

The woman dismissed the bemused Maitre d' with a wave of one pale hand, every gesture demanding ultimate respect and obedience.

 

"Carlysle." Hutch murmured, amazed that she could arouse him from across the room. He'd first met her when he and Starsky had gone to her house to question her on her business practices. A dominatrix by trade, she'd been insulted by their innuendo that she was a common whore and sent them on their way. But he owed her a debt of gratitude, the meeting had sparked Starsky's interest in bondage and changed the course of their sex lives.

 

Without even being told, Starsky knew the banker was Carlysle's slave for the evening. His whole deportment bespoke submission, although he doubted most uninitiated into BDSM would pick up on the subtle clues he was beginning to recognize.

 

"This must be where all the doms bring their slaves, huh?" He snarked, sotto voce, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

 

"You're in big trouble for that remark, buster." Hutch's voice cut hard and cold as a knife into Starsky's gut.

 

The tiny ache in his ear lobe suddenly flared, as if Hutch had actually pinched him. "Yes, sir." Starsky answered. He was finding it especially hard to don the submissive role so soon after dropping his detective self. He perched on the edge of his chair, not quite able to relax into the moment. He'd gotten himself into trouble so soon into their time together, but then that was the story of his life. Getting into trouble and then trying to wiggle out of it later.

 

"Have an oyster." Hutch held out a mollusk on the end of his fork. "To keep up your strength."

 

Tipping his head up, Starsky caught his love's eyes and smiled at the warmth there, closing his lips over the tines of the fork to swallow the succulent morsel. He'd never really liked oysters before but suddenly he understood why they were an aphrodisiac. He was suffused with amorous desire just watching Hutch eat his own portion of the appetizer, watching each glistening mound slip past the blond man's lips and slide down his throat, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. Oh, to put his own lips over those sweet, ripe looking lips and suck hard, to taste the lingering flavor of the oyster mingled with Hutch's own.

 

"You have the last one." This time Hutch passed him the fork, watching greedily as Starsky speared the oyster, then flicked out his tongue to briefly touch the food before swallowing it whole.

 

Just as the waiter came to clear away the empty plate and replace it with Caesar salads, Carlysle passed by their table, pausing to look both of them over.

 

"Carlysle, ma'am." Hutch murmured, standing politely. His glance at Starsky instantly pulled the other to his feet.

 

"I thought I recognized you two." She purred, her throaty voice like whiskeyed silk. "You're the detectives who came by my house. Hutchinson..." She gave him a look that once again left him feeling boorish and clumsy compared to her flawless perfection.

 

"And..."

 

"Starsky, ma'am." Starsky prompted, then froze at her glacier disapproval. How could such a woman be cold as ice and yet send off waves of heat that drew every man to her like moths to a flame? She turned her head, totally dismissing him.

 

"I can see that there's been a change in your relationship," She addressed Hutch, lightly rubbing the steel chain around Starsky's neck with a tapered digit tipped by a blood red fingernail. He didn't dare move with her hands on him. "I totally approve of your choice, but you have to have a much firmer hand with discipline or they try to get away with murder." She bent her forefinger over the edge of the chain, giving a tiny jerk, never once acknowledging Starsky again.

 

"I-I'll remember that." Hutch faltered, any ounce of dominance fleeing in front of her indomitable power.

 

"Come by and see me some time, after work, of course and I'll give you some pointers." Carlysle smiled a thoroughly nasty smile, "Maybe I could whip something up for you."

 

"It would hurt like hell to miss an opportunity to get together with you." Hutch replied, proud to have any ability with the English language at all when she tugged at every hormone he had.

 

"Glad to hear it." Carlysle raised one perfect eyebrow, "I see my companion is chaffing at being left alone for so long, but do come by...just call first so I can slap something on my face first."

 

"No need on my account." Hutch had warmed to the repartee and begun to enjoy himself. "I prefer au natural, myself."

 

"I don't keep accounts," She took a breast heaving breath, "No credit allowed, everything off the cuff. I have nothing to hide. Everything out in the open."

 

"Open and accessible." Hutch nodded formally. Switching his attention to Starsky's face he was fascinated by the play of emotions in the indigo eyes. Starsky was in turns jealous, turned on, and angered by Carlysle's blatant ignoring him, but he was trying to stay within the confines of his chosen role and not risk further censure. "I will be busy for the foreseeable future, however."

 

"Pity." She shrugged, looking over her shoulder at him, "I don't wait long."

 

"Neither do I, Lady." Hutch matched her icy blond smile, then turned back to his eating companion. Starsky's deep blue eyes were wide in disbelief but he'd uncharacteristically never said a word. Hutch smiled triumphantly at him, proud of himself, Carlysle may be the dominatrix extrordinaire, but he'd come out on top in their latest encounter. The waiter took that moment to serve the filet mignon.

 

"Thank you." Hutch murmured, never taking his eyes off Starsky. He couldn't quite read his lover's expression as the curly haired man ducked his head over his food. There were times in the line of duty when he felt like he could read Starsky's mind, but somehow, tonight wasn't one of them. He wasn't sure if Starsky was uncomfortable and angered by the situation with Carlysle or unhappy in his submissive role. What if that was it? What if Starsky no longer wanted to do this? Hutch cut off a tiny piece of the perfectly cooked meat, almost unable to take a bite.

 

"Hutch?" Starsky asked hesitantly. He'd been blown away by Hutch's reaction to the woman. Especially, since after their first meeting at her home, it had been Starsky who had been interested in going to see her, after work, so to speak. Did it mean that Hutch would rather be with her? "Do you...?" Starsky could hardly put into words what he didn't want to know.

 

"Want to be with her?" Hutch asked softly, captivated by the way the candle flame sparked prisms of light in the diamond glinting in Starsky's ear. "Not if she were the last woman on Earth."

 

"Really?" Starsky's naturally buoyant personality rose up once more, a grin transforming his face.

 

"Honestly." Hutch promised. He ate a few bites of the meat, speared three stalks of asparagus into his mouth and washed it down with the last swallow of wine, Seeing that Starsky had eaten about the same amount, he signaled the waiter over. "We'd like the bill, immediately." They'd spent far too much time in public. It was time to get down to the best part of the evening and they still had a bit of a drive ahead of them.

 

It was nearly full dark when they left. Once outside the restaurant, Hutch maneuvered Starsky around the back, anxious to get his hands on him finally. He had a few plans in mind, some of which were a little bit on the evil side, but wasn't that what his job was? To sweetly torture Starsky with sexual arousal?

 

"C'mere." Hutch whispered, pulling Starsky into a small park just past the parking lot. There was a traditional gazebo on a grassy knoll, only steps away, unused due to the darkness and increasingly cold weather. Starsky followed eagerly, wondering what games his master had planned up there. He certainly hoped he wouldn't lose too many of his clothes in the process, because even in a suit jacket, he was getting chilly.

 

Hutch soon warmed him up, forcing the smaller man up against the wall inside the lacy white Victorian structure. He unbuttoned Starsky's collar button, threading a finger through the Windsor knot in the tie, loosening it until it slid out from under the steel chain and baring the vulnerable throat. With hungry lips that hadn't been satisfied with filet mignon, Hutch kissed the naked skin over Starsky's jugular, sucking hard there as if he were a vampire.

 

Starsky groaned with the immediate hit to his cock Hutch's actions caused. He went from limp to semi-erect in seconds. His pulse seemed to pound like the surf in a heavy storm when Hutch left his neck and trailed kisses down to his collarbone. Starsky tried to reach up, encircle his lover's body with his arms, but Hutch pushed them down, holding them behind him with his left hand, never stopping his pattern of kisses and love bites. Starsky could have easily broken free of the grasp, but he didn't want to. It seemed forever since Hutch had lavished him with attention like this, he was loath to have it end.

 

When Hutch changed direction, Starsky begged him to continue, until the hot lips moved back up to his chin and jaw. Nipping and nuzzling at the tender flesh of the throat, Hutch always managed to avoid the actual lips, to Starsky's frustration. Hutch's last target was that tempting piece of ice nestled in lobe of his lover's ear. He lapped at the ticklish center to the ear, earning a giggle from the recipient, then centered on the newest appendage, swirling a long tongue around the diamond, then sucking on it as it were a pit he could extract from a cherry.

 

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Starsky couldn't stop a sharp hiss of pain. The wound may have been tiny, but it was fresh and stung with a fury. Hutch's warm tongue both soothed and exacerbated the pain.

 

"This is my mark on you." Hutch whispered in his ear, letting go of his prize. "You're mine forever."

 

"Forever." Starsky agreed, ready to do anything he asked as long as he kept his arms around him.

 

After releasing Starsky's hands, Hutch bent slightly, unzipping his partner's fly to release the erection tenting his pants.

 

"Naughty, naughty." Hutch teased, "I didn't say you could come out and play." With a movement quicker than Starsky could catch in the dark, Hutch had pulled something out of his pocket and slipped it up the thick rod. Starsky stiffened as it was snapped into place, the sensation indescribable. The cock ring fit snugly around the base of his penis, pooling the blood there so it throbbed with powerful need.

 

"Leave that there until we get to the beach house I rented." Hutch instructed, his dominant voice fully in place. "Don't touch it in any way." He smiled lasciviously, stroking the head, causing Starsky grit his teeth from the waves of consuming desire that surged through his body.

 

"H-how far is it?" he managed to ask.

 

"About an hour." Hutch finally placed a kiss right on Starsky's lips, but it was just a chaste, closed mouth tease, promising more where that came from.

 

"Only an hour?" Starsky echoed, following him back to the car. Hutch hadn't zipped him up and his cock stuck out, bouncing along absurdly. Luckily, there wasn't a soul in the parking lot and they arrived back at the Torino without notice. Starsky had to slide way down in the seat to be remotely comfortable with his hard on sticking up between his legs, turgid and dark red. He ached to put his hands around it, relieve the insistent throbbing that directed every ounce of his energy and thought to his groin. God, an hour like this? In a moving car...

 

Sitting on his hands was the only way Starsky could manage not to touch the obvious target he couldn't take his eyes off. He kept hoping Hutch would drive faster, or maybe take advantage of a turn-off for a little recreation in the car. He'd never had to endure a cock ring for so long.

 

For his part, Hutch found it hard to keep his eyes on the road with that huge cock so close, so easily accessible. He was glad there weren't any stoplights on the freeway, or he would have had his hands all over Starsky in a moment.

