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peg22It's just a little snip. It's happy. It's older guys. It made me feel better.
And Hutch liked it too.
Title: Nobody But You
Author: Kaye
Slash
PG
Nobody but You
by Kaye
He stared at his knuckles, flexing his fingers, watching the wrinkles appear and disappear, wondering when he got so many scars. When he got so goddamn old. He stuffed his hand in his pocket, and turned to face Hutch, who was holding his chin, frowning, swearing.
“I didn’t hit you that hard, fucking baby.” Well, it was kind of hard, but he didn’t know Hutch was standing right behind him when he turned to show him how Jeeters had tried to deck him last week when he’d run into him at the grocery store.
He smiled when Hutch’s finger appeared two inches from his nose. The one constant in his life was Hutch’s pointed pointer. Kinda comforting. Stood still and accepted the familiar reprimand, staring at Hutch’s finger, also crooked and scarred. Wondered when Hutch got so goddamn old.
“It was an accident, Hutch.”
Smiled again as Hutch’s mouth opened and closed, the finger came up again, and then he took himself out of range, scooped up his keys from the coffee table.
“You coming with me or what?”
Heard the sigh, the sweep of a jacket, felt a hand on his shoulder. Turned around into the other constant in his life. Hutch’s smile. Also crooked. A little wrinkled. Combined with a smirk and a slight eye roll and Starsky was ready to throw him down on the couch and forget all about Teddie’s wedding. Except Huggy would never forgive them if they missed the wedding of his one and only daughter.
So he shrugged and Hutch gave him a final finger wag and knocked him in the shoulder and Starsky grabbed two eyeglass cases, tossed one to Hutch, and walked out the door, humming a little “Here Comes the Bride” under his breath.
*****
He found himself staring at his hands again three hours later. The bride and groom had been whisked off to their happily ever after, the band wheezed out what he thought was “In the Mood,” and Hutch and Huggy were three olives into a discussion about high risk gobbledygook. He sighed and flexed his fingers, counted three scars on his left pinkie alone. From his ring. From all those years hitting bozos with his ring.
They finally had to cut the ring off in 1992, when he broke his hand on Fat Rolly’s son, Tiny’s nose, in one of his last good brawls before the department decided he should do his investigations from the luxury of his desk. He hated the 90s.
He thought about getting another piece of cake, but noticed that the three ladies who had tried to hit on him the last time he’d snatched a piece were still there. Cougars, hell, those women were flesh eating aliens. Probably have his bones picked clean before Hutch even noticed he was gone.
Turned his hands over and looked at his palm. Found his lifeline and traced it all the way down to his wrist. Wondered how far down that line he had traveled by now. A low chuckle from across the table made him look up to see Hutch shaking his head at something Huggy said. His mind wandered back to the day Hutch had held his hand, fingered his lifeline, and proclaimed four rounds in his back meant nothing compared to the long ribbon on his palm.
“I knew I shouldn’t have been worried.” Hutch pulled his hand close. “At least ten lives in that line, buddy.”
Starsky reached over and turned Hutch’s hand up. Found the little squiggly line that broke into a million tiny traces, and then back into a straighter line, ending at about his thumb. Looked up at Hutch.
“Mine kinda falls apart, huh?” Hutch shrugged.
Starsky brought Hutch’s palm to his lips. “Bout past that part, don’t ya think?”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Hutch was standing behind him.
“Reading your own palm again, Starsk?”
Starsky rubbed his hands on his pants and scowled. “Well, gotta find something to do – you and Huggy have been deep in it for hours.”
“Yeah, well he thinks we should diversify those stocks we got from your mom’s stuff and I told him-“
“Hutch – if I wanted to know what you were talking about, I would have listened.” Starsky stood and faced Hutch. “You’re the brains, I’m the brawn, remember?”
Hutch chuckled and put his hands on Starsky’s shoulders. “Okay brawny – so, you ready to go?”
Starsky glanced over to the cake table, wishing he could get a slice to go, but the women were staring at him, smiling. And then one broke away from the pack, clicking her heels towards them.
“Uh, Hutch, watch out – we’re about to be eaten by aliens.”
Hutch turned to see what Starsky was talking about, chuckled, turned back around, grabbed Starsky’s hand and tugged hard.
Starsky forced himself to forget about the cake and let Hutch drag him toward the exit. But Hutch wasn’t dragging him toward the exit. He was–
“Hey, what are you doing?” Starsky tried to stop, tried to pull back, tried to not follow Hutch out onto the dance floor. Failed. He was propelled against Hutch’s chest, his hand trapped between them, toes stubbed against Hutch’s big feet. Another constant. Hutch’s feet. Always in the way. Always cold under the covers.
And now those feet were shuffling and stepping and he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that the women slash aliens had stopped at the edge of the dance floor and were watching them. Dancing. Together.
“Starsky, can you move a little?” Hutch’s breath swept across his forehead and he instinctively swayed forward, moving his hand down, resting it on Hutch’s hip. He tried to hear the music, but his heart beat crazy, and his chest felt tight and he really wanted to rest his head on Hutch’s shoulder. Nuzzle his neck. Pull him down to the floor and give those women a real show . . .
