'You see, Starsky, the thing is, they've ruined Christmas. All it means
now, is shopping and eating, and more shopping and eating, and then
still more shopping and eating. At one time it meant something, like
Hanukkah still does. But now, it's just one big commercial. It's not
Real, Starsky.'
'Perhaps Christmas doesn't just come from a store. Perhaps Christmas
means just a little bit more.'
'Thanks, Dr. Seuss.'
'You're welcome. But Hutch, we don't have to let them ruin Christmas,
whoever the Hell 'they' are. We can make our own Christmas.'
'Why would you even want to? You're Jewish.'
'So, I'm Jewish. I want to share something with you. We're working Christmas
Day, so the guys with families can have the day off. I want to spend
Christmas Eve doing some holiday type things with you. Have a nice meal.
Play some good Christmas music on the stereo. Make love by candlelight.'
'Okay. Just one word of warning. No gifts. Got it?'
'Got it.'
Right, thought Starsky. Got it. Caught you. Now to reel you in. Gotta do
some shopping, love. Find something worthy of you. Something that will
show you my heart.
There was an antique store near Starsky's place, where one could find great bargains. And there it was. On a dusty table, surrounded by junk it
shone, calling to Starsky. It said, as plain as day, 'I'm for Hutch.'
Starsky carried it to the cashier, and was pleasantly shocked at the
price. Clearly not everyone could see the value of the things that
Starsky loved, but he'd accepted that long ago. Hadn't almost every
woman whom Hutch loved treated him like dirt in return? Well, Hutch had
Starsky now. And Starsky had found this wonderful 'thing', and now he'd
clean it up, polish it and treat it like the treasure it was. Soon it
would glow under Starsky's care, just like Hutch. Then he'd introduce
his treasures to each other.
The other gifts took a little longer to find. But Hutch deserved only the
best, the most Real, not cheap substitutes.
Christmas Eve rolled around, as always. They had the day off, since they
were working Christmas Day, and Starsky spent the morning cooking and
wrapping presents, so that when Hutch arrived, he'd be free to entertain
his Beloved.
When Hutch showed up at the door, the turkey was already cooked, Bing
Crosby was singing White Christmas, and the promised candles were
waiting to be lit. Hutch pronounced dinner a success, and they both
enjoyed the good wine he had brought as his contribution to the meal.
Then Starsky brought out his gifts for Hutch.
'Okay, traitor,' Hutch demanded. 'What was so hard to understand about 'no gifts'?
'Oh. These aren't for you. These are for my other boy friend.'
'Starsk!'
'Well, you didn't think you were the only man in my life did you? To say
nothing of my women.'
'Starsk!'
'No seriously, Hutch. I'm seeing him tomorrow night, after work.'
'Him who?'
'This tall, gorgeous blond guy. You know, I used to be straight, but one
night with him...'
'Starsky?'
'Oh come on, Blintz. Lighten up. They're just presents. They won't bite,
I assure you. And you were wrong you know. I did some research.'
'Wrong?'
'Yeah. Happens even to you sometimes, Blondie. Remember the Three Wise Men?'
'Yeah. So?'
'They brought presents to the Baby Jesus. So it's a tradition to give
presents, not just commercial whatever.'
'Okay. I still didn't want anything.'
'That's tough.'
'I didn't bring you anything.'
'That's what you think. Here. Open this one first.' Starsky handed
Hutch a parcel wrapped in gold paper. It was the treasure he'd found in
the antique store. Now, cleaned and polished, the goblet shone like
gold. Because it was gold. Very old gold, and clearly not machine made.
Some sort of scrolly patterns swirled all over it. Maybe it was worth
more than Starsky had paid for it.
'Well? You like?'
'Starsky? Where did you find this?'
'The antique store down the street. I think it's pretty old.'
'Looks like it. Looks like real gold. That's very fine chasing.'
'Chasing. Is that what it's called?'
'Yeah. Thanks, partner. I mean that. Sorry for being so grumpy earlier.'
'Hey. This is me, remember? I know all about your grumpy moods. But
there's another present. Come on.'
The second present, Starsky had wrapped in red paper. Inside, was a
large incense burner and all the paraphernalia necessary to burn incense
on charcoal. There was also a box of incense.
'Frankincense,' said Starsky. 'Real
Frankincense.' He pushed the third present over to Hutch.
'So I see,' said Hutch. 'Uh, Starsk?'
'Just open it.'
The third present was wrapped in silver paper. It was a jar of oil.
'Oil with myrrh in it.'
'Yeah. I kind of figured that by now. What is this, Starsk?'
'This is the Gifts of the Magi. Like in that story I read once. Who
wrote it again?'
'O. Henry.'
