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There had to be a reason why Starsky and Hutch were not living together yet.
After all, every line that separated them had been blurred one way or another. Their time, their space, their most prized possessions, their secrets… They shared it all. Past, present, future.
But not a home.
And there was a reason for that, surely. It wasn’t because they actively discussed it, or decided it was better logistically to have two apartments, a ruse for them to have plausible deniability. They didn’t have one good, decent reason not to move in together, knowing they were each other’s everything.
No, it wasn’t a decision. They had never even considered it. Eight years of partnership, three years officially dating, countless nights spent in each other’s apartments, half their stuff scattered in each other’s space… and yet they never thought to build a home properly.
They seemed to be used to having an assortment of Hutch’s books in Starsky’s shelves, and some of Starsky’s favorite records by Hutch’s player. They seemed to be okay with having only glimpses and little bits of their partner in their individual place. And the best part of it was that they barely slept alone anyway. It was one bed or the other, but always together. What was the point of paying twice the rent?
Why had they never even thought about it?
Hutch realized he had a rising suspicion, and he didn’t like it one bit, but he decided to talk to his partner without a predetermined conclusion. After all, maybe Starsky had considered it before, and he just never thought to comment on it.
They were in the middle of a stakeout. Hutch had just arrived from getting them their second round of coffees, and got in the car to find Starsky slumped on the driver’s seat – moved back to have more leg-space – arms crossed, fighting against his nature to stay awake while he moved a lollypop around his mouth with his tongue. He accepted the coffee Hutch handed him with a distracted hum.
It was dead silent but for the low thrumming of the radio when Hutch talked.
“Why aren’t we living together?”
“Huh?” Starsky inquired, turning his head lazily to meet Hutch’s eyes. He was — understandably — tired. They had worked almost 16-hour shifts for the last three days, they were bound to be exhausted and everything that came with it. Hutch didn’t hold it against him and simply repeated his question.
Starsky took the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud sucking noise, licking his reddened lips afterwards.
“Wanna move in with me, Blondie?” He asked lightheartedly, almost as a joke.
“Actually, I want you to move in with me. But that’s besides the point.” Hutch seriously replied.
“It kinda sounds like the point.” Starsky mused, unaffected by Hutch’s sour mood. “It’s not everyday someone asks you to move in with them.”
“Please, we’ve been practically living together for years, it’s not a surprise I wanna live with you.” Hutch waved it off with his free hand.
“Yeah, I guess.” Starsky shrugged, the lollipop back in his mouth as he looked through his window. They were still working. The next time he talked, his attention divided between Hutch and the entrance to the warehouse they were guarding, his words came out almost unintelligible. “What’s bothering you, anyway?”
“That none of us thought about moving.” He repeated, grinding his teeth in annoyance as if Starsky was purposefully missing the point.
“You said it, we’ve been living together for years. Maybe it’s not necessary. If it ain’t broken…”
“Nothing we do is necessary, but we’ve taken every other step. We’re each other’s emergency contacts!”
Why was Starsky so diplomatic about this? Didn’t it bother him?
“We were even before we started dating.” Starsky pointed out calmly, unimpressed by Hutch’s thesis.
“We updated our wills to include each other.” Hutch kept listing, trying to keep his voice level.
“Mine already had you in it.”
“We’ve decided on a place to retire together! We have a joint bank account! We’re gonna be buried next to each other!”
“Sweethe-” Starsky started, trying to calm him down, but he couldn’t even get a full word in.
“Why are we waiting until we’re old and wrinkled to move in with each other? Why not now?” He insisted, losing his patience, trying to make Starsky see that this was not accidental. “It didn’t just slip our minds, Starsk, there’s something wrong, something different! I can feel it.”
“Hutch, what’s the big deal? We’re basically married in anything but the house, so what?” He asked, trying to placate his ranting partner and understand despite him not making any sense.
“Just- answer me this and actually give it some thought, okay?” Hutch begged, his whole body facing Starsky, who did the same in return, matching Hutch’s focused, sober stance. He might not understand the situation, but he knew when Hutch needed to be heard and it was moments like this.
“Shoot.”
“Why have we not moved in together yet?”
Starsky pondered the question and found no right answer.
“I guess… for appearances sake.”
