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Title: The Right Equation
Author: Lily Elena
Pairing: Starsky/Hutch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An alternate version
of the post-club scene.
Hutch
knows math. He's no genius at it, failed calculus in high school, but
what does that matter? He gets the regular stuff real good, anyhow. He
understands that one plus two is three, and one plus one is only two,
and that in most cases one plus two equals three is more fun than one
plus one equals two. Simple, right? More is better.
Hutch knows
a little French, too, picked some of it up from a pretty girl he used
to know, Giselle or something like that. She didn't teach him much,
only the key phrases for a one-night stand. So yeah, Hutch knows
precisely what menage a tois entails, and the girls on
Starsky's couch downstairs don't seem like they'd be too bothered by
the idea. Seem like they'd be completely not bothered by it, if
Hutch has read them right so far, and Hutch is usually pretty good at
reading people.
And yet.
And
yet he's sitting here on the edge of Starsky's bed (waterbed, his mind
documents, and he pushes at it idly and watches Starsky dip just the
tiniest bit), watching as Starsky's eyes dart back and forth and
wondering what the hell came over him tonight at the club, wondering
why he's so jittery, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.
It's not the fact that he's considering
the idea that's bothering him, because the thought's crossed his mind
several times before. There's something ridiculously endearing about
Starsky, something in the stiff set of his shoulders and the grin that
quirks at his lips when he's driving the Torino, like a little kid
playing with his favorite toy. Hutch likes him because he can see
beneath the tough demeanor, because when Starsky's not being so uptight
and wound up he's actually a pretty good guy.
A really good guy.
A guy, but that isn't what's bothering Hutch. 'Easy,
baby, calm the fuck down,' Huggy had told him, and after a while (and a
few drinks) Hutch figured yeah, okay. So Starsky's a guy, but so what?
And so Hutch has always been attracted to women before, but so what?
First time for everything, and it's not like he and Starsky don't make
sense together, not like it's a completely insane combination or
anything.
It's just the fact that he's still lingering here
when there are two hot ladies sitting downstairs on the couch, two of
them and one of him, and that still makes three. And he kind of loves
Starsky, sure, but theoretically he's got forever to work on him.
Hutch is patient, but he doesn't see the point in abstaining while he's
waiting for something better.
And yet.
He
shifts a little and murmurs useless words to calm Starsky's senseless
rambling, barely aware of the sound of his voice, and he doesn't notice
that his hand is drifting toward Starsky's hair until after the fact,
until his fingers are halfway tangled in the - permed, definitely
permed - dark curls, and by then it's sort of already too late, so he
just goes with it.
Hutch is good at going with it, but he knows
Starsky isn't, and sure enough, Starsky stops, mid-sentence, and his
eyes go a little wider.
"Hutch," he says, and Hutch can't tell
if it's a statement or a question, so he waits. He looks at Starsky and
Starsky looks at him and there's a long moment where Hutch tries to
figure out a plausible excuse should he need one. He doesn't like to
give excuses usually, but he's good at making them up, except this time
he can't think of any other reason than the actual one, and if things
don't go right he doesn't think that's what Starsky's going to want to
hear. "Hutch," Starsky says again, and Hutch holds his breath.
"That's
nice," Starsky mumbles finally, eyes going half-mast, and his hand
curls into a loose fist on the sheets below him and then uncurls again,
and all of a sudden it's like every bit of tension is drained from his
body, and Hutch doesn't quite know what to think of that. "Yeah," he
says, and it's almost so quiet as to be inaudible, but Hutch hears it
loud and clear.
"Yeah?" he says, just to make sure, because he
knows Starsky has the ability to relax but he's certainly never seen it
to this extent before.
"Yeah," Starsky says, and then he mumbles
"Hutch" again, and there's a quiet, burned-out kind of desperateness in
his voice that sends a little shiver down Hutch's back, straight to his
crotch. He coughs.
Starsky opens his eyes.
Hutch
knows math. He knows one plus two is three and one plus one is only
two, knows three is more than two and more is usually better.
And yet.
Hutch
leans in. The waterbed dips toward him, sends Starsky sliding even
closer to the edge. Hutch tangles his fingers tighter in Starsky's
hair. Starsky lets out a little groan, low and breathless, and tips his
head back on the pillow.
Hutch dips his head in, presses his lips against Starsky's, and hopes
the girls can let themselves out.
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