 

Taking the off ramp for Malibu, Hutch was soon driving down a narrow street lined with mostly wooden houses set up on stilts against the cliffs, overlooking beachfront property. The kind of houses that were distinctly unsafe in a rainstorm, what with the tendency in So. California for mudslides and soil erosion. Luckily, though the night was cold, there was a clear sky sparkling with stars and a moon one day shy of full and no hint of rain.

 

"We're here." Hutch announced, pulling up in front of a house weathered by the sea winds to a soft gray color. Wind chimes made from long cylindrical pipes hung from the eaves, giving off musical tones in the rising wind.

 

"Where'd you find this place?" Starsky asked in awe, getting out awkwardly. The ache in his groin had gotten painful, and he hoped Hutch took care of it soon, in any way possible. He hadn't touched himself once, his submissive headspace settling securely on the drive over. They'd only talked a little, each thinking of what the next twenty-four hours held.

 

Hutch unloaded a cooler and a suitcase from the trunk, giving Starsky the suitcase to carry inside. As always, he had been up the day before to prepare, but there were last minute things that couldn't be brought ahead of time. "That shop where you got your ear pierced does a little of everything. " Hutch explained, fishing the key out of his pocket and unlocking the front door, which was carved with strange spirals and swirls that looked vaguely mystical to Starsky. "Just set that inside the door and stay there." Hutch instructed, indicating where to leave the suitcase, while he carried the cooler into the kitchen. "They even rent houses that have had a few modifications to suit their clientele." He smiled, pointing to a ring bolted in the doorframe above his head and two more on each side. "User friendly."

 

Starsky shivered at the thought of being suspended by his wrists there, defenseless against whatever Hutch had in mind. He felt powerless to move, all his energy sapped by the overpowering need in his cock. If something didn't happen soon, he'd start begging for mercy. This submission was such a scary thing. He had so little say in what was happening, except the fact that he'd agreed to allow Hutch to have total control. That was something he could hold onto, wasn't it? That and his safeword. He hadn't used it the last time, but this cock ring was driving his perilously close to blurting the word out.

 

Please Hutch. Take care of me.

 

Having finished putting away all the perishable items, Hutch watched Starsky for a few minutes from the shelter of the kitchen, relishing the unquarded moment. His lover, his slave for twenty-four glorious hours. There were things he could never do to Starsky, things he'd read about, one he'd even had done to himself when he'd still been married to Vanessa, but there was still a wealth of possibilities in the category of bondage to contemplate. She'd been the instigator in that relationship, drawing him into a world he'd

 

hardly known existed. The first time she'd cuffed his hands behind him and applied her mouth to his cock had been their wedding night. They'd enjoyed taking turns in the dominant position but, Vanessa hadn't limited her activities to just their bedroom. Unfortunately, things had gone from pleasure to pain quickly after that. But that was in the distant past, tonight was for now, with Starsky.

 

What to do first? Starsky was nearly twitching after wearing that cock ring for so long, and besides, Hutch had wanted his hands on that long, lovely shaft since he'd snapped the ring in place.

 

"Don't move." Hutch commanded when Starsky took a step forward, seeing him come out of the kitchen. "Remember the rules? You have to be naked inside the house."

 

"Yes." Starsky started to slip off his jacket, his movements almost dreamlike, but Hutch took it off for him. Laying the suit coat to one side, Hutch then tackled each small shirt button until the two halves of striped cotton separated revealing Starsky's curly haired chest. Hutch smiled, carding his fingers through the dark growth, palpating the hills and valleys of the rib cage like a paleontologist gently excavating for buried fossils.

 

The feel of Hutch's hands roaming his body was hypnotic, soothing, and Starsky didn't move as his master finished undressing him by slipping off his shoes and sliding the gray wool pants down his legs to be kicked off. Of course he hadn't worn boxers. That had been a given.

 

"Kneel down." Hutch pushed gently, his heart aching with love when Starsky did exactly as he was told, sinking to his knees with a tiny sigh. Taking another key out of his pants pocket, Hutch inserted it into the miniature lock on the steel chain, casting the necklace to one side. Then he held out the deep brown leather slave collar, placing it around Starsky's neck and buckling it in the back.

 

"Who do you belong to?" Hutch asked.

 

"You." Starsky breathed, his whole body suffused with joy to have the collar back when it belonged. It had such an undeniable physical presence, binding his throat tightly so that he couldn't breathe without feeling it's tight hold on him. Hutch's love was like a circle around his heart, capturing him exactly like the one that looped around his neck, holding his fast. He never wanted to escape.

 

"What's your safeword?"

 

"Torino." Starsky answered, but it was getting harder and harder to speak with the urgent distress calls from his cock. He needed relief fast.

 

Finally Hutch leaned in to kiss him, dropping down so he was level with his Bottom. He cupping Starsky's balls in one hand, squeezing gently, watching the effect that caused. It was akin to setting off a bomb in Starsky's groin, throbbing bolts of frantic need with no where to go assaulted his body until he was gasping for breath. He clenched his hands around his thighs, remembering he'd been expressly forbidden to touch his cock, but the urge was so strong he was trembling. Hutch grinned, knowing he'd let this go on about as long as Starsky could tolerate it and reached down to snap off the constricting ring, making as little contact as possible with the flesh it surrounded.

 

Starsky wailed as a rush of pain flooded his lower half, the blood flow changing so suddenly he was light headed with relief. He could feel Hutch's arm's on his shoulders supporting him, "Bring yourself off, I want to watch." A voice said through the buzzing in his ears.

 

Wrapping his left hand around himself, Starsky needed no more invitation than that. He was way past the point of no return already. It took only a few pumps before he was gone, brain overloaded with the most basic painkiller there is, pure unadulterated pleasure. He sighed, relaxing for the first time in over an hour, his limp member hanging loosely from his fist.

 

"Now I get some." Hutch laughed, delighted with Starsky's finale. He liked knowing he'd done something that created that kind of satisfaction. The whole point of bondage was the pleasure pay off. Just like in life, there was delayed gratification, a little pain, a little torment before you could enjoy yourself.

 

He waited until Starsky was able to stand under his own power, then instructed him to hold out his arms while he buckled the wrist cuffs into place. Starsky was fascinated by the process, even though it was exactly the same as buckling on a belt. It was that Hutch was placing them around his wrists for the sole purpose of restraining him. It was powerful and scary and also incredibly exciting. That was the weirdest thing, that being restrained could possibly turn him on, but it did. He even felt calmer with the leather bands restricting his movements, his usual hyperkinicity lulled into complacency by the bonds.

 

"Into the bedroom." Hutch commanded, his own cock demanding attention. He couldn't keep his hands off Starsky's sexy, well muscled body. He wanted to pet the curly hair that grew abundantly over the torso, squeeze and fondle his buttocks and genitals and kiss every inch of skin. It was almost a torment to have to do the necessary preparations to set up the next part of the scene when all he wanted to do was have instantaneous sex with his slave-god.

 

Walking past the living room and down a hall to a master suite, Starsky barely had time to register anything more than a cursory notice of the furnishings. The house wasn't expensively decorated, containing mostly clean simple furniture from some Scandinavian design store, but there was an atmosphere of serenity about the place that co-ordinated with the wind chimes outside. One thing that caught his eye as they entered the bedroom was a small bubbling fountain flowing in the corner of the room, ferns and dwarf palms clustered around it like a mini oasis inside the house. But the piece de resistance was the bed, a huge affair all intricately carved with swirls and cascades of flowering vines. Incredible artistry had created the fantasy bed, obviously the same person who had carved the front door and Starsky wished he had a few more minutes to examine the fine detail, but Hutch was already positioning him on his back, head up close to the headboard.

 

With the abundance of hidden rings all over the house, Hutch had no trouble connecting a short chain from Starsky's collar to the head of the bed. Afterwards he quickly fastened the ankle cuffs he'd finally remembered to buy around Starsky's ankles.

 

"Grab your ankles." Hutch instructed, smiling when Starsky pulled his knees up so that he was lying on his back with his legs and arms up in the air, similar to someone with their feet in a pair of stirrups on an exam table. Using a small all-purpose linking clip, he attached the left wrist cuff to the left ankle cuff and the right ankle to the right wrist.

 

Starsky watched with rapt attention, wondering what exactly was going on in that beautiful blond head of Hutch's. His present position was awkward, but in no way uncomfortable and he liked being able to easily see what was going on.

 

Still intent on finishing his project, Hutch pushed pillows up under Starsky's buttocks, angling him so that his head was slightly lower than his lower half. Then he began to slowly undress; enjoying Starsky's wide-eyed appreciation as each piece of his clothing was removed.

 

"You're having entirely too much fun." Hutch chastised with a slight swat of his hand to the exposed ass poised so lewdly in front of him.

 

Grinning wickedly, Starsky wiggled his bound limbs, "I'm all caught up in the moment."

 

"I could still gag you." Hutch taunted, he kept wanting to make Starsky stick to the typical slave rules-no talking, no eye contact and total subservience but Starsky had never played by the rules in his life. Likewise, Hutch was too used to hearing his lover's constant commentary on life to get him to stay quiet for long.

 

"A taste of that would shut me up." Starsky stared pointedly at the prominent erection protruding between Hutch's legs. "I didn't get enough to eat at the restaurant."

 

"That's it, you earned yourself another demerit." Hutch snapped, unable to hold back his fury. "You forget your place, David." He knew Starsky was just pushing his buttons, egging him on but that wasn't allowed in a dominant/submissive relationship. "I am going to punish you tomorrow, and it won't be a love tap, either."

 

"May I ask how?" Starsky spoke quietly, taken back at Hutch's sudden anger. "I'm sorry...master." He'd started to say Hutch, but changed at the last moment.

 

"Good, you should be. I'm not doing this if you make a mockery of it." Hutch's temper flared brightly, no longer in the mood for the ass reaming he'd planned on. Or maybe this was just a different sort. " No half ways, Starsky, it's either we do it right when it's happening or we don't do it at all. Decide now, and if you can't submit to me, we both just walk away from this."

 

"Please no." Starsky whispered, his heart freezing in his chest. Stop now? He couldn't bear the thought. He felt very vulnerable with his arms and legs spread so obscenely wide, the strain on his chest muscles becoming noticeable the longer he stayed splayed out like this. Gravity dragged at his muscles and he longed to pull his limbs in to relieve the stretch but was afraid that would anger Hutch even further. "I...I want this. All of it, but you have to teach me. Punish me, cause I deserve it, I know I'm not doin' everything right, Hutch, please...it's only the second time, give me another chance. I don't care if you punish me, j-just love me a little afterwards." The fear that Hutch would just unceremoniously dump him clutched at his belly and he wanted to turn away so he didn't have to see his master's disapproval, but there was no way he could move. He was caught like a turtle on his back, unable even to completely turn his head to the side because of the chain that secured him to the bed.

