IF YOU DON'T ASK

 

By

 

Nikki Harrington

 

It's two weeks before their first Christmas as partners and there's something Hutch would like to ask Starsky, but he's not sure how to.

A first time story.

Written: January 2013. Word count: 2,280.

 

 

It was Tuesday, two weeks to the day until Christmas Day; the stores had had their decorations up since just after Thanksgiving; the station had been decorated within an inch of its life; even Huggy seemed to have gone overboard with decorating his bar, and Christmas music blasted out every waking hour. It was two weeks before Christmas Day and they were sat in the Torino, the festively colored Torino, on the third day of the most boring stake-out Hutch had ever been on.

 

The only thing that made it remotely less boring was that he was sharing the stake-out with Starsky; the man he'd been partnered with for six months; the man who had become friend within a few days of their partnership and best friend before two months were up. The man Hutch spent more time thinking about that he maybe should. The man who oozed sex; the man who didn't walk anywhere, he swaggered; the man whose jeans seemed to be poured onto him; the man whose shirts were always unbuttoned further than anyone else's; the man Hutch not only thought about more than he maybe should, but the man he thought about in a way he was certain he shouldn't think about him.

 

"You all right, babe?" Starsky turned to look at him. His feet were crossed at the ankles and rested on the dashboard and he was settled down low in his seat, looking for all the world as if he was relaxing at home after a long day rather than on duty sitting in his car.

 

Hutch nodded and smiled. "Yeah, Starsk; I'm just a bit bored. Nothing's happened and we've been here for three days."

 

Starsky grinned, the cheeky, sexy grin that made Hutch's stomach lurch slightly. "Three days is nothing, blondie. I remember once when we - hang on!"

 

And Hutch did, literally, as in a swift, seamless movement Starsky sat up straight, pulled his feet down from the dashboard, gunned the engine and in a heartbeat they were racing along after a blue sedan as Hutch tried to get the light on the roof with one hand and hold onto the dashboard with the other. Once the light was on the roof, he pulled his Magnum out and checked it as Starsky maneuvered the Torino through and around traffic, never seeming to slow down and ignoring the way the tires squealed as he went around corners. He didn't even seem bothered when the car once went into a complete spin, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees. He just slowed down for a second or two, long enough to straighten the car before once more pushing his foot down on the gas and off they went again.

 

But then Hutch realized as he still clung on for dear life his gaze shifting from the car they were following to his partner and back again, when it came to driving nothing did faze David Starsky; he was that confident; that good a driver. His hands held and caressed the steering wheel just as if he was caressing a lover. And the Torino responded to him in a way Hutch had never known a car to respond to anyone - certainly he'd never experienced such a synergy with a car; it was as if Starsky and the Torino had become one.

 

"We've got him now," Starsky called as he dragged the wheel round and with tires squealing even more and the smell of burning rubber filling the car, they rounded a corner on the tail of the blue sedan following it into a dead end street. Once they were safely around the corner and Starsky had righted the car, to Hutch's surprise he hit the brakes and pulled the wheel, turning the car so she was sitting across the road.

 

Hutch watched as the driver of the sedan reached the dead end, hit the brakes, turned around and started to race to where the Torino sat. "Starsk!" he cried, as the car got nearer and nearer and nearer to the now stationary Torino.

 

"Don't worry, Hutch; he'll stop." And Starsky sounded so confident that Hutch believed him and even as he stared wide-eyed, his heart beating at a rate that really wasn't to be recommended when you were sitting still, he saw the sedan begin to slow a little until finally it came to a screeching halt.

 

The driver flung open the door and took off; half a second later Starsky, automatic in hand, took off after the driver and half a second after that, Hutch his Magnum in his hand took off after Starsky.

 

His longer legs meant he not only caught up with his partner, but over-took him and it was he who finally tackled the driver of the car, bringing him to the ground and cuffing him as the man cursed him and his mother.

 

"Nice dive, babe," Starsky said arriving seconds after Hutch was sitting on the legs of the man. He reholstered his gun and bent down to pull the man up.

 

"Thanks," Hutch said, reholstering his own gun and frowning at the rip in the knee of his trousers.

 

LATER THAT DAY

 

They sat in the squad room doing paperwork, as they filled out their reports Hutch found his attention coming to rest more and more on Starsky, who sat with a pen in the corner of his mouth apparently staring into space.

 

There was something Hutch wanted to ask his partner, but he wasn't sure not only how to ask but if it was the right thing to ask. The thing was they both had Christmas Day off, which given they were both bachelors Hutch found strange and unlikely, but they had the day off and he wasn't about to argue.

 

Christmas was a time to spend with family, friends and people you cared about. He couldn't spend it with his family as his father had made it quite clear when Hutch had left Duluth to become a cop, that he was no longer welcome in the family home unless he quit being a cop. So who better to spend it with than his best friend and partner? Except Starsky was Jewish and Hutch didn't know if Starsky might be offended if Hutch invited him to Christmas at his place.

 

Although they were such good friends, he didn't really know that much about Starsky in some ways and one thing he didn't know was how Jewish Starsky was. He knew he called his mom every Friday night and he knew Starsky sent her money, but he didn't know how he'd react to an invitation to spend Christmas with Hutch.

 

As he sat and watched Starsky put the pen behind his ear and pull the typewriter towards him, Hutch also wondered if inviting Starsky to Christmas dinner would be a good idea; alone in his apartment, good food, plenty of alcohol, the whole season of good will and love and -

 

"Hey, babe, how do you spell disappropriation?"