Hutch exhaled the air he’d been holding, sagging on his seat. It was confirmed, then. They had the same unconscious reason, and it wasn't even good.
“What’s wrong?” Starsky sat upright. When Hutch shut up, when he crossed his arms in a pensive stance, when he exhaled with such an annoyed and disappointed expression… That was the moment to worry.
“We’ve been letting homophobia run our lives, Starsk.” He said definitively, visibly let down.
Starsky almost laughed, but he caught himself on time. This can’t be real…
“Babe, come on, you can’t be serious…” He shook his head, not sure where this was going, what situation Hutch had suddenly obsessed over and what intricate theory his mind had cooked up in reply.
“Were any of us a woman it would’ve taken us a year tops to let go of our apartments…”
“Okay… None of us is a woman, though.” Starsky couldn’t be more confused.
“And here I was trying to knock you up…” Hutch sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes. “Can’t you see that we’re letting other people silently dictate our lives?”
It annoyed Hutch that they’d unconsciously delayed the natural succession of events out of fear of the conclusions others would draw. That he’d let himself fall into caring what anyone thought, after years and years of trying to eradicate that habit from his life. That they’d been wasting precious time together, when they were well aware that death was on their doorstep more often than not.
Starsky rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window, knowing a heartfelt speech was coming his way. There was no stopping Hutch when he thought he’d come across an injustice that needed to be fought against or nonsense to be corrected.
“We could’ve been living under the same roof for years now, and yet it never even occurred to us that it was a possibility! It’s so ingrained in us, this fear, this uncertainty, this possibility of everything going to hell, that it doesn’t even take an offending party, because we are the ones holding us back. We are part of the problem!”
Starsky heard a muffled noise nearby. “Hutch…”
“Great, are you even listening to me? This-”
“Hutch… look forward.”
“I am looking forward, Starsk, I’m looking towards our future and I don’t want it full of-“
“No, look forward.” Starsky insisted, turning the key, the engine purring as he stepped on the gas. He threw the coffee cup out of the window before he made a mess of the interior of the car, a small part on the back of his mind quietly praying Hutch did the same. “Suspect’s on the run!”
“Does he have the–?”
“I’m not sure… maybe?”
Shit.
He took the radio, “zebra-three, this is zebra-three.”
“Come in, zebra-three.”
“We are pursuing a suspect, he’s driving a blue Mercedes with no plates, speeding towards the centre. Possibly carrying drugs and guns. Put Dobey on the line-”
—-
It was 11:15 p.m when they finally got home. Or, rather, Starsky bitterly thought, Venice Place. They didn’t have a home together, according to Hutch.
Starsky left his watch on the table by his side of the bed. He pensively kicked off his shoes, lied down, and took Hutch’s pillow, hugging it against his chest.
The blond had taken the first turn of the shower, and Starsky was grateful for it. After the couple of hours they just had — taking the suspect down to the precinct and taking care of the paperwork — he needed a few minutes of silence.
Hutch hadn’t brought up the whole moving-in-thing again, but it was still on the back of Starsky’s mind.
He eyed the closet they shared, his folded jeans next to his partner’s ironed shirts, his blue trainers next to Hutch’s leather boots. How the bed was covered in his sheets and Hutch’s comforter.
He thought of when he’d bought the bedside tables, and a few days afterwards Hutch found the lamps at half price and bought four, two for each apartment. Of how he always did their laundry, and Hutch cooked and did the dishes. Hutch watered the plants, and he cleaned the bathrooms. How their personal routines were built around the fact that they were a team.
The two of them lived one life. They lived life together.
The rest didn’t matter… right?
Starsky couldn’t understand why Hutch was so affected by them having separate billing-addresses, or why he was trying so hard to blame it on some wicked form of internalised homophobia they’d apparently developed.
It was clear as water to Starsky that, whatever the reason behind it, having two apartments was a way to avoid suspicions. They were already closer than some people were comfortable with, and while one of the things he loved the most about Hutch was that he was willing to fight tooth and nail for what he believed in… Starsky wasn’t sure this was worth the risk.
They deserved peace, after all they’d been through. They deserved to enjoy every good thing in life at its fullest, especially after having met death so closely time and time again.