 

"I'll always love you, Starsk." Hutch's voice trembled, going from anger to regret in a moment, "Every minute. This is all just harder than I thought it'd be." He sat down on the edge of the bed, using his thumb to wipe away the tear spilling out of the curly haired man's eye. "It's not just tying you up and great sex-there's all this..."

 

"Intensity." Starsky finished. "It's like jumping off the highest diving board at the pool and not bein' able to see the water below."

 

"Yeah." Hutch's thumb traced the curve of Starsky's cheekbone, following the hollow of his cheek down to the jaw and below to the hard leather collar closed around his neck. "It was never like this before, y'know?" He couldn't even say Vanessa's name aloud, in this sacred moment, "It was just...a different way to fuck. There's so much more here, with you. Emotions all jumbled together." He couldn't voice some of what he wanted to say, not and keep any sort of control as the Top here, but they'd probably talk about it another day. That he felt inadequate to dominate his best friend, that it was frightening to have so much power. The fears he always had that he could go to far and really hurt Starsky. He had to be so careful, walk such a fine line to remain in control. Was it worth it in the end? "You're sure you want to keep doing this?"

 

"I'd a' been begging you to unchain me long before this if I weren't." Starsky replied with a hint of the devil back in his eye. His biceps and inner thighs had begun to ache with fatigue and he drew his arms in as far as they would go, bringing his knees in close together.

 

"I'm not going to unchain you." Hutch smiled with all his teeth, knowing he would never be able to contain Starsky's irrepressible impishness for long. "I'll teach you what I want you to know, and we'll go as slowly as we need to, but you have to follow the rules." He stroked the collar that represented his ownership, "You already had three demerits from the last time and one-no two from today. Each demerit is one stroke."

 

"Yes sir." Starsky breathed. He didn't want to think about being hit right now. That was for later. "What were you going to do...before?"

 

"Spread your legs." Hutch gulped a breath of air, dispelling the last of his temper. It was worth it just to see the adoration in Starsky's cobalt eyes when he picked up the tube of lubricant from pile where he'd left his clothes. He coated his fingers with the slippery jelly, then liberally anointed his reawakened cock. "Open wide and say ah." Hutch joked, drawing teasing circles with the lube on the rounded cheeks of Starsky's ass. He rimmed the puckered opening offered so lusciously up for him, pretending to dip inside, but always just missing slipping his finger in.

 

"Ah..." Starsky moaned, opening as widely as he could. "Please..."

 

"You want this inside?" Hutch held up the classic 'bird' finger with a smirk.

 

"Fuck me, please, master."

 

Gently inserting one finger into the anus, Hutch wasn't sure how much longer he could hold off sticking his whole length inside Starsky's tight canal. The urge to just forge ahead was so strong he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep going slowly. He progressed to two fingers quickly, stretching his partner with little wiggles of his forefinger and pointer. Once he lightly caressed the prostate, bringing a rough shout from Starsky.

 

"Liked that, did you?" He liked being able to see Starsky's expressions. This was definitely better than going in doggy style. He came up closer, kneeling between his slave's upraised knees, pushing a third finger in with a quick thrust. Starsky was still smiling without any signs of discomfort, and he didn't even flick an eyelid when Hutch spread his fingers as far apart as they would go in the narrow space. Now was time for the big guns.

 

Starsky grunted when the thick head pushed through his asshole, so much bigger and wider than fingers could ever be. Even though this wasn't the first or even third time he'd had anal penetration, they'd never done it in this position before. There was always that little cringe of fear that what was going in was far too big for the space. Hutch filled him to the overflowing, stretching his inner walls to their extreme until he squirmed, the muscles burning. The old saying 'no pain, no gain' flitted through Starsky's mind, but Hutch had stopped his forward movement, having seen the pinched lip expression of pain on his face.

 

"Take it slow." Hutch massaged Starsky's thighs, "Breathe out and relax."

 

Starsky obeyed, closing his eyes to focus on loosening up his tense muscles, giving a short nod of his chin when he was ready. The jolt that shot up his body when Hutch slipped his full length inside banished any discomfort. Rocking his pelvis forward, Starsky forced Hutch in deeper, rectal walls contracting sharply with his rising climax.

 

"Oh, yeah, Starsk." Hutch shouted when the first contractions hit, squeezing his shaft to the utmost. He rammed in hard, over and over, matching Starsky thrust for thrust, so it was a tie as to who came first, the master or the slave.

 

"Thank you." Starsky tried to curl one of his fingers around his ankle to touch Hutch's cheek where it rested so tantalizingly against his leg, but his reach wasn't long enough. Seeing the gesture, Hutch roused himself from his post orgasm lethargy to unclip the ankles and wrists so that they dropped loosely onto the bed.

 

"How're you feeling?" He asked, kissing the hand that now stroked his blond hair.

 

"I'm grea..." Starsky paused, wincing, his eyes going wide.

 

"Starsky?"

 

"Hutch, I gotta go..." Starsky's face was pale, little beads of sweat popping out on his forehead as he tried to stop the increasing internal cramping. "Right now!"

 

Wasting no time, Hutch released the panic snap from the ring on his collar, helping a desperate Starsky to stand on unsteady legs that had gone numb from their prolonged suspension. He propelled Starsky into the bathroom just in time. Closing the door so he could have some privacy, Hutch could still hear a groan coming from the other room.

 

When he was done, Starsky splashed water on his sweaty face, still trembling from the vagal stimulation. He took a deep breath as he opened the door, feeling like nothing was going quite as they'd planned that evening. "Hey."

 

"You okay now?"

"I'm sorry, that's never happened before." Starsky apologized, ducking his head.

 

"It's happened to me." Hutch cupped a palm under the lowered chin, kissing him full on the mouth. "It's just a...natural side effect. No problem, but I think we're both tired. It was a little too much doing this after a whole day of work."

 

"I'm worn out."

 

"Lemme take a look though down there, though, was there any bleeding?" Hutch turned him around, but he didn't see anything that looked damaged from the outside. He probed cautiously, but Starsky squirmed away.

 

"No, no, just...you know." Starsky laughed. "Kinda spoiled the mood, huh?'

 

"Never. Come into bed, I want to get some sleep, because we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow."

 

"Yeah?" Starsky snuggled into the curve of his most perfect master's arm, resting his head on a strong shoulder. "I can't wait."

 

Using the ring imbedded in the front of the collar, Hutch pulled his lover under the ivory sheets, a secret smile on his face. Starsky draped a still cuffed arm over that washboard stomach cuddled so closely next to him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this for the rest of his life.

 

The bedroom windows faced east, so sunlight broke through the slats in the blinds earlier than either man was ready for. Hutch got up at six to relieve himself and pulled heavy blackout curtains closed over the blinds before climbing back into bed to spoon up behind Starsky, his partial morning erection jutting into the crack in Starsky's buttocks as if it wanted to slid back in. Hutch dropped off to sleep with that delicious image merging into his dreams.

 

It was nearly ten a.m. before either stirred again. Starsky had been awake for a few minutes, but hadn't moved, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He'd already stepped out of line too many times and was determined to behave appropriately for the rest of the day. Should he take a shower and brush his teeth so that he'd be clean and ready for whatever Hutch wanted or should he wait for instructions? That seemed the safest, even though his belly was starting to signal hunger pains with grumbly rumblings.

 

"I dreamed I heard a bear." Hutch said sleepily, patting Starsky exactly over his noisy stomach. "Looking for food."

 

"That would be me, then." Starsky looked over, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. "Tell me what to do."

 

"Shower quick and then make breakfast." Hutch reclined back onto the fluffy pillows, "There's fruit and croissants in the kitchen, and juice."

 

"Your wish is my command." Starsky bounded out of bed, saluting snappily, then noticing for the first time the salute from little Davey down below. "Up and ready to go."

 

"I'll say." Hutch changed his mind abruptly and got up to follow Starsky into the bathroom. "I'd rather we saved time and conserve water...might need to take another shower later on, after all."

 

"Good plan." Starsky felt hands on his neck, removing the leather collar from his neck for the duration of the shower. The cuffs and anklets followed. He felt absurdly naked without them. Shivering, he wondered what twist in his psyche made him crave what most people would describe as a perversion. His father had occasionally taken the strap to him, usually when drunk and stressed out from his job as a patrol officer, but he'd never gone in for spankings or rough sex with any of his former lovers. He'd had a girlfriend or two who asked to be tied up, but until Hutch had restrained him two weeks ago, he'd never been into bondage, either. But that first time, it had felt so right, like something he'd been waiting for without knowing for years. Was it just that everything was right with Hutch? Even being hit? Starsky's thoughts skittered away from what he knew would happen later in the day. Hutch was going to punish him, and unlike the swats he'd received last time from a wooden ruler, he was fairly certain this was going to hurt a lot more. But it wasn't like Hutch hadn't warned him, or told him what to expect. He'd broken the rules, more than once. And Hutch probably didn't even really want to hurt him, it just had to be. This was the consequence of his disobedience.

 

Still, to be suspended by his hands and whipped like a character in an S and M novel was just both terrifying and exhilarating in a way he could never explain to another soul. The whys and reasons he wanted it were unfathomable. It was just what he needed, deep inside.

 

"Where'd you just go?" Hutch asked, adjusting the heat of the cascading water.

 

"Thinking." Starsky bit his bottom lip, "I just want to do this right, make you proud of me."

 

"Starsky, I'll always be proud of you, and love you. This is just another extension of who we are right now. I know we're both a little more scared this time, for some reason. It's sinking in how scary bondage can be, but I'm in if you are."

 

"Yes, God knows I don't understand one bit why I want this, but I do."

 

"Then get in the shower, slave."

 

They spent a few enjoyable moments rubbing bare, wet, soapy skin together, 'accidentally' bumping each other with their cocks just for the sheer pleasure of feeling each other up, but Hutch didn't want any sex play in the shower, for now, anyway. He was just beginning to define a few plans for the morning in his mind and had to admit he was getting hungry, anyway.

 

After drying off, Hutch rebuckled the leather bands around Starsky's throat, wrists and ankles, stepping back to admire the overall picture. It always took his breath away to see Starsky attired like a slave. This was a completely different Starsky than the hellion he worked with on the streets. That man was strong, aggressive and fearless who'd chase after criminals at a moment's notice. This Starsky was no less powerful, but in a whole different way. His lean, hard muscled body was a beautiful as any nude in an art gallery. That he would subjugate his stubborn independence and submit to slavery for Hutch's sake was truly a remarkable gift. Hutch was awed to have such strength and aggression tamed and under his control. The sight of that sculptured body bisected with leather was his alone and he cherished it, so he'd covered the bathroom mirror to prevent Starsky from seeing himself.

