This Living Hand

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This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed--see here it is--
I hold it toward you.

John Keats

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'I'm not afraid of it, ya know?'

'That's good, Starsk,' said Hutch, sleepily. His eyes were closed, his mouth soft, his cock still a little swollen, but at rest.

'Yeah, that is good. It means you can stop treating me like, I dunno, like I'll run off screaming into the hills or somethin', if you do anything, um... vigorous and masculine with it.'

Hutch opened one blue eye.

'What're you talkin' about, Starsky?'

'Your dick, moron. I'm talkin' about your dick. I'm not afraid of it.'

'Sure,' said Hutch, and closed his eye again.

'Well, I'm sure glad you're sure, but I'm not sure you're sure. The way you've been acting.'

Hutch sighed. 'How've I been acting?' he asked.

'Like you think I'm gonna run off screaming into the hills. Look, Hutch. I got trained up the same as most guys. You touch another guy's cock, and you'll turn lavender, and grow wings, and flit off into the pansy garden. But see, I learned better. I've been touching your cock for several days now, and I don't see any wings. Do you? Check for me, huh?'

Starsky turned his back, so Hutch could see if he had wings.

'Nope,' said Hutch. 'No wings.'

'Whew! Was getting worried there, the way you were acting.'

'Starsky.'

'Hutch.'

Hutch closed his eyes again, and settled into the curves and angles of Starsky's body.

'What is it? What do you want from me?'

'I want you to act normal. Like you would act with any other lover.'

'Because you're not afraid of it?'

'Yes. I mean no. I mean I'm not. Not afraid.'

'Maybe I am,' said Hutch.

'Maybe you're what? Afraid of your own dick?'

'Yeah,' said Hutch.

'Now, that's not normal, Hutch. I'm gonna have to cure you of that. Give it lots of attention. Make it feel wanted.'

'Don't, Starsk. That's not necessary.'

'Well, I think it is,' said Starsky. 'Gimme your hand.'

'What?'

'Your hand, Dummy. Give it here.'

Hutch put his hand in Starsky's. Starsky took it, and studied it for a moment, turning it over, and tracing the lines on the palm. Caressing the hard knuckles that could deliver so much punishment to anyone who threatened them, and yet could brush against Starsky's cheek with such tenderness.

'It's warm,' he said at last. 'And gentle. I love it. You can do whatever you want with it. Put it wherever you want. Touch me, Hutch.'

I'm in way over my head, thought Hutch. This has gone far enough. Too far in fact. How can I find my way back out? This is all about him feeling insecure, and me being weak. There's some excuse for the former, and none for the latter. In a few days, or weeks, he'll rediscover his sense of himself. He'll wonder what the Hell happened. He'll start looking at women again, but he'll be nice about it, if we haven't done anything more compromising to our friendship than a few friendly blowjobs.

Friendly sex. The other night, Hutch had tried to talk Starsky out of going ahead with this new relationship, whatever the Hell it was.

'Starsky, look. Let's just stay friends, okay? Our friendship means more to me than an orgasm. I can get an orgasm any time, any where. I can give myself one. But you don't find friendships like ours on every corner.'

'You're right, Hutch,' said Starsky, with great solemnity. 'So think of this as a nice, friendly orgasm.' Then he went down on Hutch. His sweet, tough mouth swallowing Hutch's cock like a popsicle. Like this was an everyday thing between them.

'Come on, Hutch,' Starsky was saying now. 'Touch me. Here. And here. And here. That's nice. You can be rougher than that, you know. I don't want all that gentle, romantic shit. I want you like we're out on the streets, you know?'

Starsky's voice was going on and on, pleading, cajoling, and all the time his hands were moving, touching Hutch, showing him what he wanted. Stroking, pulling, pressing. Hutch was starting to get excited again. Too excited, he thought. He should push Starsky away. Get up out of bed, and go somewhere. Somewhere Starsky wasn't. But there was no such place. Not any more. Perhaps there never had been. Perhaps there never had been a chance to escape this. This love, this need, this desire.

Hutch grabbed Starsky's licentious hands, and held them above his head for a moment. Starsky laughed.

'That's it, tough guy. Show me who's boss.'

'That's what you want, is it?' Hutch asked.

He let go of Starsky's hands, but he pulled his friend in for a deep kiss. He began to make love to his friend in earnest, as he never really had before. It had all been foreplay, he thought. Starsky thought he could handle more. Fine. He had no idea. It wouldn't be like the mutual handjobs and blowjobs he'd exchanged in Vietnam. Real lovemaking. The real thing.