 

Hutch mentally shook himself. "What?" he frowned slightly as he tried to ignore quite how sexy Starsky looked with the pen stuck behind his ear, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one more shirt button undone than Hutch would ever dared to have had undone, his eyes bright and a frown creasing the skin between his eyes.

 

"Diappropration," Starsky said again.

 

Hutch thought for a second. "Do you mean misappropriation?" he asked carefully, hoping not to offend his partner.

 

Starsky just grinned and clicked his fingers. "Yeah, that's it. That's my smart college boy - it's one of the things I love about you, Hutch." And with that he turned back to his typing as Hutch just stared at him and wished -

 

The sound of his phone ringing cut into his thoughts. He grabbed it. "Hutchinson?"

 

EARLY EVENING

 

"I keep telling you that you should get a proper car," Starsky said as Hutch stared under the hood of his car and fiddled with something he didn't know the name of.

 

Hutch glared at him. "You just want me to drive a red tomato like you."

 

Starsky shrugged. "At least I always know what she'll start," he said, leaning against the Tornio and pushing his hips forward just a little.

 

Hutch groaned silently and glanced away from Starsky's groin and went back to staring futilely under the hood. The thing was Starsky did have a point; the car he drove was putting it kindly temperamental - but Hutch had never had a love affairs with cars. As long as they got him from A to B and back again, what did it matter what they looked like?

 

"Except they don't," Starsky said brightly. "And donít pull that. You'll - Oh. Come on, blondie, she isn't going anywhere tonight; I'll give you a lift home."

 

As Hutch let Starsky put the hood down and guide him, his hand in the small of Hutch's back, to the Torino, Hutch asked, "Except they don't what?"

 

"Get you from A to B and back again," Starsky said, opening the door and solicitously holding it for him as Hutch got in.

 

Halfway in Hutch paused and stared at Starsky. "How did you -"

 

"Know what you were thinking?" Hutch nodded. "Because it's what you always say when I suggest you get a decent car," he said, going around the car and sliding in under the wheel, "or I could just be able to read your mind." He winked at Hutch, started the engine and without even looking in the rearview mirror, at least Hutch was sure he didnít look, Starsky pulled out into the traffic and raced off.

 

Settling back into his seat and ordering his heart rate to slow down, Hutch dearly hoped that Starsky couldn't read his mind.

 

 

When they reached Hutch's apartment Hutch turned to Starsky. "Do you want to come in for a beer?"

 

Starsky turned the engine off and smiled. "Sure."

 

They sat on Hutch's couch, drinking beer and talking from time to time, but for the most part they sat in silence, Hutch had never felt so comfortable and relaxed in another person's company. And as he stared at Starsky, he decided to throw caution to the wind and ask. "Starsk?"

 

"Yeah, babe?"

 

Hutch suddenly got cold feet. "There's something I want to ask you," he said.

 

Starsky just sat and stared at him, his head slightly on one side, one arm along the back of the couch. "Yeah?" he said encouragingly.

 

"I don't want to offend you."

 

Starsky frowned. "I doubt you could, Hutch. In fact I know you couldn't. Go on, ask."

 

Hutch took a swallow of beer and said in a rush, "Would you like to spend Christmas with me? I know you're Jewish and probably don't - but just tell me what you can - What did you say?"

 

"I said, yes." And Starsky smiled at him, a real, honest David Michael Starsky smile. It made Hutch swallow hard as he looked into the brilliant blue eyes that seemed capable of seeing inside him. "Is that the only thing you wanted to ask me?" Starsky's voice was lower and his smile became more than a little intimate and he even lowered his eyelashes just a little.

 

Hutch stared at his partner; he couldn't have heard him correctly, could he? "I . . . I . . . I . . ." he stammered the word for the third time. He felt his cheeks become warm and felt his palms become damp as he stared at Starsky who was watching him so very carefully.

 

Starsky continued to stare at him, then to Hutch's amazement Starsky leaned forward, snagged Hutch's beer from his hand and put the bottle to his own lips, letting them come to rest where Hutch's had rested only seconds before. Hutch swallowed hard and adjusted his position on the couch slightly. "If it'll help you, I can tell you what my answer will be."

 

Hutch felt his mouth fall open. "St. . . St. . . Starsk?" he finally managed.

 

"Don't look so worried, blondie," Starsky said and then to Hutch's complete surprise, Starsky moved along the couch, getting closer and closer to Hutch until he was so close Hutch thought he could hear his heartbeat. He could certainly see all the tiny lines around Starsky's eyes and in the corners of his mouth; they were barely there, you wouldn't see them unless you were close enough to -

 

Starsky's mouth on his and the way Starsky's arms wrapped around him, pulling him even closer to him, holding him so possessively, so securely put all thoughts other than kissing Starsky back from his mind.

 

HALF AN HOUR LATER

 

They lay on Hutch's couch, Starsky's shirt was now completely open and Hutch's roll neck jumper was on the floor along with his boots, Starsky's trainers and their and guns. Starsky's head felt heavy and wonderful on Hutch's chest and his breath was warm on Hutch's naked skin. Hutch's arms rested on Starsky's unclothed back and his mind was a whirl; it seemed only able to focus on one thought: Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had kissed him. Starsky had -

 

Starsky raised his head and grinned at Hutch. "Did you ever think the answer would be no, babe?" Hutch just stared at him for a moment and swallowed.

 

"Starsk," he whispered.

 

Starsky grinned again. "Me and thee babe. As always." And he moved far enough to once more put his mouth on Hutch's.

 

 

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