 

"You're beautiful, Starsky." Hutch reached out to cup the pointed chin in his palm, kissing his lover full on the lips. Letting his hands slide down, he fingered the hard leather collar, the heady smell of leather mingling with Starsky's own clean scent, becoming part of him.

 

"I could look at you all day." Starsky responded eagerly to the kiss, trying to brush his dick against the one that pushed against his leg.

 

"Time to eat." Hutch laughed, patting Starsky's flat belly. "The bear in there needs to be fed."

 

Starsky padded into the kitchen to look for the breakfast items. While the coffee maker bubbled and whirred, he poured orange juice, warmed croissants and arranged some fruit on a plate. As an afterthought, he plucked a long stemmed rose out of a vase on the counter and laid it across the tray. He'd seen that in an old movie and always thought it romantic. Hutch had undoubtedly been the one to bring the roses, but still, it was the thought that counted.

 

"Your order, sir?" Starsky carried the heavy tray back into the bedroom, placing it on a small wicker table facing out towards the huge plate glass window. The view of the seashore swept out below them, as remote as the moon on a morning like this. The wintry overcast day gave the whole beach a gray tone, the sky, sea and shore all merging into one cool, foggy watercolor painting. Monochromatic, but not boring. Infinite shades of gray ranging from pearl to charcoal shifting with the wind and tides.

 

Immediately claiming a cup of aromatic coffee, Hutch waved the other man into a chair pleased that Starsky'd remembered to wait to sit until allowed to. "Don't eat anything right now just drink some juice and coffee, then lie on your back on the bed."

 

"Yessir," Starsky sipped the juice, adrenaline jumpstarting his system. What did Hutch have in mind? Would it be hard to endure or a blissful sexual encounter? Probably a little of both. His stomach growled again, reminding him of how hungry he was, but Hutch had forbid him from eating any of the food he'd prepared. That croissant looked tempting, so he shifted around to the view, watching a seagull dive into the gray, roiling surf looking for food. The bird arched upwards with a small fish caught in it's beak and Starsky was glad someone was getting something to eat. Hutch hadn't touched the food either, come to think of it. He watched his master out of the corner of his eye looking for a sign of what was to come.

 

Hutch was wearing a long, dark blue brocade robe, the sort English detectives wore in old thirties movies, and Starsky wondered where he'd gotten it. It didn't seem like the sort of thing Hutch would normally buy, but then a lot of what they did in these B/D/S/M sessions was out of their normal habits. Maybe that was the point-to become someone else, just for a short time and explore who that new being was.

 

Having finished the juice and swallowed a few gulps of coffee, Starsky took a calming breath and lay supine on the bed, the sheets cool and comforting against his skin.

 

"Cross you arms over your chest." Hutch said, grabbing the right wrist when it came over to him. He attached a short rope to the ring on the cuff and anchored it to a corresponding ring on the left side of the bed frame. He made quick work of the other wrist so that Starsky's arms crossed in an X over his body, secured tightly to the bed. Then he gently lifted Starsky's head up a few inches, slipping a sleepmask type blindfold over his eyes. This one, however, was thicker and tighter than the ones given away on airlines for sleepy passengers and Starsky couldn't even get a glimpse of light out the bottom or sides. He again found that being tied had a calming influence on him. Without the use of his hands, he could relax into the experience, able to wait without nervousness.

 

"Now it's time to eat." Hutch said with amusement. He brought a plate of food over to the bed, positioning himself so he straddled Starsky's narrow waist with his thighs, resting his buttocks lightly on Starsky's hips. He placed the plate next to them on the bed and selected a small wedge of orange. "Open up." Hutch teasingly traced the bound man's lower lip with the fruit, letting the juice drip enticingly into his mouth.

 

Starsky extended his tongue to try and catch the tempting orange, licking Hutch's thumb instead. Raising his head he tried to keep the thumb, but it moved away, just the sticky juice still dripping over his tongue.

 

"Not yet." Hutch laughed, inserting the orange into the waiting mouth, then taking a bite of one himself. After sharing the rest of the orange, he progressed onto the croissant, strewing flaky crumbs all over Starsky's bare chest. Leaning forward, Hutch licked off a morsel of buttery pastry, then let his tongue linger, swirling around the tempting nipple almost hidden under the curve of Starsky's arm. That would obviously have to wait until he had better access to it. He picked up the last item on the plate, handling it carefully to avoid bruises and poked the rounded end between Starsky's lips.

 

For one second, Starsky was fooled, but his sense of smell identified the banana, and he eagerly drew the succulent pulp into his mouth. He'd thoroughly enjoyed this new way to eat, the only draw back being the tight way his arms were bound over his chest, making it slightly more difficult to breath and swallow than under less restrictive conditions. That hadn't bothered him very much, however and he'd luxuriated in being fed. Without his sight, he'd used smell and taste to catalogue each aroma and flavor, playing a little quessing game with himself to see if he could tell what Hutch would bring forth next even before it reached his tastebuds.

 

The banana almost dissolved in his mouth, the overly sweet taste lingering when another rounded tip pushed insistently against his lower lip. He opened up immediately, the banana forgotten as the cock filled his whole mouth, stretching his lips widely. He licked the undersurface, feeling the ridges of veins scrape against his tongue, gasping when Hutch pulled halfway out. Starsky applied suction, pulling the throbbing organ back inside like a powerful vacuum cleaner, sucking until his cheeks hollowed. The tip bumped against his hard palate and he hummed with pleasure, the vibrations resonating around the thick organ like buzzing bees.

 

"Oh, man, Starsk." Hutch moaned. His breath was coming in quick pants, his vision narrowing while the talented tongue and mouth worked their delicious magic on his cock. He threaded his fingers into his submissive's curls, holding on for dear life as the bottom dropped out of his world and he soared on bursts of lightening that electrified his whole body. He rose up on his knees, thrusting forward, ejecting his full load down the waiting throat. Breakfast would never be the same again.

 

Letting his limp organ slide out of Starsky's mouth, which left a trail of cum over his lips, Hutch picked up another item from the bed. He caressed Starsky's cheek with the silky petals, drawing it enticingly under his nose. "I liked the rose, babe." Hutch whispered, feeling his captive's erect cock pushing up between his butt cheeks. It didn't have a chance of going anywhere right yet, but at least the last half hour had kept it interested. "Most flowers are just pretty-a come on for the bees, but a rose is so much more. It's a lot like bondage- a really beautiful experience, but the thorns can hurt." He touched the stem to his bottom's lush lower lip, the tip of the rose's defense system pricking just enough to be felt but not enough to draw blood.

 

"Pleasure and pain." Starsky found his voice, the slight friction of his erection along Hutch's naked buttocks incredibly arousing. He tried to arch his hips upward to increase the contact, but Hutch's weight on his pelvis made it hard to move.

 

"I didn't say you could come, did I?" Hutch warned, his voice hard, hooking his feet around Starsky's knees so it was impossible to move an inch. "That just earned you another demerit. You'll be in the penalty box for a long time at this rate."

 

"I like hockey. It's a full contact sport." The words were barely out before Starsky knew he'd screwed up big time. "I'm sorry, master...I've got a big mouth."

 

"All the better to fit my whole cock inside." Hutch relented, claiming that mouth with his own. He could taste his own semen on his slave's lips, which only aroused him. He was part of Starsky and Starsky part of him. Like blood brothers almost. " You still get another swat for that." He kissed Starsky hard enough to bruise, then turned his attention to his favorite part of the brunet's whole body, that narrow slope of muscle where the neck and shoulder joined. The little warm spot where he could almost hear the blood pounding in the artery on it's way to the heart. He left his signature, establishing a berry colored passion mark just below the slave collar. "Tell me how you feel right now, little one?"

 

"Kinda tied up at the moment." Starsky wanted to squirm, move in any way. Hutch was getting very heavy with all his weigh pressing him down into the mattress. He was trapped by the big, Nordic body and really didn't want to get away, just be able to draw in an unconstrained breath.

 

"No, describe your feelings." Hutch tweaked his nose the way a parent would tease a child. "What's the first thing that comes to your mind?"

 

"Anticipation." Starsky was almost as surprised as Hutch was by his response. "And hope." Those were not the words Hutch had expected. He swung his leg over the edge of the bed, finding a less dominating place to sit, intrigued by what Starsky had to say.

 

Struggling to elucidate, Starsky found himself in the position of a religious zealot trying to preach to the heathens. How to make them understand what they'd never experienced? "When I'm tied, I can't control anything at all, which is sorta comforting in a weird way. All there is is hope and anticipation. I don't know what's gonna happen from moment to moment." He finally took a deep, lung filling breath, trying to keep his body relaxed in the bonds. But as always, the longer he was restrained, the more his muscles started to tighten up. " Hope that it'll be a good experience, and if it's hard..." His voice betrayed his ambivalence on the more difficult aspects of bondage, "Or painful, waiting for it to end, hoping that that I can ride it out and get some pleasure before I start to..."

 

"Scream?" Hutch slid the blindfold off, smiling when Starsky gazed up at him in awe. He hadn't expected to be understood so completely.

 

"Yah, I guess." Starsky blinked, even the dim gray midmorning light was bright on his eyes after having them covered for so long. It was embarrassing to think that Hutch could make him scream or cry out for mercy. But in a way, he was also glad that Hutch could bring out such strong emotion in him. There were times on the streets where he felt totally dehumanized by the level of detachment he had to maintain to perform his job. While some people might think of B/D/S/M as the most degrading, dehumanizing thing on Earth, he found it liberating and amazingly cathartic for his soul. "Sometimes I wanna scream when stuff gets hard."

 

"Was this time hard?" Fear clutched at Hutch's heart, he didn't want to hear the answer.

 

"No, it was fantastic." Starsky assured. "I loved being fed like that...I think it's my favorite so far." He grinned mischievously. "Can we do dinner like that?"

 

"You can only hope." Hutch smirked. "Time to stretch out now."

 

The rest of the morning was spent in mundane activities such as cleaning up the kitchen and putting new sheets on the bed. Hutch got dressed, finally and then placed Starsky's discarded wool slacks on the bed, adding a thick, dark turtleneck sweater to the pile.