Instead he found a beat and followed Hutch around the dance floor to “Happy Together.” He could feel Hutch’s breath as he sang along – “I can’t see me lovin nobody but you, for all my life” – could smell Hutch’s cologne mixed with cigars and whiskey. Could probably stay this way forever. As “Happy Together” melted into “Moon River,” Starsky thought about forever. And weddings. And Hutch. They’d already battled through the in sickness and in health, and the love, honor and cherish had been a given for years. They had the till death do us part pretty much figured out, too.
“Happily ever after, “he sighed into Hutch’s shoulder, pulling him closer.
“Huh?” Hutch’s voice was soft, both of them caught up in the song, the dance, the day.
Starsky raised his head. “Just thinking we just might be at that part. The happily ever after part.”
Hutch stopped dancing. Stared at Starsky. Lifted an eyebrow. Smiled. Raised a finger. Shook his head. And then pulled Starsky against him, crushing him. In a good way.
“You are such a romantic, buddy. I always forget that.”
“You also forget that you’re stepping on my toes and I’d really like to breathe again.”
Hutch let him go, but kept his hand, tugging him off the dance floor.
“Where we going now?” Starsky took another look at the cake, saw the ladies still hovering.
“I’m taking you home.”
Starsky stopped moving, which jerked Hutch back. He watched the frown, which usually preceded the finger, move up Hutch’s face. Ignored it.
“I want a piece of cake.” Starsky wondered if he might be a little too old to pout. But he really wanted a piece of cake. So he crossed his arms and glared.
Hutch sighed, shook his head, walked over to the cake table, took off the top tier of cake, said something that made the women slash aliens scatter, and walked back to Starsky, who hadn’t moved.
“Here is your damn cake. Can we go now?”
Starsky just nodded and held out his hands. Hutch shoved the cake at him and headed out the door. Starsky followed on his heels, scooping a long line of icing onto his finger.
*****
For the third time in 24 hours, Starsky found himself staring at his hands. He was propped up on pillows, a piece of cake resting on his chest, Hutch a snoring lump beside him.
He rubbed his middle finger, twice broken, always sore. Turned his hand over and licked icing off his palm. Lifted the cake off the bedspread as Hutch stirred, mumbling in his sleep, flinging his arm across Starsky, barely missing the plate. Starsky fought the urge to tattoo Hutch’s forearm with icing, something lewd and rude, maybe about Hutch’s amazing ability to . . .
His wrist was suddenly captured and the cake swiped right out of his hand. Hutch was awake. Very awake.
“Is there something about don’t eat in bed that you don’t understand?” Hutch growled, his head still buried in the pillow, but his hands firmly clutching the cake.
“You were sleeping. I was hungry.”
Hutch pulled himself out of the pillow and shoved the plate toward Starsky. “Go eat this in the kitchen.”
“You sure wake up cranky. I would’ve thought, after all that, you know, you would’ve slept for hours.”
“Well, I would’ve if you hadn’t been chomping in my ear.”
“It’s cake, Hutch. It doesn’t chomp.”
Hutch rolled over and sat up, rubbing his neck. He stood and turned to Starsky. “Okay, give me the cake. I’ll take it in the kitchen.”
“I’m not done with it.”
“Then get up and come get it . . . in the kitchen.” Hutch disappeared around the corner.
Starsky sighed, shoved off the covers, and rolled out of bed. He paused a moment, allowing his bones to catch up with his brain, and then walked into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, watched Hutch drag his finger right down through the middle of what was left of the cake.
“I know a better use for that icing.”
Hutch turned, pulled his finger out of his mouth, and pointed it at Starsky, icing dripping on the floor. “Don’t start.”
“You don’t want me to eat in bed, but you can splash icing all over the floor? You got some whacky rules, you know that?” Starsky walked over and wiped the icing with his foot.
“Don’t get it all over – use a rag – now it’s – Stars-keeee!”
Starsky grabbed Hutch’s finger and sucked the icing off. “Haven’t heard you say my name like that in a long time. Kinda turns me on.” He rubbed Hutch’s chest. “You know what I mean?” He waggled his eyebrows, which, as usual, only made Hutch grimace.
“Please, it’s all this refined sugar that’s turning you on. And will no doubt turn you right off in about ten minutes.” Hutch grabbed a dishrag and leaned down, rubbing the floor.
“Well, that’s about eight minutes longer than we need.”
Hutch stood up, shook his head, tossed the dishrag into the sink, and headed out of the kitchen. Starsky swiped another finger of icing, made a pit stop, and walked into the bedroom to find Hutch curled around his pillow, asleep.
He crawled into bed, careful not to touch the blocks of ice that were Hutch’s feet, and draped his arm around Hutch’s back, spreading his fingers, old and scarred and achy, across Hutch’s shoulder. Buried his head half in his own pillow, half in Hutch’s.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 04:28 am (UTC)Awww. I want to know what Hutch said to the Aliens! And I loved the examining of hands as it related to age. And the dancing. And cake. Awwww....
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Date: 2008-04-19 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 03:37 pm (UTC)Thanks for this!
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Date: 2008-04-19 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 12:03 am (UTC)Bagpussarah
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Date: 2008-04-19 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 03:24 pm (UTC)Yummy.
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Date: 2008-05-06 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 03:52 pm (UTC)Keep 'em coming...oops...;no come to think of it the pun was intended.
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Date: 2008-05-06 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 05:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-10 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-08 04:43 pm (UTC)And cake! Yum. (I'm suffering from cake hangover myself since we had two enormous sheet cakes at work last night.)
Dawn
no subject
Date: 2008-05-10 09:03 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it!