For Marion

A Bugatti Veyron

By Lolabobs

"A Bugatti Veyron."

"Oh, of course, what color?"

Starsky looked at Hutch incredulously.

"Red — with a wh…"

"A white stripe — very funny."

"Ok, a beach house, right on the sand with palm trees and a private area so I can…"

"You can forget all about private areas — help me out here, Starsk"

"No." The answer came blunt and firm.

"Why not?"

"Because it's the thought that counts and that thought should be your thought and not my thought. It's not a thought at all if you didn't think it."

Hutch gave no answer to that, and Starsky went on.

"Lists don't count. I want you to want to buy me something 'cos you think I'll want it, otherwise you might as well hand me the money and send me out to buy my own gift."

"It would be easier."

"Sorry?" A raised eyebrow and a slightly less tolerant tone informed Hutch he was pushing his luck.

"Nothing."

"If it's about easiness perhaps you shouldn't get me anything at all."

"Now, come on…"

"Seriously Hutch, I'm not going to give you a shopping list. You know me, you know what I like — asides from you that is." He gave a leering grin, which softened into a genuine smile. "Besides if you buy it I'm bound to like it."

Hutch mumbled something about "The tree" but Starsky was letting nothing slip by.

"That's not fair; I love that tree — now. Even if you didn't buy it for me."

Hutch bit even though he knew he shouldn't.

"It's your name on the…"

And Starsky's response was as quick as he expected

"So it might be, but you bought it to prove a point and that's no kind of present at all." He paused, then went on "Seriously sweetheart, don't buy me a gift just 'cos you gotta. If you can't think of anything now wait until you can. I'm a grown man. I'm not going to mind"

"Hogwash!"

"Excuse me?"

"Beautiful sentiments Starsk, let's hear the same thing on Christmas day when there's no presents under the tree."

"Oh, there'll be presents Hutch, one half of this partnership still knows the other half pretty well."

"That's because one half's been offering hints for the past two months." But it came out as a mutter.

"What's that?" That came out as anything but. Pointed and slightly pissed.

"Nothing."

Starsk got up and strode out with the dogs, pausing at the doorway to throw, "Let's face it Hutch, if you don't know exactly what I like after thirty-odd years, then, well, you can't know the first nor last thing about me," over his shoulder as he went.

####################

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

That was truly all Hutch could say in its favor. At the time, riled by the argument they'd just had and slightly desperate, a desperation made worse by the storefronts and TV ads screeching about the ever declining number of "shopping days to go", it had seemed a good idea and he'd clicked his way into this ridiculous situation.

He'd thought to sneak himself a few ideas by browsing through Starsky's internet history. If Starsk wouldn't provide him with a list, he'd find his own. And so he'd snuck online when Starsky was in bed and clicked through cached pages and account histories. He'd found his way to a Flickr account that contained recently scanned photographs of their not so recent past. Blue-clad, snake-hipped images of Starsky and himself peered back at him and he'd wallowed in nostalgia for a while before the shopping frenzy returned.

He'd found Starsky logged onto forums and chat sites and his guilt at spying on his partner had waned as he'd drifted from a site offering support and advise for ex-cops, to an information site for the TV show "Heroes" and then into a "Men in Uniform" site.

It had seemed a good idea at the time.

Even clicking "Extra Large" on the order form hadn't awakened Hutch to his reality. His mind was blurred with images of his youthful self, mingled with Starsky's or rather 'Stars1cy's' comments as he'd waxed lyrical over a picture of Travis he'd seen posted on the At_Attention! website. Hah! He'd show Starsky he knew exactly what he liked…

Hutch sighed, or would have done if he could breathe in far enough, and creaked his way to the mirror.

The cap was fine. It covered his hair loss nicely and took a few years off him. And the collar — that fitted. The PVC — thing - hugged his torso tightly. Very tightly. It had been a struggle to get it on, one involving talcum powder and wriggle capabilities he thought he'd long since lost, and he already feared for the body hair he knew he would be losing when he tried to unzip it.