 

"We're going for a walk, get dressed, please." Hutch hoped he sounded commanding and not just plain rude. He couldn't help but add the 'magic' word please. It just came out and besides, there was no reason the Top had to be nasty about things. As his grandmother had always said, "You catch more flies with honey." Although, now that he thought about it, why would anyone want more flies?

 

Starsky silently complied, admiring the handsome sweater. Just one more thing Hutch had gotten without his knowledge. Hutch must have been shopping constantly on their infrequent off time. He'd fully expected the blond man to remove the leather collar and wrist cuffs, but realized that the sweater completely covered both from view. The perfect outfit for a slave. He followed Hutch's lead and put on shoes and socks, donning his leather jacket when it was handed to him. Where were they going?

 

The kitchen opened up onto a deck built straight into the sheer cliff wall overlooking the desolate wintry beach and there were wooden stairs leading down to the sand. Standing on the deck, the wind pushed at backs and tugged at collars as if it wanted to command the humans and get into the bondage act too, but once down on the beach they were more protected, although the air was chill and raw. Southern California's reputation for constantly sunny weather was a myth and there were days that could be truly classed as winter just like any place else. Of course, by next week, the temperature would probably rise enough for short sleeves before it started to rain.

 

Hutch walked quietly, soaking in the calming solitude of the deserted beach, enjoying being out of his usual element. They'd both needed this mini vacation. Work had been demanding of late and both were exhausted. Once they were 'off the clock' tonight after seven p.m. and the bondage gear was put away, he planned to do nothing more stressful than drink a couple beers and read some mystery novel in bed. Hopefully Starsky would curl up right beside him and do the same.

 

Glancing over at his lover, he forgot the landscape, admiring Starsky instead. The turtleneck framed his sharp jaw, the dark color accenting the bright red cheeks, kissed by the wind. Hutch couldn't let Mother Nature have all the fun, he leaned over and kissed the full lips, tasting salt from the sea. "This is a private beach." He said, snaking his arms around Starsky's middle in prelude to another kiss, "In warmer weather we can swim in the nude."

 

"What about jelly fish and seaweed?" Starsky asked when he'd come up for air. Hutch was a passionate kisser and had phenomenal lungs from all the singing he did. He could stay lip locked a lot longer than Starsky without needing another breath, leaving the dark haired man light headed and giddy.

 

"You'll be safe with me. I've got a gun."

 

"And it's a big one." Starsky quipped.

 

"Careful." Hutch warned without malice, "You're coming close to insubordination."

 

"Don't I always?"

 

Talking his hand, Hutch walked a little further along the sand, watching the sea gulls circling in the gray sky. "Starsk, this morning you said sometimes you just want to scream when things get hard-you've never used your safeword yet...What I'm saying is, there's no shame in using it."

 

"I haven't needed to, not really. Stuff just gets really intense." Starsky bit his lip, feeling the hidden collar seem to tighten when he swallowed or breathed heavily. "I...get ready to say it, but then I realize I can handle what's going on...I just gotta let loose and get it all out. Maybe scream or yell."

 

"We talked about some fantasies a couple of weeks ago. Now that you've gotten a taste of this, is there anything that scares you, stuff you really don't want to do?"

 

"I really like being tied up." Starsky admitted after a moment, even though saying that aloud scared him, "It's the weirdest thing, cause I've been tied up before-by people I'd just as soon forget..."

Hutch laughed, squeezing his hand, "I know, and we won't talk about the real world when we're here."

 

"The real world, huh?" Starsky grinned, joy in his indigo eyes. "I was beginning to think this was the real world."

 

"You're such a dreamer, Starsky."

 

"But as much as bein' tied to the bed or something kinda centers me, gets me into the scene, but it would scare the hell outta me if you went off left me like that."

 

"I'd never do that." Hutch assured, "I want you safe-maybe achy, but never in danger."

 

"Yeah." Starsky dipped his head, watching the tiny grains of sand stirred up by their footsteps, pleased that Hutch was so protective of him. It felt a little strange to be submissive sometimes and sometimes it made him feel like a precious jewel. He could totally understand why some women got off on the guy opening the door for them, holding their coats or ordering the food. "A gag would scare me."

 

"It kinda does me, too." Hutch agreed, feeling no less in control for saying that. "I think that's within the realm of what we'll explore in the future, except I have to figure out a way for you to be able to communicate even when gagged."

 

Starsky nodded absently, a quicksilver chill slithering down his spine. Just thinking about being totally restrained AND gagged, unable to move a muscle or make a sound was both terrifying and still slightly exciting. His cock stirred, pushing against his pants.

 

"Anything you really want to do?" Hutch asked, watching the flitting emotions on Starsky's expressive face.

 

" I think we've already covered a lot of them." Starsky answered, trying to be casual about it, but just thinking about future sessions got his blood racing. "You're the one in charge, what's your fantasy?"

 

"Have you ever heard of fisting?" Hutch asked, still focusing on that most beloved face. He'd been reading a book on bondage games and been captivated by the photo of a hand buried up to the wrist between two butt cheeks.

 

Starsky stopped, locking onto his gaze, his breath catching in his chest. "Yeah. It sounded painful." Really painful, to tell the truth.

 

"It's something that we'd have to work up to." Hutch nodded, wondering if Starsky was only being agreeable because he thought he had to be. "The muscles need to be stretched."

 

Not having to be told whose muscles needed to be stretched, Starsky could already feel his anus tightening up at the thought. Hutch putting his whole fist up there? In that tiny little tunnel? It was impossible, wasn't it? Looking down, Starsky examined the hand that still clasped his own. Hutch's hand was bigger than his own, broad in the palm with long tapered fingers that looked fantastic strumming a guitar or even holding his big, powerful Magnum pistol. Starsky had to admit that his favorite sight of those hands was when they were wrapped around his cock, bringing him off. But that large hand closed into a fist and stuck up inside him? Now that scared him.

 

"It won't be today." Hutch assured, "We've got enough to do today. Look up there." He pointed to a building perched on the cliffside above them, a cross-beamed Tudor style inn which fit it's surroundings with surprising ease. Starsky had never been to England, but he'd seen pictures of the countryside and could easily imagine the little building set on one of the barren moors partially obscured by swirling fog. "It's a pub."

 

"Lead the way, Mr. Rochester." Starsky grinned. He could go for a beer.

 

"When we're there, you don't speak without being addressed, you follow my lead and keep your eyes lowered, do you understand? "

 

"Yes sir, " Starsky gulped, the collar making its presence felt again. Hutch was making him be submissive even in public. He'd had a hard time at the restaurant the night before, could he do this now?

 

The pub was dim inside on such a gray skied afternoon, dark paneled walls reinforcing the image of a small, old fashioned country British inn.

 

"Can I help you lads?" A British accented voice called out. For a moment Starsky was startled, not able to locate the speaker. Then he saw an older man with a ready smile standing behind the English style bar, the kind where the bar tender seemed to be framed by the glasses and bottles of his profession.

 

Starting to state his order, Starsky froze before the words came out of his mouth and deferred to Hutch. "Ginger beer and a root beer." Hutch ordered. Starsky had hoped for something stronger, but he knew he had no vote. "Got any food?"

 

"Special today, made my own daughter's fine hands, onion rings." The man answered cheerfully, drawing actual draught root beer and real British Ginger beer.

 

Hutch would have preferred something much less greasy, but he knew Starsky'd drool for onion rings. "One special, then."

 

"Coming up." The bartender pushed the two drinks across the bar, accepting the bills Hutch left.

 

After handing Starsky his mug, Hutch led the way to a plank table by a fire roaring in a hearth big enough to roast boars for Henry the Eighth. The heat was welcoming after the cold beach, roasting the side of the body closest to the fireplace, leaving the other side exposed to the draft coming in from the constantly opening door. Starsky waited until Hutch had indicated he could sit, then perched on the edge like he couldn't get comfortable.

 

"Starsk." Hutch smiled at him, the lowered eyes and tentative manner what he'd ordered, but not Starsky. "It's okay, you're doing great. Relax." He took a swallow of the spicy Ginger beer, feeling the sharp burning sweetness tingle in the back of his throat. Starsky followed suit, smiling in return, his dark blue eyes almost black in the dim light.

 

"No beer right now, we have a heavy duty session after we get back to the house."

 

"Oh." Starsky nearly choked on the fluid just going down. He swallowed painfully, then took another sip of the pungent root beer. He'd almost convinced himself that Hutch had forgotten about his promise of a real punishment. Something not meant to be enjoyed, but to remind the slave of his place in the hierarchy.

 

"I can't let my judgement or reflexes be clouded with booze at a time like that." Hutch answered, his face serious. This still really scared him. He didn't want to hurt Starsky intentionally, but if they were continue on with a real bondage relationship, he had to divorce himself from his role as Starsky's best buddy and only focus on the role of dominant. Luckily, it didn't last forever, and the loving that Starsky had asked for would follow the punishment as surely as day followed night. And he wanted the whole package, the good and the bad.

 

Suddenly, he wanted to get back to the beach side house and finish what they had started. It almost felt like the beginning all over again. Each time they both pushed the envelope of what they could handle, it opened up new vistas of their new world, to explore side by side. They were in this together, dominant and submissive, lover and loved, partners. Sometimes it was fifty/fifty when they were on the streets, sometimes it was unequal, but no less a partnership.

 

"Here you are, fried onion rings." A pert redhead dimpled at Starsky, placing the platter more on his side of the table than Hutch's.

 

"Thanks, schweetheart." Starsky drawled, flirting with the interest apparent in her apple green eyes. It was his normal response to a pretty girl, and way too late he realized it was wrong.

 

"Can I get you refills?"

 

"No, thanks." Hutch's voice was cold, remotely polite, but he was staring straight at Starsky with fire in his eyes.

 

Starsky caught his breath, adrenaline slamming into his belly. Ohdamn.

 

Hutch felt the flash of irrational anger burn through him like an out of control wildfire, the muscles in his jaw jumping from the sudden stress. The red-haired waitress, confused at her abrupt dismissal and Starsky's total change of attitude, turned away to welcome a new couple coming in the front door.

 

Downing the rest of the ginger beer, Hutch let the fiery aftertaste battle his internal flames. Should he be angry with Starsky for acting so totally consistent with his normal behavior? Yes and no. He was supposed to be acting the submissive, to be controlled only by his master, not like his everyday self. Yet, to completely subjugate that unpredictable spirit would drain away the Starsky he loved wholeheartedly.

 

To be truthful, it was no different than the conflicts of any other couple. One person always wanted the other to change into the person they imagined them to be. The trouble was, if that person did change, they were no longer the same one to whom you'd been attracted in the first place. It was a dichotomy that stuck right at the heart of the problem.