He pushed Starsky back among the pillows, and looked down at his friend for a moment. Perhaps this will be the last time, he thought. Starsky's skin was flushed. In excitement, or embarrassment? Hutch lowered his body on top of Starsky's, letting Starsky feel his full weight, his full strength. Every time they'd had sex before, Hutch had let Starsky take the lead. Let's see how you like this, he thought.

Starsky looked up at him, his eyes wide. 'Hutch?' he whispered.

'Quiet! You asked for it.'

He began to stroke Starsky's hair, pulling the dark, tight curls out to their full length.

'A woman drew her long black hair out tight, and fiddled whisper music on those strings,' he said.

'What? What?' Starsky sounded confused, but he was trembling in Hutch's arms.

Hutch leaned in closer, and whispered in Starsky's ear.

'And bats with baby faces in the violet light whistled, and beat their wings and crawled head downward down a blackened wall....'

'Hutch!' wailed Starsky. 'What the fuck?'

But he was laughing, and shaking, and suddenly he was hard, and thrusting up to meet Hutch's downward thrusts, and they were kissing and laughing together, and then they weren't laughing any more, but just kissing, and thrusting, and Starsky was coming, and Hutch wasn't far behind, and then they just spiralled downward, downward down the blackened wall, and lay in each other's arms, and breathed.

'Okay,' said Starsky. 'That was weird, but it was just like you, so it was fine.'

'Thanks,' Hutch managed to choke out.

'You're welcome. At least you got over treating me like I was some kinda virgin.'

'Well, you are some kinda virgin. I mean, as I understand it, you haven't....'

'I haven't been fucked by a man. No. That's not my fault, I've offered to let you several times. You keep turnin' me down. Doesn't do much for my self esteem.'

'There's nothin' wrong with your self esteem. I didn't want to do anything to change that. I wanted all your memories of this to be good ones.'

'That's kind of you, but we'll have lots of time to make good memories. I think we should live together.'

'What?' Hutch sat up, and looked down at Starsky, in consternation. 'How can you even think of such a thing? Starsky, think about it. IA, for one thing.'

'Fuck IA. I'm not going back.'

'Not going back? What are you talkin' about? Of course you're....'

'Not going back, Hutch. I know it. I'll never be what I was. I can't be your equal partner, not on the streets, not ever again. And that's what you need, darlin'. You know it.'

'I know I need you,' Hutch shouted. He was shaking. 'What is this? What was tonight all about? Some sorta consolation prize?'

'No, no. Babe. How can you think that? This is The Prize. First Place. You need me, like I need you. And you have me, for the rest of our lives. That's why I'm not going back, Hutch. It's not the job that's important, not now. I need to be with you, and we'll be together. Here. Anywhere you like. Any way you like.'

'Starsky? Do you mean that.... No, how can you mean that? You don't know what you're saying.'

'I've got news for you, Dummy. I was shot in the chest, not in the head. My head works fine. Both my heads work fine now, in case you didn't notice.'

'I noticed. And in a few days, you'll come to your senses, and you'll notice some pretty woman, and I'll be history. I've always known that would happen, Starsky.'

'Oh, yeah. I'll notice some pretty woman. Probably lots of them. In fact, I've been noticing them for several days now. It hasn't changed anything between us, and it won't.'

'You don't know that, Starsky.'

'You're wrong, Babe. I know it. There won't be any woman in my life, who doesn't accept your place in it. And you get the final say on her as well.'

'Starsky. That wouldn't be fair. I mean....'

'If you don't like the idea of me sleeping around on you with women, then I won't. It'll just be the two of us. If you don't mind, and if she understands what's what between us, then that's fine too. Whatever makes you happy. Because that makes me happy. And what was that stuff you were saying to me, anyway?'

'Huh?' asked Hutch. 'Oh. That was poetry.'

'Poetry?'

'T.S. Eliot. The Wasteland.'

'You're not kidding. Wasteland is right.'

'Well, it got you going, didn't it? And coming too, by the way. So don't knock it.'

'Darlin'. That just goes to show you. If you can turn me on by quoting horrible stuff like that, you can turn me on with anything, so I don't know what you're worried about. We're living together. That's final.'

Hutch looked down into his lover's eyes, and accepted his fate. There were worse fates, he supposed. I'm in way over my head, and there's no way out, but we're in this together. He held out his hand to Starsky.

'We've got a deal,' he said.

*** The End ***

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