Hutch wanted to weep. How could he have been so stupid? Starsky wasn't looking at those pictures because he liked men in uniform; he was looking at pictures of what he'd once had. He prodded himself in the stomach, wincing as the PVC pulled at his skin. He'd allowed himself to become complacent; confident that Starsky loved him, he'd let himself believe he still had what it took to get his partner's motor running. He thought back to the photographs on the computer screen… did Starsky need to look at them before he could come to their bed? How could Hutch compare with images like that? He continued his stock-take in the mirror, growing more despondent as he did so. The sleeves were … okay. They were meant to hug and snuggle well-worked biceps and as Hutch flexed his arms, he acknowledged he had a trace of those left. The shorts were meant for emphasis and they *did* make his thighs look huge. Unfortunately his stomach stuck out further than his manhood had ever been able to so the only part of the costume that should be clinging tightly was instead forming a concave anti-bulge, as his belly stuck out in the shining, straining blackness like.… like…

Hutch slumped. It had seemed a good idea at the time.

He reached for the cuffs that lay on the bed and winced as the back seam of the shorts threatened to probe him deeper than Starsky ever had. He clipped the cheap, plastic restraints to the belt and wilted further.

He should have sold a kidney and bought the Veyron.

"Hey babe?" Hutch heard the door slam as Starsky arrived home from walking the dog. A Christmas day dog walk was one of their traditions, but Hutch had cried off to "prepare Starsky's gift."

Why hadn't he tried it on before Christmas morning?

"Hutch? The sea was beautiful, Misty loved it — she's exhausted now though." Hutch listened to the clatter as Starsky hung the dog lead on its peg and took off his coat, making his way through the house and coming ever nearer to his 'surprise'. He heard Starsky in the kitchen pouring a glass of water as he continued. "We missed you, it wasn't the same. I hope it was worth it," he laughed. "I better have something spectacular to unwrap!"

Hutch's natural instinct to flee was foiled by his inability to move, and he turned sadly from the mirror to await the inevitable reaction.

Spectacular would not be the word he chose.

###########

For one second, the sharp intake of breath had echoed their earliest passions, that brief, unrepeatable moment the very first time they'd gazed on each other as lovers. A moment when they'd scarcely been able to breathe through the terror and wonder of what they were about to do.

The next moment however, Starsky was crying with laughter, holding his stomach as it shook with mirth; speechless with glee and breathless from hysteria, not lust. Hutch, though he'd been expecting it, sagged. What a way to fuck up something so simple. He turned abruptly away from Starsky and struggled to reach the zipper, struggling to disguise the hollow feeling in his chest.

"Hey! Hands off!" He was startled by Starsky's shout. "That's MY present." Starsky slapped his hands away and rested his own upon Hutch's shoulders before continuing. "My present, my gift, my treat." He snorted a little, and then cupped his hands round Hutch's face. "Trust you to know exactly what I want — what I'll always want." He leaned in for a long, warm kiss before stepping back again, viewing Hutch appraisingly. "Thing is — shall I unwrap it quickly or slowly?" He reached out and grasped the zipper at Hutch's throat and began to slowly, seductively lower it, with a purring growl "I'm gonna want to make the most of…"

"Ow! Ow! Starsky, stop!"

"Wha?"

"You've got my hair…"

"Oh." Starsky sniggered before starting to lower the zipper once more, making no progress at all before Hutch slapped his hands away, yelling in pain.

"Leave it!"

Thirty minutes later even Starsky had stopped laughing.

"We're gonna have to cut it off."

"No way." Hutch shuddered. It had been a stupid idea, stupid. He was too old and fat and stupid and…

Starsky lowered his lids and looked at him, and Hutch knew that he could see his thoughts as if he'd spoken them. He pulled his eyes away.