1979, and so much was still wrong with the world. They were trying to make it better one day at a time, one criminal at a time, and yes, the system was crooked; yes, it was discouraging more often than not; yes, it was unfair… but they had to keep fighting, and the only way to keep fighting was to keep quiet. At least for a little longer.
Once they retired, they would be out of the force for good. No coming back again, no changing their minds… just him and Hutch, in their own little cabin, away from the world, doing the stuff they never thought they’d get to do. Travelling, writing, taking pictures, studying whatever interests them…
In about ten years, if everything went according to plan and they had saved up enough, they would be free to be as out and loud as they wanted. Hell, maybe the plan would change, he could see them as civil rights activists…
But what did he know about the future, anyway?
The only thing he was sure of was that his relationship with Hutch was the only constant, stable, peaceful, and safe situation in his life. Starsky loved Hutch in a way that could redefine the meaning of the word.
He’d never risk it unnecessarily.
Hutch was worth keeping quiet for.
—
When Hutch came out of the shower, vapor and steam filling the room, he slowly cleaned up the mirror and stared at his reflection. He looked at his hair, thinner and lighter with every day that passed, as opposed to his body. He had to shave his stubble and groom his mustache… he had bags under his eyes, a purplish color over fair complexion, and when he finally got to his blue eyes, he found them cold and hard, judging, not a trace of compassion for the man in the mirror.
There were a fair amount of things he wanted to fix about himself, both physically and mentally, but right now his mind was occupied thinking about their living arrangements. How had the thought never really crossed his mind?
How had he let this happen?
They deserved the chance to have what everyone else gave for granted. A home together, without fearing what loving each other meant for their jobs and their lives. He wouldn’t let himself or his partner let go of their right to unhidden happiness for society’s short-sightedness.
Worst-case scenario, they would have to leave the force, which they were already planning on doing soon, and almost did once. The world kept turning, and they stayed together. If their professional reputation was put on the line, if the Metropolitan Police was willing to let two of their best detectives go for something as simple as this, then that was it.
He was done letting silent homophobia and prejudices influence his actions, unconsciously or otherwise. His relationship with Starsky was the only thing that kept him from giving up, the only thing that inspired him to do and be better, because Starsky deserved a world that loved him as much as he loved the world. He was done with the whole Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell routine.
If anyone had a problem with it, they could come to him.
They could ask.
Hutch would tell.
He’d tell them how Starsky was the most important person in his life, how he loved him constantly, (a low, thrumming, calming sensation,) and passionately, with an intensity that still surprised him, his throat tight with emotion.
He’d tell them about how he always thought love was supposed to be hard, and so he denied his feelings for Starsky for years. Because loving Starsky was the easiest thing he’d ever done, and so it couldn’t mean love, no matter how grand it felt like.
He’d tell them about how saying Starsky’s name came as naturally as saying his own, as if his tongue couldn’t conceive a world in which David Starsky wasn’t his to taste.
He’d tell them about how his heart paid special attention to Starsky, how it responded to his partner as if it had always known it would be his to hold.
He’d tell them about how his feet seemed to automatically carry him towards Starsky’s arms, about how his ears would pick up the frequency of his voice and instantly tune in to his words, about how Hutch’s skin still fired up when it felt his fingers running wild, or how the hair on the nape of his neck still stood up when he whispered in Hutch’s ear.
He’d tell them about how Hutch’s body had a Pavlovian reaction to his laughter, a rush of pride, awe, and lightheartedness hitting him every time. He’d tell them that he had truly, really met himself the moment he met Starsky.
That Starsky had seen something in him that Hutch never knew existed, and waited till he figured it out. That he didn’t build Hutch, but gave him room to grow next to him.
When Hutch thought he was unloveable, Starsky showed him otherwise. He never let Hutch think his love was conditional.
So let them ask.
Let them see the extent of Hutch’s undying devotion to Starsky.
Let them doubt it, if they dared.
Starsky was worth taking a stand for.
___
When Starsky came out of the bathroom, he saw Hutch sitting with his back against the headboard. The only yellow light in the room came from the bedside lamp, illuminating a side of his lover’s face and the name of the book he was reading as he waited for him to finish. The Code of the Woosters, P.G. Wodehouse.
He smiled inwardly. He’d advised Hutch to take lighter books (both in length and themes) to bed, hoping it would help him unwind and sleep better. His original idea had been something like The Princess Bride, but of course his partner preferred the hijinks of a dumb English aristocrat and his valet rather than a fantastic fairytale about true love with pirates and revenge.