 

How exactly did he expect Starsky to act? Quiet, submissive and meek, which was not in Starsky's nature or wild, unpredictable and impulsive as he was on the street?

 

Hutch knew there was a man in between those two. He'd seen him. A Starsky willing to be dominated and restrained, knowing that he did so without losing his true identity.

 

Hutch tried banking his anger, knowing emotions could cloud his judgement during the punishment just as badly as alcohol. He reached for a greasy onion ring with a steadying breath, studying the bowed head across the table. What to say?

 

"I'm sorry." Starsky whispered, thinking he sounded like a broken record. All he ever did lately was apologize for his behavior. He tried so hard to be what Hutch expected but so far he hadn't been very successful. He raised his eyes to meet Hutch's, expecting a tongue lashing at the very least, if not the real lash when they got back to the beach house. He didn't expect the enigmatic expression on the blond man's classic features. "Are you mad at me?"

 

"I should be, you disobeyed a direct order." Hutch wiped his fingers on a napkin before eating another fried tidbit. How did he voice what was inside him? "But, no, I'm not mad at you, exactly." And he realized it was true, the flash had faded as quickly as it had come. "More disappointed. Starsk, you've been undercover and maintained a cover for weeks without losing it, because you know you'd be in danger if you did, but you drop out of this like it's nothing more than a masquerade."

 

"Undercover, huh?" Starsky couldn't help the smirk that twisted his grin, much relieved by Hutch's attitude. The word had such a multiple of meanings. "I'm going undercover...I hadn't thought of it that way, but it is the same."

 

"Don't think we're going under the covers when we get back, either." Hutch passed him one of the onion rings as a peace gesture. "Or at least not until much later."

 

Starsky munched the first one, then ate several more in rapid succession. The crunchy treat hadn't looked very appetizing when he'd been fearful of his master's wrath, but now his appetite reappeared with gusto. "I know what comes first. H-how many demerits did I get, all total?'"

 

Hutch glanced around them, aware that they were treading on dangerous ground, discussing this in public, but none of the other patrons were paying them the least bit of attention and music from a hidden jute box was blaring a vintage British invasion tune loudly enough to cover their conversation. "All I will say is, eight. Let's go."

 

"Eight." Starsky echoed, the collar and cuffs he wore under the sweater suddenly very restrictive around his throat and wrists. Could other people see them? Did they have a clue that he was about to go back to a rented beach house to let his lover beat him with a whip or something equally painful?

 

How would he be able to handle eight strokes? Last time it had been only been five. Following behind Hutch, Starsky imagined every person in the room could see the mark Hutch had left on his skin and it wasn't the new pierce hole that twinged slightly in his ear lobe. It felt as visible as the brand on the rump of a horse-Hutch's ownership.

 

++++++++++++++++

 

Stepping inside the house, Starsky could still hear the echo of Hutch's voice in his head, commanding him to be "Naked and on your knees the minute you get inside." He undressed as quickly as possible while Hutch watched silently, dropping to his bare knees on the chilly tile floor.

 

Starsky wanted to please, wanted so much for Hutch to know he was committed to this relationship, but to be open and exposed like this in front of his fully dressed master was particularly difficult. It so firmly drove home the reality of his part in this game. He was the slave, to be used however Hutch wanted. He was only a vessel to serve, give his master pleasure first. If Starsky found pleasure in what was done to him, that was a gift bestowed from Hutch. If he found pain, that was what his master had chosen to give him as well. It was so scary he couldn't prevent the tiny tremors that shook his frame.

 

"Cold, lover?" Hutch hooked a finger though the ring in the collar, pulling him to a stand.

 

"The floor was cold." Starsky admitted. Hutch's hands now clasping his biceps were like hot pads against his chilled skin. He was still trembling, but now it was from the anticipation of what was to come.

 

"This will be a real test of your endurance." Hutch inclined his head, nuzzling Starsky's nipple. He bared his teeth, skimming the hard edge over the tight nubbin, then raking his teeth across to take a love bite from the opposite breast. Starsky hardly dared breathe, already half dazed by the attention Hutch was giving his chest. It hurt so good, sending jolts of stimuli straight to his cock. Hutch's hands skimmed down the outside of his arms until they captured his wrists, wrenching them behind him so he was nearly immobilized simply by the position. With a quick snick of a clip, Hutch had the cuffed hands locked together so he could use his own hands to paw through the dark curls covering Starsky's torso.

 

As he often did, Hutch backed him up until Starsky was against the kitchen wall. Starsky couldn't count the times Hutch had started a seduction this way. In this he was impatient, demanding, wanting access to his lover's body as soon as possible. He was always slightly rough at the beginning, forcing his knee in between Starsky's legs to widen the stance, keep him steady while he ravaged his prisoner's chest, even before they'd ever discovered bondage.

 

"Ow...yeah" Starsky tried to arch away from the sharp teeth toying with his bruised nipples, but the wall prevented any movement. He moaned as the pressure increased on his abused skin, knowing he'd be peppered with teeth marks afterwards. A tongue slithered over one of the throbbing marks, leaving cooling heat behind, before it dipped further south, down to the groin area. Hutch rimmed the small indent of the belly button, kissing it briefly before he encountered the swelling male organ. Already rock hard, it stood straight out as if at parade rest, ready for action. Unfortunately, it was going to be disappointed. He avoided any really erogenous areas, kneading and stroking the firm belly and buttocks with hard fingers. Starsky was trembling again, Hutch could feel the fine shudders under his palms and let up his assault for a moment, looking up at his Bottom's slack face to see those eyes sleepy with desire. Was he on the edge yet? Maybe just a few moments more.

 

Drawing his fingernails lightly over Starsky's buttocks and down the backs of his legs, Hutch lightly pressed his tongue to the head of the erection only inches from his nose. Starsky just about raised up on his toes, pre-cum starting to leak out the tip. That was it, the preparation was over.

 

Straightening up, Hutch released the clip from Starsky's wrist cuffs, using it as a pointer to indicate a location in the front room where he wanted his slave to stand. Starsky walked over to where he was directed, looking up at the ceiling. Rings, screwed to the ceiling in two neat lines, allowed for an infinite number of positions to securing the submissive.

 

Still not saying a word, Hutch unbuckled the leather wrist cuffs and replaced them with a slightly different pair. The cuff part was exactly the same, but the new set had a leather loop attached on one side that crossed the palm, extending out past Starsky's fingers.

 

"Put your arms up, palms together." Hutch ordered, once again securing the cuffs together and then using another clip to link them to a chain that attached to the ring bolt above his head. The reason for the loop became immediately clear, in this position, Starsky automatically closed his fingers around the leather instead of grasping the chain.

 

Walking around his suspended lover, Hutch took in the sight with awe. With his hands above his head, Starsky's rib cage was lifted, creating a sharply defined line between his chest and the flat abs below. Starsky took a shuddery breath, rippling the tight muscles of his belly.

 

Shifting his feet, Starsky felt the world drop out below him, his bound hands the only thing keeping him upright. Above him loomed old cement caves and abandoned cages. He was surrounded by black robed figures chanting 'Si-mon, Si-mon..." while a girl with a knife hovered hypnotically in front of him. Fear welled up in a suffocating wave and he moaned, eyes squeezed shut against horror.

 

Hutch had turned away to get his equipment, but the frightened sound alerted him that something was very wrong. That was not a moan of sex, but of all consuming fear.

 

"Starsky!" He cried, seeing the pale face and closed eyes, "Starsky, look at me!" With care he cupped the chin, lifting his face so that when the eyes opened they would be focused on him. "What's the matter?"

 

"Oh, god." If he could have, Starsky would have sagged in relief, it had been a flashback. "I thought I was at the old zoo..."

 

Hutch didn't need any more clue than that. He gathered Starsky into his arms, rubbing his back. "I'm so sorry, little one, I'll get you down now." How could he have been so stupid to put Starsky into a position so eerily similar to the one where he'd almost been stabbed to death?

 

"No!" Starsky spoke abruptly. There were a few tears on his face, but he looked calmer now. "I don't want that to spoil this. You said we had to do it all or nothing. Maybe this will...uh...cancel out that other memory."

 

"Starsk, we can do it in a different position." Hutch tilted Starsky's head back a fraction more so he could kiss the parted lips.

 

"No, you're the master. You wanted it this way." Starsky answered when the kiss ended. He could taste Hutch on his lips and flicked his tongue along the bottom one. His arms already ached from the strain of being suspended, but he supposed that was part of the experience. It was supposed to be uncomfortable. Why was he objecting to a different position, then? Maybe the next one would pull less on shoulders and neck? Did he seriously want pain? A tiny measure of fear remained in his belly no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it.

 

Hutch was going to hit him with something hard, intending to hurt. But then, afterwards, it would get better. The hard part would only last a short while and then they'd get onto the best part, the sex. No matter how forceful Hutch was, he was never cruel. It wasn't in his make-up. In fact, Starsky knew deep down how hard punishing him would be for the big blond he'd always accused of being a softy. But, he'd disobeyed and if they were playing by the BDSM rules, this was nothing more than what he deserved.

 

"All right, are you still with me?" Hutch searched his face for any signs that Starsky still heard the specter of Simon Marcus' followers chanting.

 

"I'm here, in Malibu, waiting for my punishment." Starsky said so bravely it tore at Hutch's heart.

 

Touched by his best friend's resolve, Hutch knew he'd better get going or he'd loose the momentum and be unable to start himself. Again he turned back to the locked closet directly across from where Starsky hung. Opening the hinged door revealed a veritable cornucopia of bondage gear. Hoping his apprehension didn't show on his face or in his manner, Hutch selected two items before closing the closet once again.

 

Taking up a stance behind Starsky, Hutch rotated his shoulders, loosening up his arm to prepare his swing. He couldn't hit too roughly or too softly. There was a definite art to this, one that he wasn't yet completely comfortable with. Running a palm along the smooth, unmarked curve of the buttocks, Hutch tried to visualize his target exactly. He knew in his heart that they would both feel like cheaters if he didn't go through with this, as if they were playing the game with a made up set of rules, but he still had such a hard time getting past the fact that he was going to beat Starsky's backside, possibly leaving welts.

 

His one comfort was that both had enjoyed the mini whipping he'd given Starsky the last time. It had been an unexpected overflow of his anger due to his partner's outrageous behavior from the evening before and he'd just walloped him before he could really think too much about it. It had stunned the both of them by being surprisingly arousing. Like all those old English porn novels claimed, a good spanking could really get a guy in the mood.

