NS: Safe Waters
Title: Safe Waters
Sequel to: Scent of a Man
Author: Laura McEwan
Slash, graphic.
Notes: Thank you to Dawn for flash-beta!
*~*~*~
Hutch lay beside Starsky as his partner fell back into a restless sleep, tossing against him much like a boat tied to a dock in rough waters.
He thought of San Francisco, and hoped that his promise to Starsky wouldn't turn into a lie.
Truth was, the thought of moving north scared the piss out of him. He'd only ever lived here since coming from Duluth, and moving to a place well known for its gay population unnerved him.
Hutch had never considered himself gay. He simply loved Starsky. He'd never loved another man before.
If he were being honest with himself, he'd admit to a crush or four or ten when he was a teenager, but savvy enough not to act. Those feelings were more hero-worship than anything else, and he had been happy to become friends with most of those boys. Women were the only ones he'd truly fallen in love with.
Until Starsky.
He smoothed a palm over Starsky's brow, soothing him against another toss, tugging the blanket down more securely around them both and smoothing the shared pillow.
In some ways, he felt almost paternal towards his partner. Calming, talking him down, cuddling, joking.
In other ways his need for Starsky outweighed the need for food, or water, or air. A day of crime and death that wore on his peace of mind could find itself saved by the proof of life that his partner offered freely with his body.
Moving to San Francisco, where Starsky would feel more open and free, would force Hutch to admit that he wasn't the straight man everyone else believed him to be: the skirt-chasing, blonde-lusting, perky-breast-squeezing All-American man.
He smiled wryly to himself, thinking of ladies past and what they would say if they knew how he lived now.
Starsky turned his back to him and he took the opportunity to shimmy out of his clothes, spoon their bodies and catalog Starsky's with one hand.
Strong, hairy, muscled legs. Slim hips and waist, torso widening at the shoulders, body nearly matched in length with his own. A face that wasn't pretty in a magazine cover sense, but chiseled with personality. Powerful arms, deft, knuckled hands, and fingers that knew how to bring him hard and long, better than any petite feminine fingers ever had.
And at this beautiful man's center - that organ that so easily brought Hutch to his knees to suck and lick and worship and receive.
He took the soft, long cock gently within his hand, squeezing lightly. It began to fill and swell and Starsky woke, slowly arching back against him. "Mmm..."
"Shhh..." Hutch pushed his forehead against the back of Starsky's. "Hush, now."
Starsky turned toward him, offering an open-mouth kiss, tongue hot and hard against his. Hutch felt his own cock spring to attention and pushed himself on top of Starsky, entwining their hands and spreading their arms wide. Their tongues darted out to meet each other, stroking, but their mouths did not seal together, and Hutch felt lewd and dirty and wanted more. He felt Starsky push slowly and deliciously up, rubbing their cocks together, but it wasn't enough.
He could never get enough.
"I want - mmm - you - unh - to suck me, Starsk. I want to f-fuck your mouth."
Starsky pulled his hands up as if to move Hutch up the bed. He released Starsky's hands and gripped the headboard, straddling Starsky's torso, watching his cock bob and weave, bouncing gently off Starsky's lips.
Starsky watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth half open, tongue darting out to lick his lips and the tip of Hutch's cock, waiting.
Trusting. Giving. Loving.
Hutch lifted slightly and slid his cock in slowly, into moist heat and against a tickling, tantalizing tongue.
He moaned softly, and ducked his head to again watch.
Starsky's eyes were closed now, his mouth working tight against Hutch's cock, then loose, lips and tongue suckling with each gentle thrust.
Hutch felt Starsky's hands slide up the back of his thighs smooth across his buttocks. He thrust deeper, feeling his butt cheeks squeeze close and trap fingers within the cleft. They wriggled with each push until one teased his opening.
Not for the first time, he wished he could be sucked off and fucked by Starsky at the same time, but that would take contortions the like of which neither of them would ever achieve.