When Hutch noticed his presence, he looked up sheepishly. He offered Starsky a tight-lipped smile and, when he saw the various bottles of products he was carrying, he bookmarked the book with a picture of them and left it on the bedside table, repositioning himself. Starsky silently walked towards the edge of the bed and sat on the floor, between Hutch’s open legs.
They needed to think, but that didn’t mean they had to do it alone.
The blond started applying the products, massaging his partner’s scalp patiently, taking care of his thick head of curls. In the rare occasions in which Starsky washed his hair before bed instead of in the morning, this was the routine they followed. It was heaven for both of them. Hutch could pamper him, show him how much he really loved him even if sometimes it was hard for him to express it in words. Starsky could let himself be loved, relax, and be reminded that small pleasures existed. Hutch dried his hair calmly– he never let Starsky go to sleep without doing it after one time he got sick from sleeping on a wet patch on his pillow for hours.
When he finished, he tipped Starsky’s head backwards and kissed his forehead softly, feeling like God’s favorite. He had Starsky to hold, kiss, and love. Could he be any luckier?
Starsky put away the products and, on his way back to the bedroom, he got a glass of water for Hutch and one of milk for himself. They both drank silently, sitting on the bed. Starsky was cross-legged in front of Hutch, who had adopted his previous position and was sitting against the headboard, his ankles crossed.
They waited, organizing their thoughts. They both knew they had to have the conversation before bed or neither would sleep.
“I’m tired of being silent about the only thing I wanna shout from the rooftops…” Hutch decided to start, his voice barely above a whisper. Starsky nodded thoughtfully, taking it in. “I don’t want our stuff scattered, I want to have us, all of us, in one place. I want us to have what everyone else has.”
Years ago he wouldn’t have bothered to try and explain for fear of being ignored, humiliated or overlooked. His father would’ve replied with something among the lines of “tough luck,” and his ex-wife would have insulted his masculinity. His mother wouldn’t respond, too busy with her socialite friends, and most of his friends back in Duluth would’ve laughed, thinking he was joking and telling him to enjoy all the sex and none of the actual commitment.
Starsky took the time to analyse Hutch’s words, and then took his hand with a definitive look. He brought it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles softly.
“I love you, Hutch. And I love that I mean so much to you that you wanna take a stand…” He replied in the same private tone, playing with Hutch’s fingers, “but you mean so much to me that I don’t wanna risk it. This is the least of our problems. I don’t need to share an official address with you as long as I can share a bed with you every night.”
“But it’s so unfair.” He lamented, his heart tight with frustration, liberating his hand from Starsky’s hold. He shook his head, rubbing his worried eyes. “I’m tired of acting as if I was ashamed of you ‘cause I’m not, Starsk, I’m not and it’s time someone did something about it. I’m done with the whole DADT routine.”
“And what would you tell them if they asked, huh?” Starsky asked, tired.
“The truth. That I love you beyond reason, I love you enough to give everything up. They can do with that information as they damn well please. To hell with them, Starsk, this is their problem, not ours. I don’t care anymore.” Hutch replied almost desperately, an urgent edge to his voice that told Starsky this was more than plain indignation. It was anxiety and even a hint of fear.
What for, he really couldn’t tell yet.
“Well I do, because it’s not safe.” Starsky insisted, his voice deliberately calm but serious. “Queer people are not allowed in the force. You saw what happened when the guys at the precinct discovered John Blaine was gay a few years ago, they went from idolising the guy to spreading all kinds of twisted rumors and draggin’ his name through the mud. And I don’t give a single crap about what any of them think, this is not about them. It’s about us. We don’t owe them anything. This is ours.”
“So we’re not moving in together until we retire. We’re just gonna let this homophobic, heteronormative society dictate what we can or cannot do.” Hutch said, crossing his arms in resignation, tone vexed. “What, are we waiting ‘till marriage? Cause it would be easier to get you pregnant.”
“What? No! No, that’s not… Hutch, I’m willing to meet with my landlord tomorrow morning and give up the lease, I don’t give a rat’s ass where we live.” He explained, trying to meet Hutch’s eyes but to no avail. “And if you think you really have to do this then you know I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”
“Then what are you saying, Starsk?” Hutch asked, more hostile than he intended. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so definitive. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so childish.