"Hutch, c'mon. We've tried everything else — no one makes their present opening last this long." Starsky softened his voice "C'mon, I've got a beautiful present just waiting for me. Can ya blame me for wanting to get into it?"

Starsky gently caught Hutch's hand and walked him to the bed. "Let's get you out of those and into this." He pushed Hutch down on to the covers and turned to get a pair of scissors, stopping as he heard the tell tale sound of tearing fabric.

"It didn't?" He stopped, and Hutch could see compassion warring on his face with the desire to laugh once more. "It didn't?" The hysteria won out as he turned to see Hutch's backside exposed from the flimsy PVC. "Oh, babe." He collapsed squeaking with mirth to the floor, grunting as he slipped from the bed and slumped to the ground.

Meanwhile, with the pressure released, Hutch had maneuverability and managed to de-snag his hair from the zipper, before tearing the rest of the costume away from him in disgust. He balled it into his hands, noticing anew how very small it had been before throwing it across the room at Starsky.

"It was a stupid idea."

Starsky looked up at him from the spot on the floor where his laughter had taken him. His eyes were shining with tears and even now, he carried a wide lop-sided grin on his face.

"It was," he said firmly, rising to his knees and 'walking' to sit at Hutch's feet, "an absolutely wonderful idea." He ran his hands along Hutch's thighs, caressing the slightly reddened areas, before allowing them to rest at the tops of his legs, where he massaged his thumbs gently back and forth, just catching the sides of Hutch's cock as he did so.

"It was a present for me," he leaned forward and gently kissed the very tip. "It was exactly what I like." He kissed it again. "It's something I can keep and treasure." He smiled in approval as Hutch's cock showed signs of stiffening. "And it's something I can play with…" He swiped the top with his tongue, looking up at Hutch as he did so, "…for hours."

Hutch looked down at Starsk, who was now slowly running his tongue up his length, showing every sign of enjoying his task. "I thought… I saw you'd been looking. I found those old pictures of us," He stammered, half from awkwardness at what he was trying to say, half because Starsky was allowing his teeth to tease him, threatening to scrape the tender flesh before running his tongue over the sensitive vein on the underside, soothing and tormenting at the same time.

Starsky stopped his ministrations and looked up at him.

"Us in blues? I found those snaps when I was looking for my license." He groaned as he pulled himself up from his position at Hutch's feet, knees clicking as he slumped down on the bed beside him. "Can you believe how young we were?" He put out a hand and pushed Hutch to lie back on the bed, leaning over him and pausing to stroke a finger over a newly bald patch where the zip had found a tight hold. He lowered his mouth to the spot and gently lapped at it, soothing and suckling. He raised his head once more.

"I can't believe it, looking at pictures like that, how blind we were. Standing there with no idea." His mouth lowered once more and he began to work his way down Hutch's body. Stopping at each sore spot to tend it, lavishly and tenderly. He once again reached Hutch's cock and licked a long, thorough strip from top to bottom before blowing gently, causing Hutch's head to spin and tingles to shoot to his toes. "I wouldn't be them again for a second."

Hutch looked down at him, confused, and stretched down a hand to get Starsky's attention.

"Them?"

"Them us. I mean us then. We may have looked good in uniform, Hutch-" he smiled, adding, "some of us still do!" then continued, "But when I remember us then, chasing crooks, chasing good times…" He paused, looking up at Hutch, "…chasing girls…" He crawled up the bed to place a kiss against Hutch's lips, deepening it into a long, familiar embrace.

"I feel sorry for them, so close but far apart. I'd rather have this.." Starsky grabbed his own belly and wobbled it, "and this…" he grabbed Hutch's and echoed the movement. "As long as I've got this…" he reached out and caressed Hutch's cock, "and this…" he kissed Hutch once more; wet and sloppy and hot.

"Now," he said shifting his attention lower once more, "I believe I've got a present to play with."

Hutch lay back; the police cap still perched jauntily on his head, and sighed with pleasure as Starsky continued.

It had been a great idea.