 

"The first eight are the punishment strokes." Hutch flexed the broad leather strap in his hands. He suspected it had started life as an old fashioned strop for sharpening straight razors, but it had an excellent heft in his hand. Wide at the business end, it shouldn't leave much of a mark, but it was still heavy enough to be deeply felt. "The ones after that will be for you. Concentrate on getting past the pain to the pleasure."

 

Starsky tried to relax the tension in his body, but the anticipation was like a giant weight trapping him. He just wanted Hutch to begin so that the end would come that much quicker. The feel of Hutch's hands on his backside was amazingly soothing, and coupled with the gentle sway of his body whenever Starsky shifted his feet, his mind began to drift into a calming place. This would be all right. He'd survived lots worse than this.

 

That ended with the first whack of the leather strap. Dark, deep pain flared across his buttocks, stunning with it's lasting intensity. Starsky strained to keep quiet, ride out the hurt, but the second one came too quickly, layering the pain until he felt it to his bones. He flinched away unconsciously, wanting to avoid any more, even though he knew that wasn't allowed. Subsequently, the third stroke slammed into his hipbone, the end of the strap flicking over the top of his thigh. This was too much to bear, and he let out a howl of protest, pulling uselessly at the chain that bound him to the ceiling.

 

"Get back in your place." Hutch ordered in his sternest voice. Hurting Starsky was very difficult for him on a fundamental level. After all, this was the person he'd vowed to keep safe after bullets had pierced his chest only a few short years ago. But if they wanted the full range of kinky sex, this was part and parcel with it. The power and domination were an important aspect that he was only beginning to understand. A frighteningly easy thing to exploit, unfortunately, which was why this realm of sexual play had such a nasty reputation. There were some dominants who used this power to humiliate and demean their subs. That was just cruel and unnecessary. Hutch loved and respected Starsky, even while he was whaling the tar out of him. It filled him with pride to see how stalwartly Starsky took his strokes. Degradation had no place in his version of this world. Love would always follow the pain when he had control of the session.

 

The rest of the eight came so fast and furious Starsky was barely aware of Hutch's count down. He was wrapped in a cocoon of pain, writhing with the inferno that burned along the nerve endings in his ass. Crying almost silently, Starsky tried to remain still and unbowed but couldn't endure the torment without some outward show of emotion.

 

Then abruptly, the strokes changed completely. Hutch hadn't said a word when he'd changed to a small, leather covered paddle, but this one gave a broad diffuse smack, harder and more unyielding than the flat of a hand, with nowhere near the intensity of the leather strap. His butt already aflame, Starsky was overly sensitive to the first few, but as Hutch's swing improved he began to feel the individual strokes separately. Still distinctly uncomfortable with his butt cheeks throbbing in pain Starsky gradually caught a different sensation. Accompanying the pain came not joy exactly, but a strange lightheaded sense of euphoria, almost mania. When the endorphins kicked in he was caught by surprise, the natural high free floating him upwards, taking the stinging pain partially away. The heavy thump of the strap had hurt badly, but now he welcomed the throbbing ache of the paddle, each subsequent stroke taking him closer to bliss. He hovered over a void, suspended in a place where pain and pleasure co-existed, not as diametric opposites but partners in a dance for his neuro receptors. Both vied for acceptance, one taking precedence for a second, then the other getting the upper hand until he truly couldn't distinguish agony from bliss.

 

Hutch had gotten into a rhythm that felt strangely right, and he had to admit there was a weird sense of sexual excitement now that the punishment portion of the pain play was finished. After only a few smacks of the paddle his cock had hardened, blood engorging the long shaft, his breath coming faster when he saw the leather covered wood contacting with Starsky's pliant flesh. The paddle was an extension of his hand, and he was surprised to find that he enjoyed seeing Starsky's buttocks glowing red. He let loose with a particularly fast volley of smacks, hearing his lover's tiny yelps, mixed in with cries that sounded like arousal. So Starsky was enjoying this, too?

 

Marking those rounded butt cheeks to a rosy red was like painting a target back there and Hutch wanted nothing more than to hit the bullseye. It winked at him as Starsky clenched his buttocks, trying to pull away from the continuing rain of blows. Hutch stopped, dropping the paddle with a clatter, reaching out to touch his creation.

 

"Aie...!" Starsky let out a startled exclamation, his whole backside burning like a giant barbecue briquette. "S-sore."

 

"I'm going in deep." Hutch murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on the angled muscle between the neck and shoulder, "But I don't think it'll work in this position. When I let you down, bend over the dining table."

 

Not sure his legs would entirely support him, Starsky tried to remain steady, glad of Hutch's arm around his chest, even though the close proximity of the other man's erection inside corduroy pants was like sandpaper against his abraded butt. Released from their suspension, his hands dropped heavily, fingers tingly with the return of circulation. He half walked, was half propelled by Hutch's insistent need over to the table, bending down to clutch either side with hands that still didn't grip too firmly.

 

Hutch had the tube of KY jelly at the ready and smeared a big glob onto Starsky's inflamed skin, swirling it around the asshole and then plunging inside with a forefinger.

 

The lube both cooled the fire and ignited a flame inside him. Starsky pushed urgently against the probing finger, wanting the release as quickly as Hutch did. With his finger still inside his slave's anus, Hutch attacked his fly one handed, letting his cords drop down to his ankles. He kicked off his loafers and then the pants as quickly as possible.

 

Hutch wasted no time, giving Starsky only the minimum of stretching, using his thumbs to widen the hole before he thrust forward, his cock nearly a matching hue to Starsky's abused skin. It was tight, hot and moist inside, like one of those childhood Chinese finger torture toys that gets even tighter after you put your fingers inside and then try to pull them back out. Starsky arched upwards, his neck stretched backwards until the collar nearly choked him. His fingers clutched desperately at the sides of the table, barely able to hang on as Hutch ground down on him, as relentless as a rutting boar. This was no gentle lovemaking, but a brutal fucking. Hutch kept up a steady rhythm, pounding his cock into Starsky's prostate like a battering ram.

 

Starsky thought for a moment he'd be split asunder by the huge rod divining his center. It tore into him, feeling somehow twice the size of Hutch's normal dimensions. Once inside, the battering cock seemed to swell even more until Starsky had to let out little nonverbal shrieks, gasping from the cramps that clamped down his belly momentarily then evaporated.

 

It hurt, but it was so good, that insidious pleasure and pain conundrum back again, trying to get Starsky to choose which team he was on. He didn�t want the pain, but it shifted so subtly back and forth to pleasure, it was hard to decide whose side he was on. Especially when Hutch kept nailing that delicious spot. Every stroke over the prostate made up double for the pain of the punishment strapping. It was every incredible sensation he'd ever had all covered in chocolate with sex as the secret surprise inside.

 

Wrapping his arms around Starsky's waist to hold on in the tumultuous dance they'd begun, Hutch encountered the other man's steel hard erection and grabbed hold. He slid his hand rapidly up and down, creating a furious friction on the velvety skin.

 

No matter how forcefully Hutch pushed in, Starsky thrust back to accept it, wanting every exquisite second to last forever. Starsky's orgasm blasted them both, contracting around Hutch's cock, squeezing it until he thought his blood supply was being cut off. He shouted Starsky's name, his voice mingling with Starsky's screams until there was no distinguishing between them. They were one.

 

Starsky collapsed onto the table, the blond man's weight lying heavily on top of him until Hutch finally roused himself to stand. Immediately, the self-recriminations started up, heaping abuse on his soul. No matter what the justifications had been, BDSM rules be damned, what he had just done was inhumanely cruel.

 

"Thank you, master." Starsky's voice was rough from screaming and he didn't have the strength to raise his head off the table.

 

"You been reading up?" Hutch almost wanted to cry from the sweet way Starsky had said it, so properly. Exactly how a submissive was supposed to behave after his punishment.

 

"Yah." Despite his exhaustion, Starsky's dark blue eyes gleamed merrily, "It's amazing what you can find at your local Waldenbooks. Anonymous wrote a lot of books."

 

"There's lots better literature than that." Hutch curled his arms once again around the smaller body. Starsky was dripping with sweat, his curls matted wetly to his forehead as they had been after the dash through the car wash. This time Hutch was able to push that errant curl off the flushed forehead. But when he pulled his beloved closer, Starsky winced at the contact on his bruised backside. Without a word, Hutch swept him up into his arms, holding the surprised man like a bride going over the threshold.

 

"Hutch, your back!" Starsky protested, linking his arms around the blond's neck to keep from falling. It felt good to be carried though. He didn't have an ounce of energy left anywhere.

 

"I'm not taking you far." Hutch nearly dumped his load on the bed quite unceremoniously, but managed to remain dignified and upright as he tenderly placed Starsky on his side. "A shower first, then some dinner."

 

His heart contracted as he surveyed the damage he'd caused. Starsky was indeed reddened and possibly bruised from his thighs to his lower back, but there were no actual welts. His puckered opening had a tiny trickle of blood running down the crack in his buttocks. Hutch placed a gentle kiss there, but even that was more pressure than Starsky could abide at the moment. He flinched away, then looked abashed at having revealed how much it hurt.

 

"Gonna hurt for a couple days, baby." Hutch didn't feel much like the all mighty dominant right then.

 

"Hutch, don't." Starsky turned awkwardly so he was now facing his love, reaching up to run his knuckles over Hutch's cheek. So soft, even hours after he'd shaved. Starsky already had visible five o'clock shadow, but Hutch's blond beard hair hardly showed. He raised up on one elbow, still touching that smooth skin, caught in the ocean blue depths of Hutch's eyes. "Don't start piling on the guilt. This is what it was supposed to be. Everything is okay between us. What happens when we're 'on the clock' during these twenty-four hours, you never have to apologize to me. Ever."

 

"God, I love you." Hutch kissed him on the lips, twirling his tongue around Starsky's in a wet, luscious embrace.

 

"The feeling is mutual." Starsky grinned. He'd rather just sleep than anything else, but getting cleaned up and some food inside him would work, too. He realized with some surprise that it was late afternoon and he'd eaten hardly anything since the unorthodox breakfast hours before.

 

Hutch got the shower started, getting the temperature of the spray just perfect before helping Starsky in. He'd considered just drawing a bath, but Starsky was disinclined to do anything that involved sitting. Working up a nice handful of lather, Hutch began a languid washing of Starsky's torso, pausing over each old surgical scar and bullet wound to give them extra loving before he went on to the four limbs.