“What are you saying?” Starsky shot back. Hutch huffed, his eyes dropping. Starsky took a deep breath. He had to give Hutch an opening… “I’m not the enemy here.”
“I know, I’m sorry, okay?” The blond pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing the words he felt coming up, but would hate to say. Sometimes his anxiety and anger took the best of him, and he was working to stop it.
“Okay.” Starsky accepted, appreciating the effort. Still, his voice was a bit harsher when he spoke. “Look, the only thing I’m saying is that we deserve some peace and quiet, especially in our own home. We have earned that, Hutch.” He sighed, gathering his thoughts for a few seconds and then deciding honesty was the best policy.
Starsky looked up to find a simple question in Hutch’s eyes: What do you want from me?
Starsky hated begging.
But Hutch was worth him asking.
“Can we just be happy without having to fight a crusade? Just this once, just for me… can we choose peace over justice? Can you please love me in silence for the moment?”
And suddenly Hutch understood what Starsky meant. That this was not cowardice or fear. That Starsky didn’t need someone to fix the world for him. What he needed was Hutch to love him enough to offer him a respite from the wars he’d been fighting his whole life.
What he wanted was for Hutch to be as safe as possible, given that their life was dangerous enough as it was. What he wanted was the chance to love him without needing to justify it to anyone else, for something to be theirs, at least for a little bit longer.
In his talk about rights and wrongs he’d lost sight of the person who mattered the most.
I suppose if I’m so willing to go to war for him…
Hutch pursed his lips, disappointed in himself.
“Come here.” He whispered, inviting Starsky in.
Starsky crawled towards him until he was sitting on Hutch’s lap. The blond’s hands settled on his waist, a thumb drawing circles on his abdomen, just above the pants. He cupped his face and kissed him. It was intense, full of vigor and confidence, heated yet emotional, and it tasted of passion and eternity.
Hutch hugged Starsky with desperation, needing to feel the radiating heat of his skin impossibly closer. Their lips moved together in perfect synchronisation, as if they were made to dance with the other’s, and the kiss was so charged with emotion, it conveyed so much, that Hutch felt like crying, suddenly overwhelmed by the devotion Starsky apparently felt for him.
When they separated, Starsky buried his face in the crook of Hutch’s neck, and he felt a soft, unavoidable smile against his collarbone.
“Hey, blue eyes…” Hutch whispered, breathy and private, his hands wandering up until they found Starsky’s curls. Once there, he gently guided him until they were looking into each other’s eyes. Starsky obliged, because who was he to deny Hutch right now, when all he wanted was to be seen? How could he want anything but to look into his lover’s eyes? “Are you with me?”
Strarsky’s eloquent reply was a shy nod. Hutch loosened his hold on Starsky’s waist, his hands resting on his lover’s thighs, running them up and down innocently as he caught his breath.
“Let’s compromise, huh? You always said you wanted to live in Italy… would Venice be enough for you? We can be as quiet and as slow as you want, you set the pace and I’ll follow.”
Starsky’s head shot back as he laughed, loudly and uncontrollably, and as his cheeks hurt from all the smiling, he quietly wondered just how great it was for harmless pain to be caused by uncontainable love. Hutch followed suit, dissolving into a fit of giggles, but still earnest. Still honest.
“Anywhere’s fine as long as I can take this guy...” Starsky playfully kissed him, exhilarated.
“Oh yeah?” Hutch inquired with a groan, gradually getting them both down as Starsk attacked his lips, Hutch on his back and Starsky still on top of him.
“Yeah. I gotta remind him, though.”
“Remind him of what?”
“That I love him just as much as he loves me. And that’s a damn lot.”
“I’m sure he knows.”
“Well, in that case I better get some sleep…” Starsky shrugged, faux nonchalantly, moving to roll off Hutch’s body.
The blond’s hands found his way back to his waist, and turned them around so now Starsky was below him.
“Don’t you dare.” He kissed him hungrily.
Starsky moaned.
And suddenly Hutch knew that he could do it.
He could keep quiet as long as Starsky was free to be as loud as he wanted in the privacy of their own home.
…Home.
In Venice Place, under the sheets, their hearts beating as one… they built a home.