Hutch came out of his bathroom with a mess of supplies, unsure of what his partner would need. Setting it on the table he let his eyes drift over Starsky´s drooping posture and resisted the urge to laugh at the mixture of annoyance and embarrassment on his face. “How ya feelin´,” he asked, squatting in front of him and sitting on the table.

Starsky sighed, holding his right arm. “I don´t know, Hutch, I got a pool stick shoved into my arm, how do you *think* I´m doing?”

“Oh, take it easy,” Hutch said with a laugh. “Anyway, not shoved into… broken off on.”

Starsky´s blue eyes flashed at him. “What ever, Hutch… the point is, I´m bleeding, and it hurts.”

“How´s your eye,” Hutch asked, reaching out to touch his face, turning it so he could look at the shiner that had started to bruise up.

“Fine,” Starsky said, jerking his head out of Hutch´s grip.

“I don´t know what you were thinking, Starsk,” Hutch said with a laugh, reaching to his side and unwrapping the roll of gauze he´d pulled out of his cabinet. “He was atleast twice your size…”

“He grabbed Sally,” Starsky said defensively, reaching up and starting to unbutton his shirt. “He had no right…”

“Okay, so you tell him to piss off,” Hutch said, suppressing another laugh. “Not shove a 6´2” pro football player into the bar. You could have at least waited for me.”

Starsky´s hands stuttered to a stop midway through unbuttoning his shirt. “He was… he was a pro football player?”

The laugh escaped out of his mouth before he could stop it and he reached out to hold Starsky in place as he tried to get up. “I´m sorry, I´m sorry… yeah, Starsk, he was a pro football player.”

Starsky sighed, his shoulders slumping again as he pulled his shirt off and threw it to the side. He poked his arm out to look at the gash on his bicep, hissing as he touched it. “Aw, Hutch,” he said, looking back at him. “I don´t even know what I was thinking. It´s over for me and Sally anyway.”

Hutch frowned, picking up the antiseptic and spilling some onto the cotton. “What do you mean, over?”

“I mean, over, Hutch,” he said, lying back against the couch and letting his head fall back. “The other day she told me her step father ‘jewed down´ the car sales man last week.”

Hutch´s hand stopped just before he dabbed it on the wound, looking at Starsky. “She said that?”

Starsky nodded. “It´s not like she knows I´m Jewish, but…”

“Yeah, but just talking like that period… that´s not right,” Hutch said, shaking his head and beginning to wipe up around the surrounding tissue.

“And just other stuff,” Starsky said, gritting his teeth at the sting of the antiseptic. “She´s just not… ya know…”

“The right one,” Hutch finished, smiling at him.

Starsky shrugged. “I´m beginning to think ‘the right one´ doesn´t exist.”

“Sure she does, Starsk,” Hutch said, tossing the soiled tissue into the garbage can and starting to wrap upper arm in the bandage. “You just gotta be patient.” He finished and tucked it into itself, patting Starsky´s leg and nodding at him. “How´s your foot? You think you sprained it?”

Starsky laughed. “Nah, just twisted it a little.”

“That´ll teach ya not to kick a bar stool,” Hutch said, his hands resting on Starsky´s knees. “So forget Sally,” he said. “Who needs her?”

“Right,” Starsky said, smiling at him and sitting up, resting his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on his knees just above Hutch´s hands. “Me and thee, right?”

Hutch smiled, reaching out and tugging on the back of Starsky´s head until their foreheads touched. “That´s the spirit,” he said, kissing his temple and letting him go. He smiled widely at him and got up, putting the supplies back in his bathroom.

Coming out of the bathroom he sat down beside Starsky and hit him on the chest. “You need another shirt?”

“Ya mind if I just sit here a minute,” Starsky said quietly. “My minds kind of swimming.”

Hutch laughed, nodding. “Told you to stop at three shots of Tequila, but no… Starsky had to go for five.”

Starsky laughed, his hand going up to his forehead. “I think I have a fever.”

Hutch laughed, reaching over and taking Starsky´s hand off his forehead, feeling it for himself. “You don´t have a fever,” he said, laughing again. “What your problem is, is that you´re a hypochondriac.”

“I´m a JEW, what do you want,” Starsky said, smiling at Hutch as they both laughed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Hutch tapping out a soundless rhythm on his legs and Starsky smiling to himself. “Hey, Hutch,” Hutch said after a minute, looking at him.

“Yeah,” Hutch asked, looking at him.

“You ever wonder why it is that at the end of the day… it really is just me and you?”

Hutch laughed, shrugging. “Soul mates I guess,” he said, laughing. “That or we´re just too much work for anyone but ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, nodding and chewing on his lip. “You´re probably right.”

“Hey, come on,” Hutch said, squeezing Starsky´s hand. “Don´t get down in the dumps on me. Come on, let´s find something to eat.”

They stood at the same time, but just as they started to walk towards the kitchen Starsky´s arms flailed out and grabbed into Hutch, taking him with him as he fell back onto the couch. “Sorry, Hutch,” he said, laughing slightly breathlessly. “Head rush…”

Hutch raised up slightly, hovering over Starsky. “You okay,” he asked softly, reaching out to touch Starsky´s face. He searched his eyes, only meaning to see if they were dilated, but he wound up getting lost in the deep pools of blue.

“Dizzy,” Starsky said quietly, feeling himself go still as Hutch´s eyes swept over him. He was suddenly very aware of his state of undress and the feel of Hutch´s hand on his naked flesh. “Sorry…”

“Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah,” he managed to get out before Hutch´s mouth was on his. He tried to ask Hutch what he was doing but the thought left his mind before it could even formulate properly as he felt Hutch´s tongue graze past his lips.

He hadn´t been planning on doing it. It hadn´t even been anything he´d even thought of doing, certainly not with David Starsky. He couldn´t imagine why it had never crossed his mind though as he felt Starsky´s hand slide up his back, pressing him in closer. He pressed his weight against him and ran a hand down Starsky´s chest, marveling at the finely tuned torso underneath his fingers.

“What are we doing,” Starsky ground out as he lifted his head to catch his breath. His hands didn´t leave Hutch´s hair, and he found himself shifting slightly to bring him into closer contact.

“Shut up, Starsky” Hutch said, leaning up and taking his shirt off with one swift tug, immediately bending down again and kissing him.

As Hutch kissed down his chest Starsky briefly thought how not worth it it had been to get his ass kicked by a 6´2” pro football player over a girl who would never compare to Ken Hutchinson. Then again… if he hadn´t, maybe this wouldn´t be happening.

All in all, it seemed worth it in the end.

And that´s when all thought processes stopped…