'Like the candy bar?'
'Yeah. But they didn't give each other gold, frankincense, and myrrh.'
'No. They gave each other themselves. The gifts are symbols, Hutch. I
wanted to give you something worthy of you, something good enough,
something like you deserve. What's better than what the Three Wise Men
chose?'
'You know, don't you, that some people would consider this blasphemous?'
'I knew you'd like it.'
Starsky got up out of his chair and knelt at Hutch's feet. Hutch let his
legs fall open, and Starsky slid in between them, and rested his elbows
on Hutch's knees. Starsky looked up into Hutch's eyes for a long,
deliberate moment, then let his eyes fall, slowly, suggestively, almost
obscenely, down to Hutch's lap.
'Nice,' he commented.
Hutch closed his eyes and let his head fall back, as Starsky pressed his
lips against the front of his fly, gently mouthing the button on his
jeans. Starsky laughed a little, complaining that it wasn't as easy to
open someone's pants with your teeth as the porno films made it look. He
managed, however.
The sweet, gentle warmth of Starsky's mouth enveloped him. He raised his
legs and rested them on the arms of the chair as Starsky sucked his
cock, and stroked his waist and sides. Hutch sighed. He felt completely
relaxed, completely loved and content. This was perfect, this utter
trust, this total giving. He let his head fall back further, and
groaned, not hiding his need or his ecstasy. When his orgasm tore
through him, he felt joy and relief and gratitude in equal measure.
'Thanks,' said Starsky.
'Wha... why are you?'
Why was Starsky thanking him, he wanted to say, but couldn't quite make
his mouth work yet.
'Shh, love. You did have a gift for me, see? I love that feeling. Love feeling so
close to you. Come on.'
Starsky stood up, and helped Hutch to get to his feet. He gathered up
Hutch's presents and carried them into his bedroom. Hutch followed, and
leaned in the doorway to watch Starsky.
Starsky set up the incense burner with the frankincense, and lit it. He
poured wine into the golden goblet. Finally, he opened the jar of myrrh
oil and set it on the bedside table.
Then he started to strip.
Hutch remembered the first time he'd seen Starsky deliberately take off
his clothes to offer himself to Hutch. It was the second night
they'd made love. The first night, Hutch had come home and found Starsky
in his bed, already naked. Hutch had tumbled all exhausted into Starsky's
arms, and Starsky had let him rub himself against him until they had
both come. They'd fallen asleep, to wake a few hours later and do it all
again, and then again.
The second night though, Starsky had insisted that they do it properly.
'Properly' meant a lot of things in Starsky's book, but mostly it meant
doing a slow, sexy strip tease, and commenting on all the action in the
most suggestive way possible. It was, Hutch thought, Starsky's way of
showing him that he was a real participant in this enterprise, and not
just along for the ride.
Starsky finished his strip tease and picked up the goblet of wine. He
went to Hutch and offered him the first drink. Hutch sipped the sweet
wine, then gave the cup back to Starsky, who turned the cup so that he
could drink from the same spot that Hutch had used. Starsky looked down
at Hutch's open fly and smiled.
'Oh, babe. You need to get undressed, fast. I want that again.'
'You're insatiable.'
'Yeah. Is that bad?'
'No. That's good. But sometimes I'm not sure I can keep up.'
'No problem there that I can see. Come on. Strip for me.'
Hutch unbuttoned his shirt, and smiled when Starsky groaned. It was so
sweet, he thought, this constant, deliberate attempt to make him feel
wanted and desired. Hutch knew that it wasn't quite true. Oh, Starsky
loved him, and liked the sex they had. All told, it was a good
relationship. They complimented each other so well, and Hutch would be
devastated when Starsky got bored with it and wanted out. The thing to
do was to be prepared, and let it all die a natural death. In the
meantime, it was so sweet that Starsky pretended to feel real desire.
Hutch let him think the act worked. Sometimes it even felt real. Like
tonight.
Starsky was smiling, pulling Hutch's jeans down. Hutch let them fall.
Then he bent to remove his shoes, and step out of his jeans. When he
looked up he surprised a strange look on Starsky's face, a look he
couldn't quite identify.
'What's wrong?'
'Nothing. Just love you so much.'
They sat on the bed, and drank more wine. Starsky kept looking at
Hutch's body. He held out his arms. When Hutch moved into them, he cried
out in a sort of pain that Hutch couldn't identify, like the look he had
given Hutch earlier.
'What is wrong?' Hutch was getting worried, now.
'Hutch. When you get tired of me, promise me you won't break up with me
completely. Promise we can still do this sometimes.'
'Get tired of you?'