He felt a finger slide into Starsky's mouth alongside his cock, breaking the suction. The finger stroked once and then left, promptly reappearing at his opening, and he pushed back onto it.
The slim digit slid in easily and pumped in and out in time with Hutch's thrusts, and then there were two.
He groaned then, knowing what that longer middle finger was going to do next.
Some logical part of his brain kept working. How could he deny to anyone how perfect a relationship he had with Starsky? How well they fit together, not just in body, but also in life, contortion inabilities aside? The life part they already knew...why was it so hard to admit to the rest?
And yet, how could he bring this love to light, share it with everyone else? Lose their secret, the one they'd built such careful, loving walls around, camouflaging it all with one-night stands in separate apartments.
His orgasm reached a screaming crescendo within him and he heard himself vocalize, long and low, stilling his body as his cock spurted into Starsky's mouth.
Time stood still and flew by all at once as the ultimate pleasure gripped him. Just when he thought he couldn't take another swipe from that hot tongue, he felt his hips pulled down and himself impaled upon a rock-hard cock that struck his prostate dead-on.
He gasped and choked out, "Starsk-" before pressing his hands against Starsky's chest to help himself lift up and down to meet each needy thrust.
Starsky didn't take long to shudder beneath him, jerking, and Hutch swallowed Starsky's moan with a long, lingering kiss, finally collapsing onto him, trapping his still-sensitive cock between them.
"Hu-" Starsky began, but Hutch swallowed that, too. "Shh."
He didn't want to talk. He wanted to lie cradled in Starsky's arms. He wanted to cradle their secret and keep this moment and this man, and all the moments with him for as long as possible, secure and protected within their safe harbor, without any real-world intrusions that could divide the gentle silence.
He didn't want his promise to Starsky to become a lie. San Francisco offered much for men like them.
But he wasn't ready to make their lives true.
Not yet.
Not quite yet.
He needed to live their lie a bit longer.
Starsky was still buried deep inside him, and Hutch knew just as deeply that Starsky would allow Hutch to perpetuate their lie to the world - but he would tolerate these safe waters for only so long.
~end
Sequel to: Scent of a Man
Author: Laura McEwan
Slash, graphic.
Notes: Thank you to Dawn for flash-beta!
*~*~*~
Hutch lay beside Starsky as his partner fell back into a restless sleep, tossing against him much like a boat tied to a dock in rough waters.
He thought of San Francisco, and hoped that his promise to Starsky wouldn't turn into a lie.
Truth was, the thought of moving north scared the piss out of him. He'd only ever lived here since coming from Duluth, and moving to a place well known for its gay population unnerved him.
Hutch had never considered himself gay. He simply loved Starsky. He'd never loved another man before.
If he were being honest with himself, he'd admit to a crush or four or ten when he was a teenager, but savvy enough not to act. Those feelings were more hero-worship than anything else, and he had been happy to become friends with most of those boys. Women were the only ones he'd truly fallen in love with.
Until Starsky.
He smoothed a palm over Starsky's brow, soothing him against another toss, tugging the blanket down more securely around them both and smoothing the shared pillow.
In some ways, he felt almost paternal towards his partner. Calming, talking him down, cuddling, joking.
In other ways his need for Starsky outweighed the need for food, or water, or air. A day of crime and death that wore on his peace of mind could find itself saved by the proof of life that his partner offered freely with his body.
Moving to San Francisco, where Starsky would feel more open and free, would force Hutch to admit that he wasn't the straight man everyone else believed him to be: the skirt-chasing, blonde-lusting, perky-breast-squeezing All-American man.
He smiled wryly to himself, thinking of ladies past and what they would say if they knew how he lived now.
Starsky turned his back to him and he took the opportunity to shimmy out of his clothes, spoon their bodies and catalog Starsky's with one hand.
Strong, hairy, muscled legs. Slim hips and waist, torso widening at the shoulders, body nearly matched in length with his own. A face that wasn't pretty in a magazine cover sense, but chiseled with personality. Powerful arms, deft, knuckled hands, and fingers that knew how to bring him hard and long, better than any petite feminine fingers ever had.