 

For his part, Starsky just let himself be washed, his butt up against the smooth tile. That felt almost sensual, the hot water splashing over his front to wash away the bubbles left by Hutch's ministrations and the tile soothingly cool on his back. Afterwards, Hutch wrapped him in a big fluffy towel, leading him into the living room.

 

Once a fire was going, bringing needed warmth into the cozy house, Hutch took the towel back to the bathroom, then started dinner. Starsky lay on a soft white fur spread in front of the fireplace, drowsy in the heat, listening to the domestic sounds in the kitchen. This was perfection. He didn't want to move even so far as the nearby table to eat.

 

"Something to start with." Hutch joined his lover, sitting cross-legged on the fur rug, holding out a bowl of raw vegetables and dip.

 

"No chips?" Starsky asked hopefully.

 

"We may be done for the day, but I'm the one who brought the food." Hutch grinned, crunching on a carrot stick. Starsky chose a stalk of celery, swirling it in the ranch dressing before taking a bite. He was ravenous.

 

"How you doing?" Hutch stroked Starsky's upper back with a barely there hand, afraid to inflict more pain than he'd already done.

 

"Great, this really hits the spot." Starsky reached for another crudite, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see the blond man. "But that's not what you meant."

 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

 

Starsky finished off the carrotstick before he spoke. "You've...been on the receiving end, haven't you?"

 

"A long time ago, yes." Hutch admitted. He'd revealed as little as possible about his times with Vanessa and her friends, not wanting to influence any of Starsky's experiences. He could remember the slash of a whip across his bare skin as if it were yesterday. Strangely enough, that hadn't been why he'd been reluctant to do it to Starsky. It had been more that he'd been afraid of wielding so much power over his best friend and partner. What if their relationship on the street changed now? He'd deliberately caused pain to another person, someone he held dear. How hard would it be to just cavalierly smash in the face of a total stranger? He'd been in countless fights before, shot his pistol in self-defense or to protect Starsky. Had he crossed any sort of moral line here that made him more prone to violence? If he could take a strap to Starsky what would stop him from hurting him worse?

 

"How was it for you?"

 

"I never liked it." Hutch pushed back the fearsome thoughts to really listen to the curly haired man beside him. "I did get off more on the power." He felt dirty for saying it aloud, "But back then, there were no absolute doms and subs, everybody did each other, sometimes on top, sometimes on the bottom. Vanessa loved the whip. She could take it better than anyone I knew and really loved giving it." He stroked Starsky's back again, "What about you?"

 

"I didn't like the pain." Starsky turned his head, looking into the crackling flames. He could almost feel the smack of the hard leather strap across his buttocks again, how it seemed to go on and on, searing right through him with every subsequent smack. "But it wasn't like anything else I'd ever felt. Nothin' like being beat up by some perp on the streets. Beyond the pain, it was...liberating."

 

Caught by surprise, Hutch moved around where he could see Starsky's face again. Reflected in those sapphire irises twin fires danced. "In what way?"

 

"I went inside myself and like...flew away for awhile. Not like bein' on drugs, but I almost felt like I was someplace else entirely. I could still feel every time you hit me, but after a while it wasn't so much pain anymore." Starsky squirmed, obviously feeling it now. Never having been penetrated twice in such a short period of time, he ached down deep, and didn't even want to think about using the toilet. "I think I'll remember this for a while."

 

"Would you do this again?" Hutch asked seriously.

 

"I thought I didn't get to plan any of it. Your department."

 

"You put in your suggestions, I take 'em or leave 'em." Hutch grinned, scooping up dip on a celery stick. He waved it tauntingly in front of Starsky's nose, getting some on the end of the pointed protuberance. Starsky raised his chin enough to catch the celery in his teeth, tearing off a bite. Hutch ate the rest, then leaning in close to lick the creamy dip off his lover's nose.

 

"I'd rather not be punished again." Starsky's tongue joined Hutch's, curling around it and pulling it inside until their lips met. Time passed satisfying a moist hunger. "But I know it's going to happen anyway." He continued after a moment. "But the other part...wasn't so bad after a while."

 

"And the sex in the end was great." Hutch hadn't intended the pun, but he laughed at his own joke anyway. He was thrilled beyond measure that Starsky had just given his consent for further sessions.

 

"That goes without sayin'." Starsky agreed. "Hutch, whatever you do to me, I love it because you do it outta love."

 

"You fill me with awe, the way you take everything I throw at you and still bounce back for more."

 

"Like one a' those clowns with sand in their bottoms?" Starsky giggled. "You get off on the power, huh?"

 

"Never should have told you."

 

"You've been the dominant one since the day I met you." Starsky said quietly. He laid his hand over Hutch's resting on the rug, threading his fingers between the longer ones. "I never thought much about it before, but I got used to listening to you first...going by what you said."

 

"You've argued with me every step of the way." Hutch captured Starsky's thumb with his own, then turning his hand over to fit the two palms close together. He did boss Starsky around, In fact, sometimes he wasn't even nice about it, he realized with sudden insight. Whenever things got too rough on the job, he heaped abuse on the closest target: Starsky. The one person who was a steady constant in his life, who was always forgiving, supportive and totally annoying in the morning before he'd had his first donut. Starsky could bring Hutch back from the edge of anger's abyss faster than anyone else, and with much less effort. He rode out Hutch's storms with a sunny smile for an umbrella, never flinching from the barrage. No wonder they'd slipped so easily into their roles. "Stubborn, opinionated, aggressive. Not exactly what I'd call submissive."

 

"You're the only one I would ever have done it for." Starsky's still raspy voice oozed sex, as much a surprise to him as it was to Hutch. How he could think of another go round was a shock, there it was, the need rising up with undeniable force. Starsky raised up on his knees, his erection growing too large to lie comfortably on. "I get off on you."

 

"Yeah? You think I'll let you take me?" Hutch leaned back on his elbows as Starsky crawled up the long body, looking as lean and predatory as a jungle cat.

 

"Once in a while I get my own way." Starsky bent down, his cock bumping the other one half concealed by a blue silk robe. There was no way he could even tolerate kneeling with his buttocks resting on his legs, but as long as he stayed on all fours, he could take the moment where ever he wanted it to go.

 

"Starsk, there's stew simmering on the stove." The other man reminded, completely enthralled by the action going on between his legs. Little Ken seemed to have a mind of it's own, perking up and coming out to greet Little Davey without so much as a by your leave from him. And it felt so good when they met up, skin to skin. He pulled his thighs together, capturing the two pulsing shafts so that they ground against each other in a rising heat that had nothing to do with the blazing fire.

 

"You're trying to get the upper hand." Starsky gritted his teeth, holding out against the need rising in his blood. He thrust into that narrow space, slipping and sliding against warm velvet steel, lost in the desire. It was so perfect, so right to be here, now, like all the planets had aligned and his biorhythms were at an all time high. "It's my turn."

 

"Go first." Hutch panted, Starsky's arms wrapped around his legs, preventing him from freeing the two dancers trapped between. He pulled his beloved closer, "I'll follow."

 

With total abandon Starsky's climax crested, pulling him in it's wake. Hutch, as he'd promised, trailed a second behind, content then because he was with Starsky.

 

The clamoring sound of the stove timer roused them both from their post coital stupor, causing gales of laughter. "Saved by the bell." Starsky giggled, "I worked up an appetite."

 

"Your appetite is insatiable." Hutch untangled his limbs, tying the robe around his middle. He was sticky with cum where it had spurted over his thighs and belly and he made a detour to the bathroom for a washrag.

 

Starsky lay curled on his side on the white fur rug, looking ravaged and wanton, yet somehow vulnerable; a gypsy prince posing for Playgirl. The new diamond in his ear sparkled every time he moved his head to follow his master's movements. Hutch wouldn't take his eyes off him either, Starsky looked so startlingly beautiful there, his skin glowing in the firelight and his eyelids half mast as he watched Hutch clean off.

 

"I'm still hungry for some of that Scandinavian sausage you brought."

 

"That's not what's on the menu anymore, hot shot." Hutch dropped the washrag onto Starsky's genitals, scrutinizing the bite marks and small reddened areas scattered across his lover's chest and neck, testimony to his passion. He hadn't realized how voracious he'd been.

 

Wiping himself clean, Starsky thought with surprise that he wasn't the least bit uncomfortable being nude while Hutch was dressed, however scantily. In such a short time it had become second nature, like the collar girding his neck. Was he truly that submissive or just at ease with Hutch and unashamed of his own body? For the longest time the scars from all his numerous surgeries had disgusted him, but Hutch's love had changed how he viewed himself.

 

"You look great, baby." Hutch smiled at him from the kitchen almost as if he were reading Starsky's mind. "You're going to have to wear a turtleneck for a day or two. I got kind of enthusiastic there."

 

"I thought so." Starsky laughed wolfishly. He could have gotten dressed now that the session was over, but he was too relaxed. The fire was just a tad too warm on his skin but that wasn't enough to make him move off the rug.

 

Bringing over two bowls of stew and soft slices of Italian bread, Hutch stretched out next to his amour. It was slightly messy eating stew in a prone position but that made it all the more a challenge and more than a little landed on chins and chests to be licked off. When the bowls were empty Starsky spooned up against the big blond body, drowsily rubbing his inner thigh against the silky texture of Hutch's blue robe.

 

"Too tired to get up to go t'bed." Starsky murmured, his head tucked up against the broad back.

 

"Party pooper. It's barely six o'clock." Hutch lay with his head on a pillow of purple princess silk, and reached behind him to pull Starsky's arm around his waist.

 

"Had a hard day..." Starsky began then came up on one elbow when the phone rang shrilly. "Who's that?"

 

"I gave Dobey the number in case we had to go to court for Romano." Hutch scrambled to his feet, pulling the robe closer around him in an effort to look presentable. As if that mattered on the phone.

 

"What'd you tell him?" Starsky asked with alarm.

 

"Starsk! We've gone away for the weekend before... to his cabin, even. He doesn't think anything of it." Hutch searched the room, realizing he didn't remember where the phone was. He'd never expected to have to use it. He finally spied the instrument in a small alcove off the hall, crossing the room in two strides while it continued to ring persistently.

 

"Hutchinson." He answered formally. "What?!" After listening a few moments, he nodded, the crease between his eyebrows deepening to a canyon. "It'll take us nearly an hour to get there. We're leaving ASAP." He listened again, looking angry and then upset. "Thanks, Captain, we're on our way."

 

His interest peaked, Starsky stood, wincing at the pull on his aching body. "What?"

 

"We need to head up a murder investigation." Hutch hung up with an unreadable expression. "Carlysle is dead."

 

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