'Yeah. I know you will someday. It's going to happen. I'm not what you
really want, not forever. I mean, you'll meet a good woman someday.
Someone beautiful and feminine and good for you, and I'll be in the way.
But I can't bear to think that we'll never be like this again. Just let
me have that little hope.'
'Starsk, this is what I want. Forever. I don't think I'll ever love
anyone else. You're the one who's going to meet the right woman some
day. I know that.'
'I feel strange, Hutch. Kinda dizzy. What was in that wine you brought?'
'Nothing. Just wine, Starsky.'
Hutch raised the goblet again and sniffed the wine, then tasted it. It
seemed the same wine they had drunk earlier without any effect. Hutch
had been feeling dizzy, but thought it was because of his orgasm.
Hutch said, 'What I tell you three times is true. I am yours. I am
yours. I am yours.'
Hutch drank again and returned the cup to Starsky. He stared at Starsky,
expectantly.
Starsky looked at Hutch, then at the wine. He took another sip.
'I love you, Hutch. I want you. I will always love you and want you.
Try to believe in me.'
'I believe you love me.'
'Then believe the rest. Because there never will be anyone else. Not for
any reason. I'm not the shiftless, untrustworthy liar you seem to think
I am.
'I don't think you're any of those things, Starsk.'
'Shut up. You can't fool me any more. How many times do I have to show
you? How many times?'
Starsky pushed him back roughly on the bed. He pulled Hutch's legs apart
and reached for the jar of myrrh oil. Roughly, he spread some of the oil
between Hutch's legs and worked some deep inside with his long fingers.
Then he quickly oiled his own cock.
'Come on, Hutch. Let me in.'
'Starsk?'
'Let me in, Hutch.' Starsky was pushing inside much more roughly and
wildly than he ever had before. Despite the fact that they were both
strong men, they had never seemed able to forget their experiences of
making love to women, most of whom had not appreciated this kind of
rough handling. Now, Starsky was on the verge of losing control.
Starsky's large, thick cock was inside him. Starsky's voice was ringing
in his ears like bells. The room was on fire. It was on fire. They had
to get out, or they'd burn.
'Starsk,' he gasped. 'We have to get out. We'll die.'
Starsky paid no attention. He was thrusting now, as if he were trying to
batter through walls, to save them from the fire.
'Let me in, Hutch.'
'Starsk! You are in, Starsk. The room is on fire. We'll burn.'
'Yes. Burn. Burn down the whole city. Let me in, Hutch. Not in your ass,
I've been in there before. And I'm already in your heart. Let me in your
soul. Believe in me. Believe I won't leave you. Trust me. Trust me.
Trust me.'
Starsky's voice had risen to a wail. Hutch heard it distantly, like the
fire sirens off on the other side of the city. The poor fools, he
thought. They were smoking in bed and the room caught fire and now they
were burning and the fire trucks would not make it in time.
The sirens were getting louder. Under the cover of their wailing, he
could hear his own voice, begging and pleading and saying things he
would never never say to save his own life. Never. He would never beg
any one not to leave him. Not like this. What would Starsky think of him
now?
'Let me in, Hutch. Don't keep me out any longer. I can't bear it.
Hutch!'
The fire had reached their bed, and the flames were licking at their
flesh. The sirens were right outside their building. He could hear the
firemen crashing through the front door and stomping through the rooms
toward their bedroom. Now the axes were chopping at the bedroom door. He
could hear voices, drowning out his own voice, drowning out Starsky's
voice. What were they saying?
Hutch dared to look up into the ceiling mirror, and as if in a distant
vision he saw Starsky shudder and come. He himself was cushioned in a
soft cloud of love so deep that he scarcely felt Starsky's last deep
thrusts. He didn't hear his own deep groan, as he came for the second
time that night.
Hutch let his legs fall to the bed. Starsky moaned and collapsed on top
of him. They lay in perfect peace and harmony for a long time. Then
Starsky stirred a little and looked up into Hutch's face.
'Darling?'
'Yes, Starsk?'
'Yes, Starsk?'
'You pick good wine.'
'Thanks. My presents were wonderful, Starsky. You have good taste.'
'Mmm. I loved my presents too. 'Night, Hutch.'
'Good night.'
Hutch looked over at the night table. On it rested the burnt-out incense
burner, the goblet of wine and the jar of myrrh. They glittered in the
candle light.
Strange, he thought. I'm still alive. Maybe he's forgotten all those
things I said. Maybe he never heard, after all. As he drifted off to
sleep, he felt Starsky's arms tighten around him protectively.
'I'm yours. Yours. Yours,' Starsky said.
The candles guttered and went out, and the room was in darkness. On the
night table, the golden goblet still glowed with an inner light.
**** The End ***
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