And at this beautiful man's center - that organ that so easily brought Hutch to his knees to suck and lick and worship and receive.
He took the soft, long cock gently within his hand, squeezing lightly. It began to fill and swell and Starsky woke, slowly arching back against him. "Mmm..."
"Shhh..." Hutch pushed his forehead against the back of Starsky's. "Hush, now."
Starsky turned toward him, offering an open-mouth kiss, tongue hot and hard against his. Hutch felt his own cock spring to attention and pushed himself on top of Starsky, entwining their hands and spreading their arms wide. Their tongues darted out to meet each other, stroking, but their mouths did not seal together, and Hutch felt lewd and dirty and wanted more. He felt Starsky push slowly and deliciously up, rubbing their cocks together, but it wasn't enough.
He could never get enough.
"I want - mmm - you - unh - to suck me, Starsk. I want to f-fuck your mouth."
Starsky pulled his hands up as if to move Hutch up the bed. He released Starsky's hands and gripped the headboard, straddling Starsky's torso, watching his cock bob and weave, bouncing gently off Starsky's lips.
Starsky watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth half open, tongue darting out to lick his lips and the tip of Hutch's cock, waiting.
Trusting. Giving. Loving.
Hutch lifted slightly and slid his cock in slowly, into moist heat and against a tickling, tantalizing tongue.
He moaned softly, and ducked his head to again watch.
Starsky's eyes were closed now, his mouth working tight against Hutch's cock, then loose, lips and tongue suckling with each gentle thrust.
Hutch felt Starsky's hands slide up the back of his thighs smooth across his buttocks. He thrust deeper, feeling his butt cheeks squeeze close and trap fingers within the cleft. They wriggled with each push until one teased his opening.
Not for the first time, he wished he could be sucked off and fucked by Starsky at the same time, but that would take contortions the like of which neither of them would ever achieve.
He felt a finger slide into Starsky's mouth alongside his cock, breaking the suction. The finger stroked once and then left, promptly reappearing at his opening, and he pushed back onto it.
The slim digit slid in easily and pumped in and out in time with Hutch's thrusts, and then there were two.
He groaned then, knowing what that longer middle finger was going to do next.
Some logical part of his brain kept working. How could he deny to anyone how perfect a relationship he had with Starsky? How well they fit together, not just in body, but also in life, contortion inabilities aside? The life part they already knew...why was it so hard to admit to the rest?
And yet, how could he bring this love to light, share it with everyone else? Lose their secret, the one they'd built such careful, loving walls around, camouflaging it all with one-night stands in separate apartments.
His orgasm reached a screaming crescendo within him and he heard himself vocalize, long and low, stilling his body as his cock spurted into Starsky's mouth.
Time stood still and flew by all at once as the ultimate pleasure gripped him. Just when he thought he couldn't take another swipe from that hot tongue, he felt his hips pulled down and himself impaled upon a rock-hard cock that struck his prostate dead-on.
He gasped and choked out, "Starsk-" before pressing his hands against Starsky's chest to help himself lift up and down to meet each needy thrust.
Starsky didn't take long to shudder beneath him, jerking, and Hutch swallowed Starsky's moan with a long, lingering kiss, finally collapsing onto him, trapping his still-sensitive cock between them.
"Hu-" Starsky began, but Hutch swallowed that, too. "Shh."
He didn't want to talk. He wanted to lie cradled in Starsky's arms. He wanted to cradle their secret and keep this moment and this man, and all the moments with him for as long as possible, secure and protected within their safe harbor, without any real-world intrusions that could divide the gentle silence.
He didn't want his promise to Starsky to become a lie. San Francisco offered much for men like them.
But he wasn't ready to make their lives true.
Not yet.
Not quite yet.
He needed to live their lie a bit longer.
Starsky was still buried deep inside him, and Hutch knew just as deeply that Starsky would allow Hutch to perpetuate their lie to the world - but he would tolerate these safe waters for only so long.
~end